A near bust, leads me to reconsider the actual benefits of protein powder and nunchucks…

Now that I’m back stateside it seems like my life has slipped back into that oh too familiar monotony. This of course makes it difficult to blog because I feel that I lack the inspiration that was provided to me so freely in Nicaragua, where everything was new and interesting. However, just the other day a friend of mine supplied me with the ultimate story, which made me reconsider my previous statement about monotony. This story is true, sadly, and none of the facts have been changed or altered except for the name of my friend, which has been changed to protect them from further mockery.

It began yesterday night, when my friend “Glen” decided to take a drive downtown. Glen was doing a good deed and dropping off a friend at their house after the friend had consumed a few too many. Somewhere along the way a police vehicle spotted Glen’s car, and noticed that one of the front lights was out. Therefore, the cop proceeded to pull them over for some quick questioning. The officer asked the standard “show me your license and vehicle registration” and then asked if there were any weapons in the vehicle. At this point, Glen was a little shaken from being pulled over and also surprised by the second question that the officer asked. “Who do they think I am, why would I have weapons?” thought Glen and quickly responded “no of course not.”

Well, something must have looked suspicious, and the officer kindly requested that Glen pop open the trunk, which is where the trouble all began.

The first thing the officer noticed and pulled out of the trunk were a pair of nunchucks. “No weapons you said, well then what are these,” the officer stated accusingly clearly displaying the nunchucks in front of Glen. Well, last Halloween Glen went as a Ninja. So the nunchucks were left over from the costume and conveniently forgotten in the trunk of the car. Glen stated, “Sir they are nunchucks.” The officer responded, “Well, yes I can see these are nunchucks, but what are they doing in your car.” What Glen should have told the officer was:

A)“I’m a black belt in Karate, and can chop through 5 bricks at a time”

B)“I was trying to emulate my hero Chuck Norris (Insert bad Chuck Norris joke here)”

C)“Look officer, I can’t fit them anywhere else”

D)“Watch out behind you…ninjas!!”

Instead, Glen provided the officer with the boring truth, and told him that the nunchucks were left over from Halloween.

Now, a few weeks ago, Glen suggested that we buy some protein powder together from GNC. Well, time went by and GNC finally had a big sale so we both purchased a 5 lb tub of whey protein powder. Of course, Glen decided to throw his GNC powder in his trunk to the left of the nunchucks.

Now back to that trunk. The cop looks inside the trunk again and now noticed (and who wouldn’t) the 5 lb tub. However, the police officer had no idea that it was from GNC because Glen had ripped off the protein powder’s label by accident. So the officer opens up the tub to find 5 lbs of mystery white powder (that also happened to smell like cookies and cream). “Is this cocaine?” “Are you dealing cocaine” the officer sternly asked. “No, no, no it’s my whey powder.” “What?” “It’s from GNC it has protein, I am trying to get abs.” Well, the officer looks at my friend, looks and the powder, and then starts to drill my friend some more (obviously Glen didn’t appear to be buff enough to be consuming protein powder on a regular basis).

Let the questioning begin:

Officer: Well how many calories per serving does it contain?

Glen: I’m not sure maybe around 100

Officer: How do you not know, and why isn’t there a label on this?

Glen: It came off by accident I have the label at home, it’s protein powder

Officer: Well what brand is it?

Glen: It’s GNC brand

Officer: Well what brand is that?

Glen: I told you it’s GNC brand

Officer: Well tell me what brand!

Glen: I told you it’s the generic brand

Officer: Well it has to have a name…

The questioning continued along those lines for another several minutes until the officer spotted yet another item in the trunk. What could that item be? Another set of nunchucks, not likely. Perhaps, a Chuck Norris doll? Nope, that was at home in a glass display case labeled, “My Hero.” Or maybe some more muscle building stuff, no way. It was just a lil’ole apple pie!

The officer looked in the trunk again and proceeded to pull out an old McDonalds bag with an apple pie left inside of it. “Do you eat these,” he questioned Glen. “Because, you know, this is very counterproductive to muscle building.” Glen responded, “Well, yeah, but they’re 2 for a $1 and I like apple pie.” By this point Glen was clearly shaken, and afraid of being thrown in jail for life due to a 5 lb cookie and cream bust. Finally, the officer believed my friend, and the story ends rather un-climatically. He simply lets them off with this warning, “You should really stop eating those pies, if you want to stay healthy; those things are really bad for you.” As Glen shakily replied, “Ok I will.”

The phrase “gotta make the doughnuts,” was uttered to me some time ago, but it always seemed to stick in my head because its meaning always eluded me. Did it mean that I had a calling as a pastry chef? Should I consider getting a job at Krispy Kream? Or maybe I just need to consume more doughnuts to help the suffering doughnut industry. Well I finally figured out its true meaning, simply put it means gotta make some $$$ (get it? a doughnut is in the shape of a “0” and the more “0’s” you have added onto your paycheck the more money you have in your hand). Unfortunately, the meaning of this phrase dawned on me shortly after I had consumed an entire box of doughnuts. That leads me to my point, since I am back in the U.S.A. I have learned very quickly that I need to jump on the doughnut bandwagon because ¢25 gets you nowhere nowadays, and I reiterate nowhere. I remember when a stamp and a phone call used to cost ¢25. Apparently that time has come and gone. In Nicaragua, ¢25 would buy me any one of the following items: crackers, 5 waters, 5 tortillas, tons of beans, 3 eggs, various snack things etc. (the list goes on and on). In the U.S., I have yet to find anything that actually costs ¢25! So this clearly leads to one conclusion, it’s time to get another job (this time one that actually has a salary, since Peace Corps did not).

The Church "El Calvario" that

is located in Leon Nicaragua

Before returning to the U.S.A., Peace Corps informs you that you might have a reverse culture shock. I must say I didn’t really experience too much of a shock, I mean, there are still bad drivers on the road, people use their cell phones inappropriately (while driving, while shopping, while in the gym), people can still be rude or pretty nice depending on the circumstance, timeliness is next to godliness, and In general people are in a rush to go (somewhere or perhaps nowhere). North Americans (and I include myself in this analysis), tend to be a little more suspicious of people in general. In Nicaragua I could approach anyone at anytime and start up a two hour long conversation. In the States people A) Think of you as a weirdo if you make eye contact with them let alone talk to them B) Don’t have time to chat C) Think you will eventually try to sell them something (be it a religion, magazines etc.) or D) Just don’t care.

A view inside of the church

Of course there are a few things I am happy to have back one being STREET NAMES and ADDRESSES!!! Although, after 3 years I did finally get used to Nicaraguan directions (for example, next to the old church 3 blocks down 2 blocks north). I recently was given directions to my friend’s new house in the States and she failed to mention any landmarks near or around her house. While driving I found myself a bit lost, yeah there are street names but did she know that she could have simply told me “from the Restaurant I hop 2 blocks west and 3 blocks down.” Of course in the U.S.A. where there are chain restaurants on every other block this type of direction giving might lead to more confusion than it’s worth. I suppose another thing I do appreciate about the States is that if you stop and ask for directions a person will either help you or tell you flat out that they don’t know. In Nicaragua, you will never hear the words “No sé, no lo conozco” uttered from anyone’s lips. Quite the opposite, no matter where you go you will always be happily directed somewhere (even if that somewhere isn’t where you actually wanted to go). People will have a big smile on their faces and tell you very specific directions even though those directions are not correct (note to readers, it was never done in malice they just wanted to be helpful). That is why in Nicaragua I would ask numerous people to point me in the right direction. In the States this just isn’t needed thanks to mapquest and/or talking navigational boxes that will guide you on your way. However, I know I will miss actually communicating face to face with a fellow human being even if their directions are not so accurate.

Jordan and I at a quinceañera party

To the left is a beautiful

beach located in

San Juan del Sur.

Half the fun of Peace Corps is jumping into the unknown. It took me my first full year in Nicaragua to understand the daily workings of things. Then it took me another 20 months to start implementing projects and getting something done.

I learned to be patient, talk to everyone, but mostly just to listen. Most opportunities that came to me during my service came through the contacts I made.

At times I stretched myself too thin wanting to help everyone, and I wasn’t always successful in everything I did. But I always tried and I can honestly say I never gave up.

In Nicaragua, I sometimes felt alone. Others times I felt surrounded by either people, noises, animals, smells, smoke and/or heat. However, most of the time I just felt at home.

I learned that things never go quite as planned (I have fixed my fair share of flat bike tires), but to roll with the punches (walking works well when you get a flat), keep a positive outlook (it will probably rain while you’re walking but at least it won’t be hot), and you will find success in anything you try to accomplish.

To the right are my students, counterpart and myself posing for a picture after winning the national business competition.

Peace Corps for me has been about a lot of rejection, and then how the re-group after you’ve been rejected! The answers are never right in front of you, and sometimes you have to be really creative to turn a bad experience into a “learning experience.”

For me, the biggest challenge I faced was something that I couldn’t change or alter. However, it didn’t matter because I learned how to get around that challenge and still be successful. It’s like building a road but there’s a giant mountain in your way. So I just learned to go around my mountain, granted it took longer and the path wasn’t quite as smooth, but when I finally made it over the feeling of achievement was that much greater.

Now that it is officially time for me to leave Nicaragua I have realized that my biggest accomplishment isn’t the amount of projects I completed but in fact it is the amount of people I met along the way.

Here's a pic of Goggins and I at the beach.

He can't swim so he just soaked up some sun while I splashed in the waves.

My top ten memories of Nicaragua:

1)Dancing: in buses, with small children, at fiestas or whenever/wherever the mood might strike.

2)Eating hot soup at 12pm.

3)Finding a rat den in my house complete with 10 rats.

4)Riding the “Farris wheel of death” at my town carnival.

5)Going to the circus where the rafters swayed from the weight of people (including myself) that sat on them.

6)Falling off a bridge with my bike over my shoulder into a very deep muddy pit.

7)Getting stuck in a river while I was on a bus.

8)Getting hugs from all of the little kids that lived around my house.

9)Saying “Adios” to everyone on the street.

10)Watching my students graduate from high school and go onto college.

I would like to begin by wishing everyone a feliz año nuevo. For those who might be unfamiliar with the Spanish language, I will take just a moment to explain something simple, yet valid. Above the letter “n” in the word año you will notice a squiggly line, in fact, this is not know as a squiggle but as a tilde, which is placed on top of the “n” to change the pronunciation of the word. Without the squiggle the word takes on a different meaning. For example, año spelled: ano means anus. Therefore, unless you know someone who recently underwent a certain reconstructive surgery, it is best to wish people a happy new año!

My new year’s resolutions:

1)Stop lying. All of the packages that get sent to me are addressed to Pastora Brie Johnson, which translates to either Pastor or goat herder…I am neither. Although, having the title goat herder/pastor has helped navigate packages quickly through many treacherous sticky fingers it has also forced me to assume two alternate identities. I am now fully capable of participating in a conversation solely about goats; as well, I have acquired the skills to bless tiny infants. Quite frankly, I feel like I have become caught up in a web of lies. Although, I have noticed some packages have not made it through, and I have reached the conclusion that postal workers must enjoy stealing things from goat herders.

2)Smile less. A smile indicates that you are a happy and pleasant person that would be willing to participate in a conversation. While this may not be looked upon as a bad quality (the quality of smiling too much) to those of us that do tend to smile too much (such as myself) it unknowingly draws in the crazies. In the last few years, I have found myself sucked into hour long conversations with: a toothless crazy, a divorced drunk crazy ex-pat looking for roast beef, a board-short Hawaiian t-shirt wearing crazy wanting to know how to get a ticket to China, an English slurring slang throwing crazy that used to live in New York…and this list goes on and on.

3)Run less. I forgot that a workout routine should not involve running for your life from a crazy dog (although that is a great way to build up a good sweat). During my brief return home to the USA I entered into a 24 hour fitness center, which I can honestly say took my breath away. Inside there were hundreds of machines at my disposal and 0 dogs, drunks or other unruly obstacles that normally make up my typical workout routine.

4)Stop being so patient. Whoever said that patience is a virtue was mistaken because you know what? It’s not. Stepping back into the US made me see what not having patience can bring you: a free non-fat no whip extra hot latte, an upgrade into first class on the airplane, you also get to drive faster than everyone else on the roadway and arrive at your destination a full 30 seconds before everyone else arrives.

5)Update my blog.

My students and I in the city of León after their Regional Business Competition

Graduation celebration for my students (I am pictured with a fellow teacher/friend Eva)!

Finally, a 20 second update (with pictures to follow) of the past year. I went to Costa Rica, El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala and saw rainforests, rivers of crocodiles, monkeys, exotic birds, Mayan ruins, volcanoes, oceans, and a bull fight. Although, I technically should have finished my Peace Corps service in July 2009, I decided to stay a bit longer in order to witness some of the following events:

I went to a bunch of 15th birthday parties, 1 wedding and baby shower after baby shower. I had 4 of my student groups win their local business competition. I had 3 student groups participate in a regional business competition and I had 1 group continue on to the national level where they took 1st place and were featured in the newspaper. I finished the school year in November with all of my counterpart teachers and watched my kids graduate. I saw the business course, which I have taught through my entire Peace Corps service, get indoctrinated into the national Nicaraguan school curriculum…talk about sustainability! And most importantly, I have been able to share all of the highs (and some lows) with my great Nica friends, counterparts and neighbors!

My doggie, Alteza, all grown-up

Standing at the base of a temple in Tikal

In 2010, I will be officially finishing my service, moving back to Colorado for a few months and then plan on seeing the rest of the world!

Kayak Jam Poetry: When I signed up for a kayaking tour of the shark infested lake of Nicaragua, I didn’t expect to get a poet as a tour guide. My friend Whitney and I started off the tour with regular small talk and somehow ended up with a tour that involved ridiculously placed prose comparing a woman’s body to various trees, flowers, and rivers. For example, we saw a large old tree, which I would describe using such adjectives as: big, green, and lush. However, our tour guide said, “This ancient tree looks like a woman’s sensual body looking towards the heavenly sky.” The tour was almost 4 hours long, and our guide Mario never ran out of similes.

One of the new 7 wonders of the world: The island of Ometepe

Lord of the dance: Whit and I also went out dancing one night. We were having fun sitting at our table people watching when Whit was approached by a short guy that had had a few too many drinks. He got very close to her right ear and said, “DANCING.” Then he repeated, “DANCING.” Now I am assuming he wanted to ask Whit to dance but instead of saying, “Would you like to dance?” He just kept yelling “DANCING.”

Whitney and I are about to fly through the trees

Climbing the 2nd most active volcano in the world (again): Getting lost in the wild bush for a few hours is never anything to be too worried about, but I always carry an extra snack just in case we’re lost for an exceedingly long period of time. Plus, why ask for directions when you can go around in circles for hours? There is no excitement in arriving at a destination in a timely manner! It seems that every time I climb the Cerro Negro (the 2nd most active volcano en el mundo) we get lost somewhere along the way. It seems almost impossible to get lost since it is just one big massive black hole of sand, but we always manage somehow, someway. This time around 20 of us got into a low riding small pick-up truck (I somehow lucked out in the shotgun seat). The driver started the engine and the kids and I where off towards the cerro. This time around we were going to give an investigative survey (encuesta) concerning the natural wildlife reserve that surrounds the volcano. But after starting up the truck the driver failed to ask any of us for directions and chose his own made-up route. We didn’t realize that he didn’t know where he was going until 2 hours into the ride he stopped the truck and whispered to me, “Where are we?” Well, those are never the words you want to hear when you realize you are surrounded by thick trees and branches and the noon sun is slowly rising higher and higher in the sky. Not surprised by the fact that he was lost, I told him that the cerro was close and now we just had to figure out how to turn the truck around on a one-way narrow road. Since there were 20 kids in the back of the pick-up, they all jumped out to help physically lift the truck off of the ground and turn it around. After this mighty feat, we got back into the truck found the foot of the volcano and parked. However, since the cerro is made up of sand the truck got stuck, and the kids were forced to use their muscles again to heave to truck out. We walked an hour to the nature reserve, I had a poisonous snake placed around my neck, and then we hiked the volcano. What a day!

This video makes me laugh each time I watch it! Pay close attention to the waiter and the random man in the clip, because they seem able to ignore all that is going on around them.

This celebration is called La Gigantona (who is the giant Spanish lady in costume that is seen at the very end of the clip). The short man dancing around is her "native" Nicaraguan husband. She fell in love with him and chose to stay in Nicaragua instead of returning to Spain.

RATS! RATS! RATS!: It’s been a while since I have posted a blog, and I suppose it’s because I have felt a bit uninspired. The things that used to be so new have now become just ordinary occurrences. I have dealt with the fact that there are an abundance of bats, mice and insects in tropical climates, which are things that I don’t normally have to deal with in my home state of Colorado. None of these things have ever really bothered me and I hardy pay notice when they go scurrying across my line of vision. A few nights ago, I was unable to sleep due to a loud noise that seemed to be all around me. I awoke several times throughout the night, and felt like something had crept over my body, but by the time I opened my eyes that “something” was gone in the darkness. I slept restlessly tossing and turning until morning finally arrived. I got up only to hear more noise. Next, I put on a pot of coffee and started to pull out a large plastic bag that I keep all of my school supplies stored in. I dragged the heavy bag along the floor and noticed that I had left it unzipped. Then I saw that the papers inside (including some of my students homework papers that I had stored in the bag) were strewn all over the place with chunks of them missing. I was a bit puzzled because it looked like a large animal had chewed them. What large animal could get into my house? I recalled another volunteer who had had terminates eat his papers and thought maybe I had a termite problem (a big termite problem). A bit perplexed, I continued to drag the bag out into the openness of my house. I reached slowly into the bag with my hand (not thinking) and rummaged around for a particular paper. Then I noticed a funny smell coming from the bag. When a large rat the size of my foot (and I have big feet) hopped out of the bag hit my leg and ran for an exit. I stood up almost immediately shocked and shaken and started yelling. “Oh oh oh oh oh oh,” I uttered as I shook and jumped up and down. My neighbors came running into my house with a broom overhead thinking that I was being attacked. When they shoved open my door they found me hopping and yelling and pointing. They said “What Brie WHAT!!” and I couldn’t reply I just pointed towards the bag on the floor and then towards the door. They were super confused and I was still startled with my heart racing a mile a minute. I finally told them a rat jumped out of the bag, and my neighbor asked if it was still in the bag. “No, it ran out of my house,” I replied. She then proceeded to pick up the bag to bring it outside, but then dropped the it and screamed. It seemed that there were still more rats. Inside the bag, the same bag I had put my hand into just moments before were 15 rat babies. Now my neighbor was also in hysterics, I was still jumping around and another friend came into my house wondering what the heck was going on. When I mentioned the word “rat” she ran right out the door leaving my neighbor and myself alone with the bag full of rat babies. On the verge of tears, we both picked up the bag and brought it outside. She then set fire to the bag and I poured bleach all over my house. I washed EVERYTHING and BLEACHED everything. I was so disgusted! Shortly after the rat incident had occurred, a small gecko ran across my wall, which caused me to scream and jump. Later that night I saw a shadow creeping across my roof, I looked up again and to find the rat mother was back in my house looking for her family. I obviously figured out the reason I couldn’t sleep the previous nights, it was due to the fact that a RAT was running across my bed (with me in it)!

Antibiotics are just like candy…or are they? Well, these days, I seem to be inflicted by one mysterious disease after another. And with the swine-flu going around I just hope I steer clear of that virus (so far it hasn’t hit Nicaragua). But lucky for me, I have numerous friends who own pharmacies. Yesterday, I went to hang-out with one of my Nica pharmacy friends. I told her I also wanted to buy some cough drops; instead, she provided me with antibiotics because she said “these work much better.” I accepted the medicine with a smile, but knew that I wasn’t going to take some mystery pills. For fun, I decided to look up the meds online and discovered that they are very effective in curing 2 infirmities: 1) Bronchitis and 2) Syphilis. Now while I am pretty sure that I suffer from neither of those, I wanted to know why she was under the impression that I had syphilis. I jest; she knew I didn’t have syphilis. The fact of the matter is that she had no idea what those antibiotics were actually suppose to cure (she’s not a doctor). I was a bit disturbed that my friend was diagnosing and providing antibiotics to the community. The week before this incident I was also provided with an offer to get a free antibiotic shot. Since when are antibiotics the cure all? However, I still find myself sick so maybe the syphilis killing antibiotic is the way to go…just kidding.

1 of the 2 volcanoes on the Isla de Ometepe

Follow the quaker (and no I don’t mean Quaker…I mean “quack”…like the sound a duck makes): Finding treasured natural beauty can be difficult in a country without trail markers and defined trails. It is always an adventure. First of all, I always hear through the grape vine of a beautiful sight to see, but the trick is getting to that sight. Thus began my trip to the waterfall. I went to find the natural wonder with a friend. We started off on a road, asked for directions to guide us to the huge waterfall (cascada), and we were told it was a 30 minute walk from where we stood. We were also told to seek out the “cow corral.” But, truly, what does a cow corral look like? I pictured it being a barn of sorts with cows in it. And it seemed that every corner we turned laid a house, with a barn, with cows in it. So how does one distinguish between a “cow corral” and just a “cow covering?” I am afraid that I am still not sure what the difference is and therefore cannot answer that question. We found ourselves asking a lot of people for directions to this infamous “cow corral.” Finally, when we found the “corral” it seemed that no one was home. Therefore, we continued down the path until we came to a small stream. We were met by one man on horseback and a second elderly man who was quaking like a duck. Great, I thought to myself, I have attracted yet another crazy person. The man on the horse told us that we had passed the waterfall already and needed to backtrack, but we would never be able to navigate it by ourselves (since there were no trails or signs denoting the location of the waterfall). So the man told us that the “quaker” would be our guide. Well, the quaking man started leading us into a forest, he had is machete out and was hacking away at the vegetation that blocked our path (I silently hoped to myself that was all he planned to whack at). We ascended a large hill and we were getting further and further away from the stream. I began to wonder where this quaker was leading us…if only I spoke duck! Turns out the man (while crazy) was quite articulate and did speak Spanish (although “duck” was clearly his first language). He told us we were headed toward the cascada, but I still doubted his claim. We drew further away and then reached a large cliff. He pointed to the bottom of the cliff, and told us that was where the waterfall was located. How were we going to descend the cliff (as I had left my rope climbing gear behind in the state of Colorado)? Turns out, a thin path wove down the side of the cliff and the man started down the side. If a 65 year old quaking man could descend the hill, well then so could I. I followed and after a short walk a large flowing waterfall emerged in front of me. It was a sight to behold; we thanked the quaker by saying, “Quack Quack” (but with a Spanish accent of course so that he could understand us). He left us and told us to just go straight up the hill again to find our way out.

Granada bell tower

Sticky fingers leads to a “¡Qué barbaridad!” being uttered: Semana Santa is a weeklong bacchanal that in my experience results in:

1.Bolos boarding local busses being either annoying or just passing out cold in a seat, and getting kicked off the bus due to lack of funds (Happy Easter…nobody rides for free).

2.Bad pick pockets trying to steal my Band-Aids

3.Hotels being booked and beaches loaded with people

4.Local transport running slowly and packed full

5.Giant Jesus statues being carried through the streets to the beat of a marching band

6.Firecrackers being shot off at all hours

7.Bells being tolled

8.And ZERO Easter eggs being hidden!

Now let me backtrack a bit. The weeks leading up to Semana Santa were spent planning a trip to the Rio San Juan, which is located in the southern part of Nicaragua bordering Costa Rica and it runs all the way to the Atlantic coast. Since I would have a week off, I decided it would be the perfect time to hop on the boat that heads down the river. In planning the trip, I did not make any reservations because the Rio is remote and it is difficult to contact places to stay. The plan was to hop on the boat, head down river, and see where the journey would go. We headed to Granada, where we would purchase our boat tickets and bought the tickets under the assumption that the boat was going to leave at 3pm that afternoon. This left us with a few hours to kill, and we headed into the city to eat breakfast. After eating we wandered around for a bit, and then thought it best to head back towards the dock. At the dock, we expected to see a lot of people; however, we didn’t see any people and instead I spotted a boat off in the distance, which led me to say, “I wonder where that boat is going.” Turns out, that boat was going to the Rio San Juan and we had missed it, because it left 1 hour early. After stomaching our disappointment, we decided to head to the Isla of Ometepe (an island with 2 volcanoes). We would still take a boat ride to get onto the island and we continued on with our new adventure. Of course, being Semana Santa, transportation and open hotels were hard to come by, but no matter, we continued on! When we got to the Ferry Dock we noticed the Ferries were numbered 1 and 3, which made me wonder, “Where was Ferry #2.” Well, it had sunk (but not very recently). We also spotted a ship called the “Tilanic,” which was supposed to be named the “Titanic;” however, due to a misspelling it was now known as the infamous Tilanic. Luckily, for the Tilanic the lake doesn’t have icecaps, but it is home to the only fresh water shark in the world (but I doubt a shark could sink a ship…unless it was a cousin of Jaws…and in that case, watch out!). We boarded our ferry and arrived at the isla, now where to go? We looked around for an open hotel, found a room and booked it! That night we stayed at the port, and the next morning we boarded an early bus to head to Charco Verde, we hiked around, saw some monkeys, ate some fish and continued to our next stop. The next place we went to on island was the isthmus, after putting our backpacks in our room we jumped into the lake to go for a swim. The following day we ventured to the “Ojo de Agua,” a natural spring (I think I got a parasite from this spring too…don’t drink the water when it is loaded with people). From the “Ojo” we walked back to our hotel took another dip in the lake and booked a taxi to take us back to the port city. The taxi was supposed to arrive at 5:30pm but as is custom, it arrived 1 hour later. We shared the taxi with another couple that were drinking Toña (local beer) like it was water. I just hoped that no one would throw up until the ride had ended. We made it back to the port, and slept soundly that night. The following day was Good Friday, and we knew that transportation would be tough to come by in the entire country. We lucked out and found a bus that took us into Managua; unfortunately, this bus contained thieves who unzipped my backpack in hopes of finding some “goods” only to be let down when they saw that I had no valuables or money in my backpack, only Band-Aids and tampons! I literally caught the thieves red handed and I gave them the evil eye and told them “¡Qué barbaridad!” The thieves awkwardly traded seats after being caught and remained silent for the rest of the ride. We got off in Managua, only to be lied to again, the taxi driver told us we could not get a micro to Leon but he could take us for $50. He wanted to get more taxi fare from us by taking us further. The taxi driver was shady and we got out as soon as possible, waited for about 10 minutes and got a bus to Leon.

A view of the city of Granada

Locked into a small confined space, it’s lucky I’m not claustrophobic: Lately, I have found myself spending a lot of time in the bathroom. I only wish it was because I had a bacterial infection. In fact, I find myself being unknowingly locked inside bathrooms. It has occurred twice, and luckily people have been nearby enough both times to hear my screams for help. Honestly, one time I didn’t need to scream because I was able to “phone a friend,” like a lifeline on the Millionaire show, to help pry open the door. I have lucked out my whole life and never been locked into a bathroom facility and now karma has come around to get paid in full.

Bzzzzzzz’ness, my bee wax candle kids forge forward: I have some exciting news to report. My school kids from the previous year have decided to continue selling their products (candles). They are currently working on upping the quality of their product, and getting funding to help buy the material they need to mass produce. Therefore, I have been traveling into their town a little more frequently. Two weeks ago, I traveled in to find that my counterpart teacher, who is helping the group too, was suffering from high blood pressure. She had a headache. I told her to take a nap, but that advice wasn’t good enough. Instead she pulls out a long needle, and wants me to inject her with whatever medication was inside the unknown mystery needle. Anyone who knows me, knows that I can’t stand needles (it’s bad enough when I need to get a shot). My counterpart was getting ready for ME to inject her in her thigh; meanwhile, I was trying not to pass out from the sight of the needle. I told her there was no way I could inject her, even through her insistences I refused. She had assumed that because I am “gringa” I went to some kind of shot-injecting class in University. I assured her that was not the case, and that she would be better off taking Tylenol and resting until someone who was properly trained could give her the shot. Instead she opted to walk over to the neighbor’s house to see if they would inject her. I wish this event was an isolated one; however, I find that more often than not many of my Nica neighbors opt to be “injected” vs. having to just swallow a pill. I am the opposite; give me a pill not a shot!

The Cerro Negro volcano!

Jesus Cristo?... Is that you?: I was in the middle of teaching a class, the kids were participating, and ideas were being generated, if fact all was going splendidly. Then I heard an annoying little knock on my classroom door that didn’t surprise me in the least. The knock means that the principal wants to make a “brief” announcement. I smiled and waved her in, because by now I have learned that it is better to just get the announcement over with ASAP. This time around was a little different. She didn’t have to announce anything, she waved to someone else who was standing outside of the classroom, conveniently just out of my view point, to enter into the room. Thus signaled, the Evangelicals entered into the classroom; their arms overflow’ith with bibles. What happened to separation of church and state? While I was trying to teach the kids the concept of “why creativity is essential to use in the highly competitive world of business,” my class was interrupted to preach the good word of Jesus Cristo. This Evangelical group had flown in from the states, however the minister was Nicaraguan, but the bibles were provided by the gringos. The kids (who love getting free stuff) were now talking amongst themselves about the “swag” they were receiving. The church group took up the rest of my class time, and then left.

What’s red and blue and paisley covered all over; hint...It’s not a newspaper: Getting integrated, involves eating local food, adapting local traditions and customs, and apparently buying a red or blue backpack? The backpack I trek to all of my schools was purchased in the states; it is covered in a paisley pattern, super durable and holds a lot of stuff. I have used the same backpack throughout my 2 years in Nicaragua, but one of my students recently brought it to my attention that because of the backpack I utilize, I am not yet “culturally integrated.”

Here’s the conversation we had:

Student: “Prof. do you like Nicaragua?”

Me: “Of course I like it; I wouldn’t be here still if I didn’t like it”

Student: “Well if you like it so much why don’t you have a red or blue backpack?”

Me: “What?”

Student: “Your backpack is very different; all the other teachers have either a blue or red backpack”

Me: “So why do I have to have a blue or red backpack?”

Student: “It’s our culture”

Me: “It’s your culture to have blue and red backpacks?”

Student: “Yes”

Me: “So I should spend money on a new backpack even though this backpack is still useful?”

Student: “Yes”

In conclusion, I will not be buying a new backpack, and have come to terms with the fact that I will never fully be culturally integrated without a blue or red backpack. Such is life!

My student and I were a bit dirty after running down the side of the volcano.

Knock, knock, knock: That’s the sound I heard at my door one morning at around 7:30 a.m. I had been up for several hours doing laundry and prepping for my class, but was still surprised to hear someone yelling at my front door. What could they want? I opened my front door to find someone from the school’s delegation office. He wanted to inform me that there was a very important reunion that I had to attend. I said I could attend, but just need to know when and where this “reunion” was going to be held. It turns out the reunion was going to be held in the capital city of Leon, in 1 1/2 hours. I closed my door, as the realization sunk in that in order to make it to this reunion I had to leave my house in 1 minute to catch a bus into the capital. I grabbed my purse and ran out the front door. 1 hour and 10 minutes later, I found myself at the location of the reunion (20 minutes to spare, not too shabby). I didn’t know what the reunion was going to be about, all I knew was that all of the principals from my town were attending, and that they had invited me to attend. I opened the door to the conference room to find myself staring into the eyes of other confused volunteers. It turns out I wasn’t the only volunteer called in for the imperative reunion. Low and behold there had been a mix-up. The reunion was being put on by Peace Corps (not the local ministry of education, as I had been led to believe). As well, the reunion was not for volunteers it was just for the directors that were interested in working with Environmental projects. Apparently, my local principal had received an invitation to this reunion, saw the name Peace Corps, and thought it was for me to attend (while in fact it was just the opposite, the reunion was for them to attend). Since I had already rushed to get into Leon, I decided I could I could at least go and check my mail.

It's really windy on the top of Cerro Negro, we were lucky we didn't get blown away.

El Cerro Negro, the most active volcano in Nicaragua: Behind my town is the infamous Cerro Negro, it is the most active volcano in Nicaragua and the second youngest volcano in the Americas behind Volcan Paricutin in Mexico. Whenever I talk to people about the cerro they inevitably bring up the infamous “gringo loco” that got the bright idea to ride his bike down the side of 730 meter volcano in order to break a world speed record. The fact that he rode his bike down the side of the volcano doesn’t faze anyone, because we surf and run down the side of the volcano without a blink of an eye. The shocking part of the story (at least as the locals tell it) is that he used a bike worth $5,000 American dollars to bike down, only to crash, break his bike and later succeed breaking the world speed record using a local bike worth, at the most, $50 American dollars. “Amazing,” I always reply. Who knows if the story has any validity to it, but they also always assume I know this gringo (that he must be a friend of mine), because they tend to think all gringos know all the other gringos in the world! We must have some kind of vast gringo network of sorts! Anyway, here’s the Youtube link to a video of the crazy biking gringo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTfu0hjVtzE. I have made the trip to the cerro before, but this time around we decided to head up to the volcano via a giant commercial truck. We all got into the bed of the truck that was raised about 6 feet off of the ground. The truck started up with a roar and departed the town as a whirlwind of dust encompassed the truck and swirled around our bodies and faces. Without warning, the group that was standing on the right side of the truck bed made a squatting move. “Are we exercising?” I wondered. Then I thought, “Maybe we are doing some morning squats to warm up for our hike?” Next, the people on the left side of the truck, including myself, found ourselves practically doing pushups. We ducked down low and quick, and not in an attempt to warm-up for a hike. It turns out, the truck bed was raised just a tad too far off of the ground, because the millions of tree branches that lined the dirt path we were taking to the cerro were crashing into the side of the truck and threatened to hit us all in the head, arms and body. To avoid being thrown off the truck by a branch we were forced to either do a “squat move” or a “push-up move” if the branches were extra low. Thus went our trip to the base of the volcano. It reminded me of Richard Simmons jazzercise video, up down pushup squat…we weren’t sweatin’ to the oldies but we were sweatin’! We reached a peanut field that marked the turnoff for our journey. The field was right along the base of the volcano and this road was covered with sand like volcanic ash. I thought, “Should the truck being turning down this road? Shouldn’t we just walk from this point forward to avoid being stuck?” But no, why walk when we have a truck…it makes no sense! About 1 minute after turning onto the volcanic ash path, our truck got stuck (I would say I told you so, but opted to keep my mouth shut!). The driver continued to rev the engine, spinning the wheels wildly, and digging us deeper and deeper into the sand (someone had obviously never driven in sand before). The group jumped out of the truck and started to gather branches to put under the wheels to help create some traction to get us out of the hole. After about 30 minutes, we dug out and continued on, only to get stuck twice more! Finally we reached the base of the volcano, as the group realized that they shouldn’t have drunk the bags full of “fresco” (fruit juice) before embarking on the hike. As we looked around, we saw a barren desert covered in black volcanic ash. There were a few sparse trees that can be described as twigs sustained by what little life they could suck out of the ash. I heard someone say, “What, no bathrooms?” The answer was an obvious, no. Well, with bladders threatening to explode people went in various directions to “orinar” (aka squat and tingle) in a very open desert like landscape. I had not partaken in the fruit juice for this very reason, and I didn’t have to squat in public! But when in a group of 30 and in a desert, there is no such thing as peeing in private! With bladders emptied we started to ascend the cerro, after a hike of 1 ½ hours, we found ourselves at the summit. We had a picnic and then proceeded to run down the side and back to the truck! We somehow managed to lose 2 people (the pastor and his wife), but they eventually turned up 2 hours later. Everyone boarded the truck again, we did out squat/push-up moves and made it back into town right in time to have lunch!

Venture to Ticolandia (know to the layman as Costa Rica): So I crossed over the border, just a hop skip and a 6 hour bus ride away from my home in Nicaragua, and went to the Northern part of Costa Rica! It is the land of milk and honey, land of crocodillos y perezosos (crocodiles and sloths), land of rest and relaxation, land of 1850 Nicaragua/Costa Rica border dispute. Brief history lesson: The land dispute centered on the possible location of a “canal” at the Rio San Juan that is located in Nicaragua, and ownership rights of what in now Guanacaste the Northern part of Costa Rica. The canal would link the Atlantic with the Pacific; of course, ultimately the canal was not located at this site (it is now known as the Panama Canal). However, throughout my vacation, whenever mention of Guanacaste was made (which was frequently) my nica friend reminded the ticos (Costa Ricans) that “era de Nicaragua,” translation “this land was Nicaraguan”…whatever happened in the past, I say, let bygones be bygones and let’s not dwell. I will now start at the beginning. The trip kicked off at about 3:30am because my friend and I were awoken my church bells that refused to cease and desist, they rang from 3:30am till 5:00am (the official hour of our bus departure). We loaded onto a giant “Grey Hound” like bus called the “Nica Expresso.” The bus was packed, but we had our own seats, after a 5 hour ride we came to the frontera (border) between Nicaragua and Costa Rica. It was packed full of backpackers, importers, exporters, and people from every walk of life. We remained on the border for around 2 hours, waiting for all of our passports to be cleared etc. Finally, we were able to get the trip going again and arrived at our final destination, Costa Rica, an hour after crossing the border. In Costa Rica, we took full advantage of the sights and sounds. We went to Palo Verde (which looked like a scene right out of Indian Jones because the river was filled full of giant crocodiles), crossed the continental divide to Volcan Tenorio, walked through a rainforest and saw a sloth, crossed bridges hanging 35 meters off the ground and connected to 300 year old trees, hopped into Santa Cruz to watch bull fights and dance some salsa, sighted U.S. movie stars in the area, relaxed poolside, biked to surrounding beaches, learned that everyone uses the phrase “Pura Vida Mae” (which should never be used in Nicaragua…we are all about the tuani here), zipped upside-down attached to a cable through a canopy that was filled with howler monkeys (note, howler monkeys like to throw objects), and finished off the trip on the beach watching the stars in a moonless sky.

Earthquake threatens to bring down my house: My neighbors recently purchased a new sound system. The system apparently came with sub-woofers, and my neighbors have decided to turn down the treble and opt for more base. Therefore, my house trembles with the extreme base sound that is emitting from their speakers. An added bonus is the fact that they own the songs from the “Kill Bill Soundtrack” (songs that sound like this “RRRRoooooRRRROOOO, more or less a siren effect). As my house is shaking, dishing rattling, floor vibrating, the siren noise makes my heart race and I look around anxiously waiting to be attacked by sword yielding master ninjas.

What in the world is Papagayo? “a delicious salsa” or “ a parrot”: Hopefully, you picked parrot, because it is most definitely not a salsa. It should not be eaten at all for that matter. However, my mother did not know what Papagayo meant in Spanish (the location we stayed in Costa Rica was called Papagayo), and therefore she proceeded to say that she would like a “salsa de papagayo.” For the record, papagayo tastes just like chicken (just kidding, no papagayos were harmed or eaten during our stay in Costa Rica…but it’s a warning to all to always use a dictionary before blurting out “salsa de…”

One of the many crocodiles we saw in the river

Party in the back of the bus: I took a trip to Estelí, the mountainous cooler part of Nicaragua to help a friend register for college classes. The trip should have been quick, but I have learned to always expect the unexpected. We arrived at the university in Estelí to learn that they were not registering students at the school but instead registration was occurring outside of the town 30 minutes down the road at another office. This meant we had to wait for another bus to come by to bring us to the correct location. After 1 hour or so we arrived at the correct registration location and my friend registered, only to find out that classes started at 7am, and the earliest bus out of our town arrives at 8:30am, in other words 1 hour and 30 minutes too late. Therefore, she will have to arrive a day early, spend the night and then go to school. After registering we had to wait for the next bus to leave to get back to town. We arrived at the bus station 30 minutes early to get seats. After being seated I heard some loud men attempting to sing in the back of the bus, and it turns out they were having a bus party. As the bus departed the station, the guys in back invited my friend and me to join in their party. We sang songs and had a fun time until we arrived at our stop. It’s always an adventure.

Get me on that stage, I’ll dance like a puppet if needed (another year another acto): The school year officially kicked off on the 3rd of February, which meant that I had to go to yet another school assembly, get up on stage and face the hundreds of faces of curious students (at least this year they didn’t make me give a speech, nor did I have to dance on stage). Instead, I sat with a group of my communities leaders on stage as we listened to the director give an opening speech. Next, we heard from our mayor, who made a shout out to Cuba, Venezuela and Bolivia (can we say, awkward). After two hours on stage (and luckily not having to make a speech) we all left and the school year was officially put into swing.

My friend Carla and I in the Rain forest about to cross a giant bridge

Mandate me some meat: One of my Nica friends, is concerned that I am not get my necessary daily protein intake and therefore sends me meat via the bus system. They butcher the animals in their town and grind the meat with all sorts of wonderful seasonings. Ever week, I am the lucky recipient of fresh meat…love it!

Carbon Monoxide looms too close for comfort: It was another typical trip to Chinandega to hang out with some friends, or so I thought. The trip started normally, at least. We ended up going to a baseball game, and spotting a player whose name was “C. Paz” or as we interpreted it “Cuerpo de Paz” (the translation of “peace corps” in Spanish). Whenever C. Paz came up to bat, we gave a roar from the crowd, did the “Ola” or “Wave.” Luckily, he was a pretty good player and brought in a few runs for his team, which I attribute to our overzealous cheering. After the baseball game, we headed to good ol’ “Top Tip” the Nicaraguan fast food equivalent of KFC. We ordered, ate and then left promptly. Our next stop was a dance club. Fast forward to the next day, and we decided to play it low key, and opted to stay in that night and watch a movie. The movie was playing and we were becoming a bit mesmerized as we stared into the glaring T.V.; meanwhile, outside of the apartment a fire truck pulled up to the gas station, and proceeded to make a lot of noise. They were running the engine and exhaust was piling out and filling up the air around the truck. We continued to watch the movie, as we became more and more relaxed and docile. Then one volunteer made an observation that saved our lives, the room we were occupying was filled full of carbon monoxide, due to the fire truck that was still revving it’s engine directly below us on the street. One volunteer got up to close the door, in an effort to prevent the fumes from entering the house. However, this action was moot due to the fact that right next to the door was a giant window that was open and thus omitting the gaseous fumes. Obviously, the volunteer was in a carbon monoxide induced stupor, and couldn’t reason correctly. The rest of us ran for the door to exit the apartment. From a safe, fresh air filled corner, we watched the fire men as they continued to rev the engine (little did they know they almost killed us…dare I say ironic). We waited for the truck to depart, and noticed that sparks were flying underneath (needless to say, this truck would not pass an emissions test if its life depended on it). After the sparks flew, the truck stalled and the fire men haled us from across the street to help push the truck…only to get it going again without any need of assistance. It drove away into the night and we returned to the apartment, fortunate that we had not gone to bed early that night, because we most surly would have been poisoned in our sleep.

Is there something in your eye, or are you giving me a “winkie eye”? Trapped in the back of a bus with my friend I was spotted by a skinny 15 year old boy at the front of the bus. I had never met this boy before in my life, and out of nowhere he started winking at me. Seeing as how we were separated by about 50 people, he could not speak to me but proceeded to mouth words at me in Spanish. Then he gave the universal sign for “call me”. Keep in mind this KID was 15, but bold. He then started to blow kisses at me…this was getting to be too much. I tried to ignore it as long as possible but then I had to end the nonsense. I pretended to catch a “kiss” and then proceeded to throw it out the window…problem solved.

Mail = Happy: For those who feel the need to send mix CDs, burned DVDs or other random stuff, send them via U.S. regular mail (regular mail is the cheapest and fastest). The addition of “Pastora” to my name (translation shepherdess) is to help keep honest people honest. Why did I pick the title shepherdess? Because I clearly couldn’t be a monja (nun), which would require a costume and probably result in eternal damnation! Also, it doesn’t hurt to throw on some crosses next to the phrase “Dios te bendiga” (God bless you) anywhere on the package. My address is as follows:

Pastora Brie Johnson

AP 216

León Nicaragua

Central America

I’ll give you a topic…“Cuidado con el ángel” is neither cuidando (careful) nor about an ángel (angel)…discuss!: There is a telenovela (soap opera) that plays on TV called “Cuidado con el ángel” the main character is named Marichuy. Now I would like to give a plot summary that should explain why I should never watch soap operas. They have an affect similar to that of the siren’s call, I am both lured in and mystified, and when it’s too late to turn around I see them for what they truly are, an ugly mess. Here’s the plot, and keep in mind that I am summing up 3 months of episodes: Marichuy likes a guy, guy has a wife, his wife goes crazy and turns into a “ho” (not the garden variety but the street version), guy falls in love with Marichuy and marries her because he thinks his wife has died, crazy wife returns, Marichuy finds out she is pregnant, Marichuy gives birth and doesn’t tell her husband, guy now has 2 wives one crazy wife and Marichuy who just gave birth to his child, Marichuy goes blind, a maid who has multiple personality disorder enters into the story and peruses the man who already has 2 wives, multiple personality maid ends up cured and only has 1 personality, old wife is still crazy but goes through electrical shock therapy…and who knows what next weeks episode has in store, I know I will be watching.

My student and I at her 15th birthday party

“Killer Clowns From Outer space”: I will venture to guess that not many people have seen this wonderful adaptation of clowns that come to earth on a mission to kill people. It has been acclaimed as a “Horror film classic, one that must be watched not once but again and again, if this movie isn’t saved on your TiVO it should be.” It is often shown on late night cable TV (around 3am) so for all the insomniacs, this film might be your only option. Alas, I did see this film, it was an utter and complete ridiculous waste of my time, and if I had a “do over” I would chose not to watch the movie. However, life doesn’t just handout “I saw a bad movie do overs” and therefore what was done is done. It has been many years since I last saw this film; still, the clown images are forever engraved on my mind, which leads me to the déjà vu that occurred yesterday. A real life clown came to my neighbor’s house, and he looked like he had just stepped off of the movie set of “Killer Clowns From Outerspace 2: Birthday Surprise.” I will set the scene: The music playing was a never ending CD of translated Barney, the big purple dinosaur, and friends singing Spanish lyrics in squirrely high pitched voices accompanied by the ever so cheerful accordion and xylophone. Here’s a sample of the lyrics I was subjected too: Barney es un dinosaurio

que vive en nuestra mente

y cuando se hace grande

es realmente sorprendente!!!

El le brinda su amistad

a grandes y pequeños

después de la escuela

juegan todos muy contentos!!!

Barney nos enseña

muchos juegos divertidos,

el ABC y el 123

también son tus amigos!!!

Barney viene a jugar

cuando lo necesitas,

el también te ayudara

si crees en fantasías!!! Basically, hearing this song made me grateful I was born in the 80’s, “pre-Barney,” and instead with Fraggle Rock. Who knows what irreconcilable damage has been done to children born in the “Barney-era,” but I suggest a study be done to find out. In the yard a piñata of Chica Fresa (strawberry shortcake) was hanging surrounded by 40 adults and small children sitting in plastic chairs. Everyone was waiting in anticipation for the party to begin, the music had been playing for around 15 minutes and kids were getting ready to hit the piñata. I was standing and taking pictures. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted something colorfully scary…the payaso (the clown). He came in dancing like a clown on crack and the cries of small children could be heard far and wide. His brightly painted face revealed nothing of a diabolic side, but when he smiled something sinister lurked. He hopped around clapping and singing to the Barney music. Oh the horror. At this point, I knew it was too late to escape the party and so I gritted my teeth and stayed. The party started at 4pm and my clown nightmare did not end until after darkness had encroached around 6:30 pm. Dinner had been severed, ice cream was handed out and dripping from the faces of children, prizes were given and the piñata had spilled candy all over the yard. Overall, (aside for the clown) it was a successful party. Next, my Nica friend and I spotted the birthday cake, we were both in shock and tongue tied but she was able to utter one word, “CHOOKEY.” Who is Chookey? Obviously, Chookey is Spanish for Chucky (remember that doll that comes to life and kills people). The cake was suppose to depict a smiley Chica Fresa, but instead chica fresa appeared a little worse for wear and looked more like the horror story killer doll Chucky. I ate my slice of Chucky in peace, because the party clown had long since departed (or perhaps took a space ship back home?), and I went to sleep that night, making sure to keep one eye open just in case the clown should reappear in my nightmares. Two of my former students at the birthday party bash

Drop the beat: One of my former students just turned 15 yesterday and she celebrated in grand style with one heck of a birthday party. The party was supposed to start at 4pm but in Nica time that means at least 6pm, and then I added an extra 30 minutes for good measure. I arrived at 6:30, just in time to see the choreographed popping of the champagne cork ceremony. Another one of my 15 year old students was trying to remove the cork, while over the loud speakers an adult was yelling, “Calmly, watch the eyes, calmly…watch your EYES…EYES…EYES.” The problem was that they believed he was opening a bottle of champagne, but in fact it was just wine (I knew because I had gotten a glimpse of the bottle earlier and it clearly stated “Vino”). Whoever was in charge of buying the champagne had dropped the ball and picked up a nice bottle of chardonnay by mistake. The cork therefore never “popped” but instead was picked out of the bottle piece by piece. The wine was served to about 30 adolescent boys (who were in for a surprise). It was clear that none of them had tried wine before and they were all about to give a toast to the b-day girl and then take a sip. On the count of 3 they raised their glasses and took a sip; thus, forcing their faces into awkward puckers and looks of disgust. However, to their dismay their toast was far from over. The b-day girl would now proceed to circle around all the boys and with each pass they had to take another sip of the wine they held in their hands. Pass one, pucker faces, pass two, winced eyes with averted nose, pass three, they faked it. Finally the toast was over and the party could get under way. “I liking. ..I liking”: That’s what I hear every other day when I pass by a pool hall that happens to sit on the corner directly across from one of my favorite “pulperias” (corner store). Only men are inside the pool hall and they are all intoxicated. For some reason they feel the need to yell at me in slurred English. Normally, I ignore their jaunts, but the other day I was irritated and decided to respond back. I spoke in Spanish/English and replied, “I liking…doesn’t mean ANYTHING in English and that they should stop yelling nonsensical English phrases and stick to Spanish!” They all nodded and seemed to be in agreement. A group of my students at the party table

¿Qué Paso?

Giant mouse creeps me out: I used to visit Disney World almost every summer when I was a kid, since my grandparents conveniently lived just two blocks from every theme park imaginable in Orlando, Florida. This trip to “Never Never Land” can be seen either as a kids ultimate dream, or perhaps nightmare (depending on whether you are frightened by the idea of adults dressing up as giant sized cartoon characters that always smile and never speak a word). For me, it was magical, at least until I hit the age of 12. Last week, I was once again transported into a “dream/nightmare,” because who did I spot in a local Nicaraguan park helping to celebrate Christmas, well it was none other than Mickey and Minnie. The two were standing in front of a winter wonderland backdrop that depicted a cabin surrounded by snow and pine trees, which is a far cry from the tropical heat of Nicaragua. Instead of feeling nostalgic after sighting those two classic characters, I realized that the years have not been very kind to Mickey and Minnie. Minnie looked a little…well…too “mini.” I suspect a 12 or 13 year old boy and girl were convinced to dress in the costumes. Therefore, it draped rather loosely and four stick skinny legs were all that could be seen. The costume itself was a bit frightening; both had giant plastic heads topped with a red Santa hat. I never thought I would be afraid of costumed cartoon characters, but I felt a flash of fear as I sat rocking on a local park bench. As Minnie caught me looking in her direction she gave me a 4 fingered wave. By this point I had had enough of the park and was fearful that the two giant bobble head characters might wander over in my direction. Suppressing the urge to scream and run, I calmly removed myself from the park bench and made an exaggerated circle of avoidance around the devilishly scary characters. I think it goes without saying that I won’t find myself in a theme park anytime soon.

Another party pic from the birthday party I went to:

Running for peanuts: Inspired to run again, I laced up my favorite sneakers and hit the trail. Of course, in a matter of minutes I was joined by 2 little running partners. Lucky for me, their parents own a local peanut field and I was promised peanuts, lots and lots of peanuts. Plus, I was invited to a birthday party! On my way back I picked up another runner, and she wants to join me everyday…I feel like Forest Gump (minus the mental impediment), when he picked up strangers as he ran his was across the continental US.

Soup Nazi strikes again, “no soup for you”: I made a big batch of soup a week ago, and decided I would freeze some of it to save it for when I didn’t feeling like cooking. Yesterday, I didn’t feel like cooking. In preparation, I had let the soup defrost a bit in the fridge, but there was still a fairly large ice chunk left in the soup. So I took out my big soup pot and poured in the soup/ice so that I could warm it up before eating it. About 1 minute into cooking my gas stove flame burnt out. Not wanting to blow up my house, I waited a few minutes before trying to light it up again (sometimes, the flame gets blown out). As I struck a match flames engulfed me and my stove. My eyebrows singed and the scent of burnt feathers wafted through the air. I ran out to my backyard and stuck my head in a barrel of water. My only concern was that now I was faced with the reality of having to draw in “pencil brows” to replace my old eyebrows. Just kidding, in reality, there were no flames at all (don’t worry I didn’t start a fire and my eyebrows didn’t singe). In truth, my gas tank had run out of gas. In the end, I ate soup with ice chunks, mmmm…mmmm…delicious.

Swarms of mosquitoes increase my chance of Dengue fever (“the bone breaker” disease): I went to a river to hang with some friends. It was actually clean swimming water! We arrived and realized that none of us thought to bring mosquito repellant. We were staying at the river for 7 hours, and in the first hour of arrival I had been bitten at least 30 times, it was going to be a long day. Luckily, we found someone who had brought repellent, and I applied it rather liberally all over. We sat watching kids and adults alike, jump from a 5 foot high “cliff” into about 4 feet of water. I was worried that I would have to pull off a Baywatch rescue, but thank goodness we left before anyone drowned.

My landlady (Alba Rosa) and I at our dinner table during the fiesta:

Christmas season is always a time of joy. Plus, it’s the only time of the year when I get to hear the Mariah Carry Christmas song, which in my opinion should receive play time year-round. This year, I did not hear Mariah belting out her usual “ear piercingly high that only a dog can hear them” notes. No I was subjected to “feliz navidad,” but fortunately I also enjoy this classic tune. Here in Nicaragua, Christmas is celebrated by going out to a big Fiesta on the night of the 24th. However, since I was gathered with two other Peace Corps volunteers we decided to play down the party scene and instead opted to stay in. We bought some “Rompope” (eggnog), and turned on the TV to watch It’s a Wonderful Life while playing the classic game of “Monopolio.” I almost won the game, but I went a “little bit” bankrupt before I could seize all and conquer the game. The next day, since we were all deprived of going out on Christmas, we decided to head to the local park to grab a few drinks. “Tona” is the local beer brand here in Nicaragua. However, if you are a real loser you might order the competing beer brand “Victoria Frost,” which is in fact the exact same beer bottled in a fancier bottle. Of the three of us, there were only two “responsible ones,” while the third volunteer lived it up and was catapulted into a stage of flirtation that I have never before witnessed, it can only be explained as a “Victoria Frost” attack. Anyway, after our beers, two of us headed calmly to get dinner. We dragged along the third volunteer. We took our seats in a booth that overlooked the park. After ordering, our “flirtatious” friend sat glaring out the giant windows of the restaurant. He thought he spotted a fellow gringo/blonde walking through the park, and without warning jumped out of his seat to go investigate. The other volunteer and myself stood up, quickly discussed who should chase after Mr. Flirt, and I was selected to wrangle him back. I followed him through the park as he tailed his blonde. About 20 feet into the pursuit he had given up, I took advantage of the moment and convinced him to go back to the restaurant. He kindly obliged, going calmly back to our booth, and I’m sure that he was rather hungry too. Our food arrived quickly, and we ate. Out of nowhere, a bee appeared and stung the other volunteer on the hand. We were in an air conditioned local fast food chain…where did that bee come from? After we were done eating, paying, and recovering from bee stings we decided to walk home. Mr. Flirt still hadn’t recovered from his “Frost” attack. At this point, a person dressed as a giant baseball passed by the window. Mr. Flirt spotted the baseball (which he proceeded to call a volleyball) and once again jumped up out of his seat to chase after the poor guy in an inflatable baseball costume. However, seeing as how I have cat-like reflexes, I was able to stop him before his pursuit turned into a possible giant baseball assault case. We left, and walked back home, keeping a close eye on Mr. Flirt. Finally, we reached the front door of the volunteer’s house, and we were almost in the clear when two girls walked by us, and Mr. Flirt proceeded to call after one girl, “Te amo” (“I love you”). I shoved him through the front door of the house. Two of us ended the night by watching Disney’s Aladdin, while Mr. Flirt ended his night passed out on the floor. Curiously, he somehow ended up with permanent marker all over his arm, which I can neither explain nor deny, but I consider us even due to all the chasing I had to do!

¿Qué Paso?

15th Birthday Party Madness: I went to a huge birthday party in my town and have posted pictures below throughout my blog.

Doggie Power: For my birthday, I received Alteza my new little white fluffy dog. Like me, she is quite sassy. She will bark at me whenever I am not providing her with 100% of my attention. I have started the training process. She can come and sit on command. Now I just wish I could teach her to be quiet and docile on command. She is, however, a puppy and therefore for the time being she is allowed to be hyper!

My neighbors and I before the fiesta!!

Credit card number theft: My credit card number was stolen (not the card itself as I still have possession of it). I hardly ever use the card, but such is life. I hope the people who stole my card number and used it in Columbia had a super awesome steak dinner, which was luckily the only item they charged.

Spider bite (feels like Arachnophobia): I was bitten on the face, twice, by a spider. I was sleeping so I cannot be 100% certain it was a spider bite. Yet, I have spotted above 4 or 5 large spiders hanging around my bed, so I suspect one of them to be the culprit.

The cake!!!

Well, I suppose I have started the month of December off with a bang (as long as “bang” is referring to the ear piercing sound of firecrackers going off in the streets in front of the house where I live)!! The top 5 ways a gringo can spot Christmas in Nicaragua:

1) It appears my neighbors have installed a disco-tec in their living room. No wait, that’s just the reflection of multicolored blinking lights flashing into my house non-stop at all hours.

2) The song “Feliz Navidad” is getting playtime on the radio, and this time the song is being played for “Christmas” vs. just being played for its catchy tune for passengers on the bus during a hot summer’s day in say, June.

3) The ubiquitous “white plastic chair” can be seen in lawns all around town, generally in groups of 50 to 100 filled with people singing 3 to 4 hour songs with endless choruses (and the second verse is NOT the same as the first). Note to Reader: Songs are being sung to the “virgin,” which is usually a 1ft tall figurine placed on the alter surrounded by flowers. “Virgins” can be purchased at the local virgin figurine store (no joke).

4) I feel like I am in a plastic pine tree forest. Don’t worry, I am on the lookout for giant plastic grizzly bears that have been reported in the area.

5) Did someone say: Fiesta? or am I just hearing things...

Another party pic with the b-day girl herself...

It’s official, I am spending the Christmas season in the tropics…Nicaragua style of course. Yesterday, I went into the city of Leon (for some reason that still has not revealed itself to me), because just like the mall on black Friday, the city of Leon was packed to the brim with shoppers, travelers and venders. In three words I would describe it as “a bit hectic.” My reason for going into the city was to accompany a friend who needed to buy some house paint and meat. I thought that I would tag along for the trip to check out the festivities. As usual, there is never a dull moment when walking through the streets. Pirated DVDs and CDs can be purchased on every corner, street venders sell a variety of food from apples to grapes to cheese topped with onions, cream, and finally wrapped in a tortilla. As I wove in and out of the crowd, we made our way around town. Finally, we made it to the grocery store where my friend was going to buy meat! The day was unusually hot for the month of December; however, it was tolerable. Patience is still a virtue that I am working on, and by now I should know that things will always take much longer than I expect them to take. The lines were long, and people plentiful. My friend made her purchases. She had managed to pack 3 fairly large cardboard boxes full of fresh meat (not frozen). Now I thought, we are normally a good 90 minutes away from town via bus. Also, being the holiday season the bus terminals are jam packed with travelers…so how long will it take to get home today…and how long can meat be unrefrigerated while the hot sun pours down on it? While, my questions seemed at least reasonable, my neighbor thought them to be incredulous, and so began our journey. As she was yet unfinished with her shopping, she gave me explicate instruction to take the 3 meat boxes to the bus terminal in Leon and wait…and wait…and wait. One bus came and went, then I saw yet another pass while my friend was still nowhere in sight. She had also insisted on taking the “microbus,” which is a large van that holds upwards of 15 to 20 people. The downside to the micro is that they do not come as frequently and people do not form any kind of organized line to get onto the micro. Therefore, when a micro arrives, a bombardment of people ramshackle its doors and try to pile in using any means necessary just short of biting. I do not enjoy the micro, or its fight to the death boarding methods. I imagined the meat melting inside the boxes due to the heat. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the microbus, without warning the crowd swarmed and my friend jumped from her seat to elbow her was into some seats. I remained composed sitting calmly with the boxes. She won!! We got the 2 front seats in the micro and we were finally on our way home, and to this I said, “Feliz Navidad”. It took about 40 minutes to get home on the micro, which is the up side to taking a micro vs. a big bus. The meat had been unrefrigerated for upwards of 2 to 3 hours, and I was able to collapse into my hammock relived to have returned to my home and town.

My dog, the queen

My students and I at the top of the central park Catedral de León

¿Qué Paso?

Who is Betty Crocker: It’s my nickname around the volunteer crowd (add it to the list behind: Brits, Brik, Chela, Gringa, etc etc). Why? because I like to bake in a pot on my stove and often bring my baked goods to be sampled by other volunteers.

Regional Competition: I had one of my groups win the regional competition (they make candles) and here is a link to an article that was featured in the national paper, “La Prensa” about the competition: http://www.laprensa.com.ni/archivo/2008/octubre/24/noticias/regionales/290947.shtml

Surviving a computer and ipod crash: I just haven’t had very good luck lately, because within a week of each other my computer and ipod both crashed. I wasn’t able to recover any of my music or documents, but my computer is backup and running. My ipod on the other hand is pretty dead. I’ve discovered that life without my favorite music is a bit depressing. Thank goodness (sarcasm to the extreme) my neighbors continuously play a CD entitled “Nigga” (that’s the artist’s name, and I have no comment because I don’t know where I would begin).

Don’t pull a “Lenny” on me: I went to get my hair cut for the first time in my town (normally I cut it myself). However, I was getting tired of ending up with uneven hair and so I decided to stop being so “cheap” and pay, what is the equivalent to $1.25, to get a trim. I arrived at the “hair salon or Salon de Belleza” in other words “someone’s house” and found that the inside of the house was decorated to be a mini-salon, while the outside was decorated to be a bar. I sat down in the styling chair and began to describe what kind of cut I wanted. Then the hairdresser started to pin up some of my hair to get started. The moment she touched my hair she said, “So soft” and began petting my head. My head was being treated like a Chia Pet. It should be stated that I use conditioner on a daily basis to get my unbelievably super “soft” and shiny hair. I also occasionally pour a bottle of beer on my head (while taking a sip on the side). It’s like beer battered chicken for your head. While my hair is getting deeply conditioned by the beer I am also simultaneously able to build a reputation as a “bola” or drunk. Once again I am joking about the beer. In all sincerity, I have never tried the “beer rinse” method, but I have heard from my students as well as reputable beauty sources that it builds “shine.” So apparently, I have bunny soft hair (that’s what I get for using conditioner). I am happy to report that I walked out of the salon without be choked to death unlike that poor bunny (Of Mice and Men reference) that never escaped Lenny’s hands.

A little white fluffy dog: I just was “regular’ed” (in English “gifted”) a little puppy for my birthday. Last year, I received a chicken, which I ate in soup. This year I received a dog, which I began to prepare to put in soup until I was informed that she was, “not the eatin’ type” and would be too tough to be put into soup. I kid, I kid, she was clearly never meant to be put into soup, and don’t worry dogs are not eaten in soup anyway. However, if you happen to be a giant lizard thing (called a Garrobo here in Nicaragua) you are SOL “sorry out of luck” because giant lizard things or anything that resembles a lizard will get turned into soup, also included in the soup are lizard eggs. The soup is quite clearly a “fertility soup” and is consumed by men and children. Fact: “the Garrobo contains every vitamin known to mankind, vitamins A-Z are all contained within the body of this small but miraculous lizard,” direct quote from my neighbor. Anyway, back to my dog, her name is Alteza or translation: Highness. It’s like princess, but I don’t like the name princess because it’s too stuck-up. Plus, my dog is clearly the “Queen” of all dogs and bows down to no one. She wakes me up at 5:20 on the spot to play; even though, I would prefer to wake up around 5:45 or 6. She is full of energy in the morning and at night. All of my school kids love her, I have been warned numerous times to be careful because someone might rob her (this is an actual worry of mine…because it happens a lot to dogs that are fed). However, I tell everyone that she is “Brava,” just like me, which means wild and will attack on command!

Two black eyes: My neighbor was beat up a few days ago because he was wandering through the streets intoxicated. He came out of the fight with a few cuts and two black eyes. The guys who beat him up were also drunk. Fights seem to breakout quite often, and people just hope that there isn’t a machete involved. Then I was asked, “Briks, could you write me a prescription?” To which I answered, “No.” Turns out my neighbor wanted to get refunded for his black eyes. He thought if he could get a receipt (the prescription slip written by a doctor) for his medical costs, he could press charges and get refunded for his condition. In reality, he didn’t go to the doctor and didn’t take any medication. Later on, I had a change of heart, and proceeded to write him a counterfeit prescription receipt. I made the prescription receipt out of 12 x 6 foam paper, complete with glitter stickers and my signature in sky blue Crayola crayon that stated “Doctora “#1 PHD in the World” Briks Jonson” followed by the date (to make it look official) and finally addressed: “Clinic location, from the big tree go 4 blocks east, in front of the house with the dog tied to the tree that yelps really loudly.” Two weeks later, my neighbor won his small claims court case and was awarded $200. To that he thanked me by saying, “Gracias Doctora “#1 PHD in the World” Briks, I will love you foureber an eber.”

It’s not over till I say it’s over: We just held a local competition for the business class I am teaching and we picked 5 winners who will go on to compete at the next level. However, that leaves me with about 300 kids who will not be going to another competition. The school year is not over yet (I have until November) and kids are no longer motivated to participate in the class. Therefore, I have set aside all modesty and have resorted to some desperate measures. Those measures involve: singing songs in English in front of my class (such classics as “Row Row Row Your Boat” and “London Bridge”), adding a round of applause after kids answer questions correctly, incorporating more dynamic games that involve me doing something really dorky like dancing and singing. I have pulled out all stops and do almost anything now to keep them interested and participating in the class. Thank goodness no one is recording my performances on video camera; however, some of my students have camera phones and I do believe my image shows up quite frequently on their cells. Every teacher has got to have a gimmick and my gimmick comes easy because I am a gringa, and therefore inherently crazy and kooky.

September 14th marks a national holiday here in Nicaragua. It is the day of Independence. Therefore, the two months leading up to September are normally filled with preparations in anticipation of the holiday. The high school students have band practice and marching practice to prepare for the big day. However, this year the public high school in my town was short on funds, and therefore could not afford to have their drums, and other various instruments repaired. Thus, band practice became obsolete, because they had no instruments to practice. My students were sad, but I soon found out that although we were without instruments we would not be without band practice. For the past 2 months my kids have had “imaginary band practice,” pretending to play (but with nothing to practice or play with). This might sound like a sad situation, but it truly was a blessing in disguise. I recall last year’s drooling band practice, 7am to 8pm all day long banging drums and I instruments off beat and out of tune. Plus, even though they practiced for two whole months they never seemed to improve. The noise was unbearable. This year was much quieter. Since we had imaginary band practice kids would still get out of a large number of classes to “practice,” which is a bit of an annoyance when teachers are trying to teach and cover material. The other good news was that last year band practice was held during normal class hours. The drums would be banging at full volume, while I tried to strain my voice an octave higher to be heard by my students. It was frustrating. This year I didn’t have that problem! There is a happy ending to this story, because at the very last minute (4 days ahead of time) the parents were able to wrangle up enough money to fix the school’s broken instruments. In the end, all my students were able to have a band (and the sounded pretty decent the day of their performance) and I didn’t have to suffer through months of grueling practice.

Catedral de León

A few months ago I decided that I wanted some fresh cooked beans for my lunch. Now, I suppose I should first state the facts leading up to this story. I used to buy cooked beans from a woman who lives two blocks from my house. She was also very friendly and made a great batch of beans. I started to become a little too overly dependent on her delicious cooking and found myself going to buy beans nearly every other day. Then, her husband started hanging around the house more often. At first he was friendly, but that’s usually how it starts. Then he became a little too friendly, and he turned into outright obnoxious. Then one day his comments were too much, and I had to make a sacrifice: beans or no beans that was the question. If I wanted delicious home cooked beans that was the place to get them, but I decided that I didn’t want to be harassed by the bean lady’s husband every time I bought beans, and therefore I just had to find a new bean vendor. I asked my friends and neighbors, but most of them cook their own beans, and therefore do not need to buy beans from a bean vendor. Finally, one of my friends suggested a new bean lady. She lived a little further on the outside of town, but she didn’t have a creepy husband hanging around the house (like my previous bean lady). So I thought to myself, “why not? I can handle change.” The next day I went and bought some cooked beans to make a bean casserole (aka beans with tortilla, not really much of a casserole but I like to delude myself). Anyway, I was about 6 bites into my bean dish when something went CRUUUUNCH in my mouth. It was a rock. There was A ROCK in my beans. NOOOO!! Because not only had I bitten down hard on a rock but I had managed to bite down hard with one of my back molars and the consequence of this action was a broken tooth. So much for change. My new bean lady obviously didn’t wash the beans before cooking them, hence a rock being in my cooked beans. Due to transportation strikes at the time I was unable to go to a dentist for 1 month. Luckily, my tooth root had not been exposed; however, I did find myself missing half of my molar and unable to eat on the left side of my mouth. When I finally got to go into the dentist, she asked me what had happened. I recounted the rock in my beans story, and she seemed to sympathize with me before stating the obvious: “Why don’t you just cook your own beans from now on.” Since my tooth incident I have found myself eating less beans and rice, and I still have not resorted to cooking my own beans…yet.

My dog Alteza

¿Qué Paso?: Vaga Briks (in English, I’m a wanderer): I have not written in a while, sorry, but I have been rather occupied with grading exams, running around town on my bike searching for people, falling off bridges, planning competitions, avoiding bolos (drunks) and evangelicals, and teaching English. I am super tiered nowadays, with lots and lots to do all the time (and I am not complaining…things to do are AWESOME!). That is my accuse as to why I haven’t been keeping up with my blog…but here I sit finally with a little free time, and I thought I would catch everyone up with what’s been happening… Rainy Season: The rainy season has started, and all my clothes are damp and things are starting to mold on me. Ups and downs: I am still enjoying my time here although there are always ups and downs. For example, I was ripped off on a bus (and didn’t say anything because it wouldn’t have solved anything) but I was happily surprised when someone in my town stuck up for me and managed to get my money back. Politically correct: Lately, it has been difficult to deal with the built up political tensions between people, why can’t we all just get along? For me, it has been a lesson in diplomacy: how to get people who so ardently dislike one another to come to an agreement or dare I say compromise. Party time: My town festival is in full swing this weekend. The streets are lined with people eating cotton candy, candied apples and enjoying themselves. I was people watching yesterday and eating a rather delightful dinner, when a waft of exhaust entered my nostrils. My stomach turned a little, from the unpleasant scent, and I looked around to see where it had originated from, and that’s when I saw a motorcycle trying to make its way down to crowded and packed street. “Why?” I thought. It’s not like this is the only street in town. The only explanation was that he was “showing off” his motorcycle and meanwhile he almost ran over half the people in town. A mule, a gordo and a priest: This sounds like a joke, but in all honesty it actually happened, and I witnessed it all. Although, I didn’t take any pictures to prove it. Last weekend, was our town’s horse festival. People ride around the town on big horses. This year, the priest decided to get in on the action, and mounted a horse, but no one taught him how to control the animal. The priest was recklessly riding around town, nearly running everyone down. Next, a “gordo” (fat man) rode a stocky mule. The poor animal was grunting under the heavy load, but the fat man didn’t seem to notice and kept taking sips from his brown paper bagged bottle of booze.

It's a rug...the kids created this project and wrote up a business plan including how to market and finance the product

Last weekend I found myself boarding a bus on a search for the most beautiful river in Nicaragua. Conveniently, the river was only a short ride from my town, plus a quick ox ride and finally finishing up with a brisk walk. By the time I arrived at the river I was more impressed by the many methods of transportation it took to reach the river than the river itself. This bus ride, was the usual chaotic ride, almost comparable to Toads Wild Ride at Disney World (note, I said almost). The Ox chart is where things got a bit more fun! First of all, these two poor oxen were carrying a load of wood (for cooking), and my nica friend asked if we could hop on the back of the cart too. The 3 of us were sitting among piles of wood being pulled by two oxen. We were going at a snail’s pace. So slow in fact that if there was a grandmother with a walker on the side of the road she would have quickly passed and left us in her “walker dust”. My friend was jumping on and off the chart to take pictures (having plenty of time to snap a picturesque shot and easily catch up). I was trying to shield my eyes from the overwhelming sun, and remain patient. Even though walking would have been a more productive use of time, my friends refused to walk the 1 kilometro. That is correct; we were not going very far, just 1k. As the oxen drudged on, so did we. Then we hit a rut in the road (bound to happen) and pieces of firewood went flying off. The already slow ride became even slower. Kids helped to collect the wood and redistributed it onto the cart. Next, we hit a giant mud pit. The cart’s wheels became embedded in the mud. The ox had to pull extra hard through the pit. Finally, we reached our destination (mas o menos). The riverbed was dried up and the water was a muddy color. Right now, the river is not a very pretty site, but in a few months and with some more rain it will be a site to behold (and I will only behold the site again as long as I don’t have to ride on the back of an ox chart). They are slow animals, and I am just fine walking! A few weeks ago, a student decided to throw a chair across the room into the wall. The student was apparently angry that I had kicked him out of class. I didn’t realize he was so quick to anger, because the intonation in my voice was nothing but normal and calm. I gave him several warnings ahead of time and then resorted to asking him to leave. However, he did not like this option, thus the chair being thrown. Well, it turns out having a student throw a chair in a rage of anger has its advantages. The students are now working harder than ever to get their work done! Who needs a bike seat? Someone stole the bolts right off of my bike. One minute, the bolts were all in their place and the next minute my bike seat was doing a 360-degree swivel and my handle bars were all out of whack. I think it’s also worth saying that this was at a different school than the “chair throwing” school. I approached my school’s principal about the incident, mainly to see if anyone happened to get a glance at the perpetrator. Then the next thing I know, all my kids were apologizing to me. The principal decided to call a school assembly to announce to everyone that the gringa’s bike had been tampered with, and the result was that all my kids decided to apologize non-stop. There is never a dull moment on a bus in Nicaragua, and this past week I found myself on a bus with 2 very drunken men (along with about 40 other people who were just trying to get home). Of course, the men were super obnoxious, but no one wanted to kick them off the bus. Therefore, for 2 hours we had to put up with their rambling, shouting and overall craziness. I was super glad when I was able to get off.

Another business group of mine, they are making decorations for fiestas

I suppose I should clarify 1 thing first, I teach 4th year students who range in age of 14-18. The class I teach is simple to explain: A business course that promotes creativity. All year long, we work on increasing students’ business knowledge and then they apply their new knowledge to an actual working business that they are developing/creating for the class. In the month of September, we have the first of 3 competitions. As a motivating factor, the kids know that their business plans and products will be entered into this competition. I just had the first competition at the local level. I had about 43 groups of students competing all year long for 5 slots. Before, the actual day of my competition I was able to eliminate quite a few groups aka kids with popsicle stick art and ode to macaroni art. From those kids I narrowed it down even more to the top 12 groups. These groups then competed for the 5 spaces to go onto the Regional Competition. It was a tough decision, but the groups that worked the hardest (in my opinion) did come out as the clear winners. I am happy to report that all of my students did their work, which means they wrote a complete business plan. However, the day after the competition was tough, because the kids’ motivation was way down. I spent most of my class doing team building activities. Now I am busy planning the Regional and National Competition, which will take place in October and November respectively. In an effort to help prepare a group of students for our local competition, I decided to take a bike ride with them to help look for bees wax (they were utilizing the wax in their product). They are making candles from bees wax, but of course, we had to hunt down the person who sells the wax. No one knew exactly where this person lived, but they knew he lived pretty far down this long road. In Nicaragua, there used to be a train that crossed across the country. Although the train and track are long gone, the signs of train tracks can still be seen across the countryside. In fact, this explains why there are many small seemingly random towns spread across the countryside. At one point in time, these towns ran along the train line. Anyway, my journey to find the bees wax man took me along the former train track lines. We were a group of 5, peddling along on our bikes. Now because there are no longer tracks, but the rivers remain, we were presented with a bit of a conundrum when crossing water. There are unsteady rickety wooden planks in the spots of the former train tracks. Below the rickety wooden planks, lay muddy, mucky cow patty littered coffee colored puddles of “water.” Now since we had our bikes with us, we were forced to make the crossings extra carefully, with the bikes resting on our shoulders. I really should work on my balancing skills, because in hindsight it would have paid off to have tightrope walking skills. We finally found the “bee” man but just our luck, he wasn’t home. I hopped back on to my bike, and as a group, we started biking 1 hour back into town. On the way out to the bee house, we had to cross 4 “bridges” and so on our return trip we would also be faced with 4 bridge crossings. I crossed the first without any troubles. Then we came upon the second, and I crossed again rather quickly. I was getting a bit cocky with my bridge crossing skills, and instead of taking my time, I was practically running across each bridge. Then I hit bridge number 3, I made it halfway across, lost my balance, and before I fell, I decided to hop off into the mucky water. I landed straight, my bike still resting on my right should, mud up past my knees. I hopped out of the mud rather easily, but my ego was greatly deflated and I road 1 hour back to town a muddy mess. Then I had to take a bus ride for 45 minutes in all my muddy glory. I got home around 6pm to find I had no running water, and I have learned another lesson about hubris and showing off.

¿Que Pasa? Power line comes crashing through my roof: A few weeks ago, Nicaragua was hit with Hurican Alma. My house sustained some damage (like a hole in the roof due to a wayward power line toppling into it), but my neighbors sustained even more damage to their homes. During the storm, a chavalo decided to climb onto my neighbor’s roof to help secure the tiles. There were ramas (branches) everywhere and giant trees were uprooted and lay in complete disorder. We were without electricity, water and phone service. Luckily, my town was able to pick up the pieces rather quickly and normalcy was restored within a few days (however, my house is still without power). Dog sitting: My neighbors decided to take a trip into the city for two days and asked if I could house sit and dog sit for them. I, of course, agreed and was left in charge. I went over to their house around mid-morning to feed and check on the dog. My neighbors left a giant bowl of chicken soup in their fridge for the dog to eat. They told me that the chicken was settled at the bottom of the pot and to make sure I dished out pieces of chicken with the broth. So, I poured some of the soup into the dog’s bowl but I noticed that none of the chicken made it into the bowl. I reached my hand into the soup to grab some chicken. Well, my neighbors forgot to mention that the “chicken” that they put into the soup was actually just chicken feet and hearts. My hand made contact with the pointy chicken nails at the bottom of the pot, and I didn’t quite realize what I was touching. I slowly withdrew my hand from the pot to discover that I was grasping feet and hearts. My fan died: After serving me for an entire hot season, my fan finally gave up and stopped working (the motor had been overworked). I panicked because it was still super hot and I knew I would not be able to make it through the night without a fan. So that afternoon I went out and purchased a new fan (that will hopefully not breakdown and keep me cool). Go for a 3-pointer: My town has a basketball team, and every Saturday and Sunday I enjoy sitting on the sidelines and watching them play. One team has a player named “El niño (“the kid”),” who is anything but a niño. Instead, he stands 6’5” and is more like a giant wall. However, he isn’t very agile or athletic, but he is really good at blocking the way. The trash band: The trash collectors just added a new bonus to their service, not only will they pick up your trash but they will also have a band (that sits amongst the trash) play a little ditty of a song. Happy Mother’s day (bring on the band): The month of May was Mother’s month. However, only 1 day of the month is devoted full out to the moms. The usual fanfare is to have a band serenade your mother’s at the wee hours of the morning (anytime around 3:30am or 4am). I am not a mom or a wife, but my neighbors still thought it would be fun to include the gringa in all the festivities. Therefore, at exactly 3:45am I had a 2 singers in a flatbed truck lined with giant speakers stilling outside of my house singing 4 songs. I was just a little angry. When the songs finally ended I thought I could get back to sleep (oh how wrong I was). The truck moved only 2 houses away and began the same serenade again and again and again. I had to hear it 4 times before they were finally out of earshot. Bat killer: I killed a bat. Enough said. Mud pit

I was biking to school (nothing new there) and came upon a rather large puddle (aka en español charco). I stopped at the edge and looked around for the clearest path to cross through, but didn’t see anything. My only option was to go through the puddle. I backed my bike up a few feet and went for it. Two-feet in and my bike became stuck in the muck and I was forced to plant my left foot in the mud for stability. I was wearing a skirt and a pair of dress shoes. The mud came up to my knee. I ungracefully hopped out of the mud puddle and sought out dry ground. I road into town with one muddy leg and taught class that night I took my rain boots out of storage…they’re back and ready for action! When the power goes out in the night, everything is encapsulated by blackness. Therefore, it is wise and recommended to stay indoors. One night, the power went out and the rain started to pound on my roof. In my home state of Colorado it rains, but in Nicaragua it pours. I have never witnessed such a torrential downfall of rain, and the thunder that accompanied the rain hit me to the core. No one in their right mind was going to leave their house during this storm. That is when I received a knock on my front door, only to find my friendly neighborhood stalker standing in front of me asking to borrow some salt. I lent him my salt. Then a few minutes later, he was back again to return my salt. I took my salt back. Then he proceeded to ask to borrow some chiltomas (peppers). I lent him some peppers. Then he asked to borrow the salt again. This escapade was probably going to continue on and so I decided to put an end to it by telling him I was going to go to bed. Some rockin´students of mine at the mud pits

I rather enjoy taking bike rides around the surrounding countryside and I often encourage my school kids to come along for a ride. We had all planned to go to the hot springs (which are located in a neighboring town). The ride was about 1 hour and we were going to leave early on Sunday morning. I told the kids to meet me in front of the school at 7am so that we could leave before the sun got too hot. Everyone was told to bring a sack lunch and plenty of water. I woke up early on Sunday, and rode over to the school. I had packed myself a sandwich, and a snack of Ritz con queso. Moreover, I had 2 water bottles full of H2O. I also threw in some extra snacks for my kids. At 7am, on the dot, one of my students rode up on his bike ready to go. When I asked him where everyone else was he replied, “Oh, I will go get them, just wait here.” Thirty minutes later, he returned with the crew. Only seven of my kids had bikes and three kids were being “chinear’ed” (carried) on the crossbars of the bikes. What a group. I double-checked that everyone brought food and water. Then we left. About half way through the journey, we stopped for snacks and water. That’s when one of my students pulled out a 3-liter “Big Kola” bottle filled with water to pass around to the group. After a quick break, we continued on…until finally we reached our destination, the boiling mud pits. The boys started throwing boiling mud on one another and the girls were running away shrieking. I stood on the sideline trying not to get in the line of fire. The boys finally tired and we all decided to eat lunch and then head back home. One student brought a block of cheese to eat. Another student brought avocado and salt. They all traded food amongst themselves, and I was just glad that we chose the shorter excursion trip versus going all the way to the volcano (an 8 hour round trip). We ended the trip chasing a lizard and riding back into town performing bike tricks (for example, feet over the handlebars, one foot peddling, etc.). More mud pits

The power line that across the street from my house

As a small child of five, I vividly remember visiting the Barnum and Bailey circus. Acrobats, trapeze artists, elephants, and clowns all given their own separate performing space in the giant cement auditorium filled full of screaming kids and reluctant adults who brought their children to the event. The clowns are my fondest memory, for some, the image of a clown might conjure up feelings of fear, but that is just because as a child they probably saw the movie “It”. Brief movie synopsis: a killer clown is on the loose and he is after a bunch of suburbanites, I know terrifying. I can honestly say that I do not have this fear of clowns, and I owe this in part to the fact that I didn’t see the movie “It” until I was around 20 years old, and by then the graphics, special effects and plot were outdated. Anyway, back to the clowns, I always loved the act where about 15 clowns piled into and out-of a tiny vehicle that appeared only large enough to hold 1 person in the first place. So how did they all fit? It is one of the great-unsolved mysteries of all times; right up there with, how did the Egyptians build the pyramids? I will uncover that mystery later. Besides, I highly doubt anyone knows the secret to the clown car. However, last night I came as close as ever to unveiling the mystic that surrounds this illusion (Note to reader: start playing the music “It’s the final countdown” in your head; trust me, it will make what I am about to say even more amazing and wondrous). Ok ready, music playing? I am about to reveal the mystery of the clown car: How do so many clowns fit into one isty-bitsy, tinny-tiny, minuscule vehicle? Well, the answer is quite simple, they all chinear one another, bending and contorting their bodies into the vehicle. Yep, it’s that simple and it might seem rather obvious. Now that I have revealed the “big” secret, you’re probably thinking to yourself, I already knew that (or you might be thinking what in the world does chinear mean). While I am sure you’ve pondered this great mystery, and “chinearing” was a likely hypothesis, you ruled it out as being “not physically possible.” However, I am here to tell you that in fact it is physically possible…how do I know this as being 100% true? The answer, I have been inside of a clown car and pulled this body contortion act (also known as chinear in Español) in front of all the people in my town. Enough about clowns, it’s time to recapture the scenario that took place one fateful night in Malpaisillo Leon (my site). The day started like any other, I awoke to my neighbors blasting the “Happy birthday Jam remix CD,” the one where the creepy guy pronounces the word “birthday” as “BIRDday” (in a most disturbing voice). Yes, that is the music I awake to every single morning, it is the bane of my existence. I rolled out of bed and put a pot of water on the stove for coffee, because I don’t function without at least 1 cup of coffee. Next, I finished washing my laundry that I let soak in my “pan” overnight. At 6am, my neighbors came over, glad that I was up, so that they could ask me a very pertinent question “Brigs (not my real name, but sadly that’s what I am known as in my town…close enough I guess),”What are you doing today?” My reply, “It’s Saturday, so I will be cleaning, mopping, etc. etc.” Their faces lit up (almost a little too brightly) and I knew I had roped myself into yet another commitment without even knowing what that commitment entailed. Turns out, they wanted me to cook a pancake breakfast, and later they wanted to cook lunch for me, and we would all finish out the day by going to a disco dance club. The day went by rather quickly; the pancakes were fluffy, golden brown and delicious. Lunch, was a slice of fishy goodness on a plate, fried of course, but good nevertheless. Around 8pm I was informed that we would be leaving in 30 minutes (calculated Nica time: if x=Gringo time of departure, y=Nica time of departure, and z= random variable such as: visitors show up at the front door to talk or maybe a Jehovah witness tries to convert me or better yet the 30 year old man down the street proposes to me, again). Entonces, who needs a mathematical equation to tell me what my gut already knows, we won’t really be leaving in 30 minutes…at the earliest we will be leaving in 1 hour. It’s no big deal, because the disco tech is only 3 blocks down the street from my house, or approximately 3.2 minutes via foot. One hour and 15 minutes passes by, and I am finally summoned to come outside to leave for the party. That’s when I see it, a 1987 white Toyota sitting in front of my neighbors house, and I think immediately, “Oh no, where are we going?” Turns out my fechenta neighbors, pulled out the car to drive to the disco. I will reiterate the fact that the disco is 3 blocks from my house, yes that is correct, just 3 blocks. They had pulled out their car to go 3 blocks. Now I must admit that this came as only a moderate surprise, because it has happened before. In fact, a week earlier, they pulled out the car to go only two blocks, to the restaurant, Cielo NICA, located around the corner. And 3 weeks prior, they pulled out the car to go to the panadaria that is quite literally 1 block around the corner (and I’m not talking city blocks here, I am talking regular suburban street blocks). Anyway, I played along and got into the car…but not too fast…because there was a crowd surrounding the car…strange, right?…turns out everyone was going for a ride, all 8 of us. My neighbors all started to get into the car and I proceeded forward, to jump in as well, but I was politely held back and told to wait my turn. My turn, turned out to be dead last, because it turns out, I had chosen the short straw, and therefore was going to be “chineared”. I cautiously wiggled one of my legs into the vehicle, next I hunched over and tried to fit into the car (that was already carrying 7 other people). Slowly, carefully, cautiously, I slipped my other leg into the car, now came the difficult part, closing the door. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic, and I thought to myself, good thing we are only going 3 blocks. Stupid, stupid, stupid (I am referring to myself here and not the reader…so please continue…). I should have known, we weren’t going straight to our destination because Saturday night in Malpaisillo is iqual to “cruising night,” shouting out the window a grandiose “ADIOS” and waving to everyone in sight. What a whip (whip= slang for car/cool ride) we were rollin’ on 27 inch chrome colored (although not actual chrome) rims, blasting Los Toros Band, and rockin’ the hydraulics (actually I don’t think the car had any hydraulics but I am pretty sure it was missing a few springs). Forty-five minutes later, after making 15 laps around town, we finally arrived at the disco (remember the disco is only 3 blocks from my house). My left leg had lost feeling about 30 minutes into the ride and my neck is now permanently angled 15 degrees to the right (due to having been chineard and thus forcing me to hunch my head). And that is how I know, for a fact, with 100% certainty that it is possible to fit numerous clowns into 1 tiny vehicle…. The power line that fell into my house

¿Que Pasa? Creepy man avoidance tips: I spend a good portion of everyday trying to avoid potential marriage proposals. Just short, of jumping into bushes, I try to avoid the unwanted creepy man attention like the bubonic plague. However, living in a small town makes it a little difficult to avoid people. Whenever I walk out my front door the next block over knows that I am leaving my house, before I ever round the corner. Yesterday, I stepped out and 2 seconds later Mr. Creepy comes around the corner on his bike. I felt trapped but I always have a backup plan. I walked 4 feet and yelled to my neighbor, who is very aware and sympathetic of my situation. She came out of her house and we pretended like I was just visiting her and that I wasn’t going to go anywhere…I was attempting to wait out Mr. Creepy…eventually he had to go away. He instead rode his bike 15 feet away and awkwardly waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, he gave up and pulled a U-turn to head back to his house. I had won this round and I took off running for the market! Vaca negra (translation: black cow): This is a delicious ice cream float…and not a cow! Sadly, there is no root beer involved but plenty of Coca Cola and therefore it is vanilla ice cream topped with Coca Cola. I am falling apart: A few weeks ago, I had one of my tooth fillings fall out, which I can’t get fixed because there is no local transportation. The next day I had a toenail fall off. Finally, I ate food from a local street vendor and I am suffering the consequences…bring on the rehydration salts! Sin transporte (without transportation): Basically, the whole country is without public transportation right now due to a strike. The strikers want the government to subsidize the rising cost of gasoline. As a result, all buses and taxies are grounded. There have been riots breaking out in the big cities, and from what I have seen on the news it looks a bit chaotic. I am safe in my site, but it looks like I will be stuck in my site for the rest of May. This means that I will not be able to teach at a majority of my schools because I have no way to get to them (as I use both my bike and public transportation to make the trips). The 1 ring circus One week ago, the Circo (circus) drove into town. They carted all of their gear in two large caravans decked out in the colors blue, red, and yellow. On the side of one cart was a giant smiling clown face. I knew the instant I looked into those big grinning teeth that I would be going to this circus. He had lured me in and all it took was a ridiculously large crooked tooth payaso(clown) smile. I immediately biked back to my house to tell my neighbors, “The circo is in town.” They seemed a little less thrilled then I was upon my initial reaction, but then again they didn’t get a look at the clown face or all the mesmerizing colors. My neighbor promised that in one weeks time we would go to this circo and I would be able to experience firsthand another truly Nicaraguan event. Flash forward one week, to yesterday, the first rains of the season were washing away the dusty roads. I was hoping that my roof would not leak, and the circo adventure was only hours away. The circo was slated to start at 8pm and so we all left our houses at about 8pm, because the circo was only two blocks away. As we approached the front gate, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafted over the crowd and I was disappointed I had only brought enough money with me for the entrance fee. We purchased out $1 tickets and entered through a dazzling array of curtains. As I walked through the curtains, I could see at once that this was going to be an adventure. This was a 1-ring circus and the bleacher style seating completely surrounded the performance ring. There were 10 rows of “seats” (aka rickety 2x4 plywood that had seen better days), all of which looked to be held up by little more than fraying pieces of rope. In my quick calculation of the possible danger imposed by the rope and decaying wood I felt it would be best to sit on the bottom row closest to the exit. However, my safety assessment was completely ignored and we pranced on up to the tippy-top row stage left, the corner furthest from an exit. As I recalculated my danger assessment, I realized that if this set-up collapsed there would be no getting out (but heck I thought seize the day…these circus people are professionals…right? I am sure they calculated the proper weight dispersion for the arena style seating. All I can say is that I had my toes and figures crossed that no one larger than a small child would sit around our group, thus not pushing the weight capacity over the brink. Across the way, I spotted a rather obese man making his way onto the rafters and I held my breath as he sat down…to my surprise, nothing happened…yet! “On with the show,” the ringmaster blared through her static filled microphone. The first act to come out was a magician, he pulled the old Jesus act by turning rum into water…although as I recall Jesus turned water into wine, which therefore still tops this man’s trick. Why start with rum and make it into water??? What was this guy thinking. Next, he made more water appear out of seemingly nowhere and finished up by making 3 balls appear in a box. This might have been a magnificent show, if I hadn’t seen a Vegas magic act prior to seeing his show. He lacked a bit of showmanship and razzle-dazzle. Next, a pair of payasos (clowns), with wigs made of colorful stringy yarn and typical clown face paint appeared in the center ring. They continued the show by telling some risqué jokes, so far so good. I was waiting for some kind of animal act. I knew they did not have an elephant but I saw some goats outside and figured that later on the goats would make an appearance. However, the goats never showed up nor did any animals for that matter. The rest of my much anticipated circus show was made up of….get ready for it because it certainly surprised me….dancing girls wearing thongs and bras. I would never have seen this coming; the audience was made up of a mix of people. Small children with their parents, boyfriends and girlfriends, adult males and females…if this were a dancing girl show, I would have expected a mostly male audience (and absolutely no children). Now to spread the icing on the cake, the dancing girl in the act also happens to be one of my 14-year-old students. So there she was shakin’ it in the center ring song after song after song. Finally, the shaking ended and the ringmaster entered into the center of the performance space. She announced that there would be one more act. All I could think was, “What next?” Bursting out of the side door entered a man dressed as Spiderman doing some kind of spider flip and scurrying to the top an unsteady scaffold, which was rigged with the same fraying rope that held all of our seats together. Good thing I was a lifeguard 6 years ago because my knowledge in first aid might just come in handy when this guy falls and gets seriously messed up. The music started playing and Spiderman began his unsteady walk across the tightrope. “Now for the famous bicycle trick that only a true artist can perform,” announced the ringmaster. Up went a tiny bike without any handle bars, I deducted that the Spiderman was going to attempt to cross the tightrope via bicycle (funny, I don’t remember Peter Parker every doing any bike riding over large buildings). Right then, the clown stopped short, he looked at the bike and called out that he needed a wrench. Up went the wrench. As he stood over the bike banging on it with the wrench, one can only guess in an attempt to fix the bike, he looked a bit trepidations (and quite honestly who wouldn’t be?). The wrench was then thrown to the ground, missing the head of a fellow circus performer by a mere 2 inches. The other performer didn’t even flinch and the show was about to go on. I knew this was a bad idea. No one else seemed to be saying anything. He placed his mini-bike on the rope again to perform the trick and then he looked down and to my surprise decided not to perform the trick. He signaled the ringmaster yet again, and she announced that tonight the trick would not be performed. Thank goodness, because I didn’t feel like seeing Spiderman fall off his mini-bike. That was the end of the show. I don’t think I will be going to another circo, seeing one of my students dancing was quite enough to keep me away. Also, the entire time I was at the circo my stalker, who had followed me to the event, sat across the ring staring at me. Moreover, the chance that the seating area could have collapsed at any moment is a risk I am only willing to take once. However, as always, it was a sight to be seen and an experience to be had.

La gente de Malpaisillo

My neighbor is a nurse practitioner, although she could be the next pied piper, and this past weekend she decided to hold a party for all the niños (children) in the neighborhood. For the niños this party was not a typical fiesta. Rather it was a dubious way of luring children into a trap, which they could not escape once the realized the true nature of the “fiesta.” I will explain. At 6 am on Sunday, which is normally a peaceful and quite day, I awoke not to the sound of the roosters or even the familiar chime of my alarm clock but instead to a mild earthquake. The walls of my house were vibrating. Was a volcano erupting…what the heck was going on? Should I run for cover under a doorframe? There was no need to run for cover. The earthquake I was experiencing was no natural disaster, because the quaking was in fact emerging out of two 4x6 foot black speakers that rested tentatively on my front stoop. My stoop had morphed into the “DJ’s booth.” Except, this DJ didn’t take requests. Instead, he was playing the popular organ grinding, get down and party, birthday CD. How I dread the ubiquitous birthday remix CD, and even though I spend every morning listening to the CD, thanks to neighbors several houses away, normally I do not have to listen to the CD as my house quakes to the beat. To add to the effect, the DJ would make random announcements between song breaks. At 7:30am the bolo (drunk) on the corner even came over to make an announcement (although I couldn’t understand a bumbling word he said). By 7am a balloon tunnel had been built to the left of my front door, so that children and adults could pass underneath it’s ark as they walked into the backyard. So far, the scene was looking very convincing. It was identical to a typical piñata party. There were balloons, annoying squeaky music, soda and candy but one very important thing was missing from this scene: a birthday girl/boy. My neighbors do not have any kids…so what was going on? Well, as the children who passed under the golden ark of balloons soon discovered, this was no fiesta, oh no, it was vaccination day!! The music was being played at top volume to drown out the cries of the children in the backyard who had walked unexpectedly into a piñata party ruse. Instead, of taking a few whacks at a Strawberry Shortcake shaped piñata, the children got a shot in the behind. It’s a cruel, cruel world when children are deceived into believing a fiesta will take place and instead receive shots. I have noticed that fewer children frequent my house now, and I believe it is because they no longer trust my neighbor. The “fiesta” of shots ended at 3pm that same day. The curtain of mystery

I just started teaching English classes, because I have had numerous requests. I normally turn down people because they tend to be 20-year-old men who only want “classes” in order to be invited into my house and spend time with me. After weeding through all the requests, I picked out the people that truly want to learn and study. That being said, my first class was a rude awakening for my students, because I informed them that the class would be held ALL in English. This scared and intimidated them at first. They all have a basic background in the English language, as they studied English in school. I told them they should watch TV in English. The popular movie choice for everyone in Scarface and for music they enjoy a good Celin Dion classic. We discussed cowboys, and one of my students said, “And what about the cowchildren?” “The cow children,” I responded, “I am not quite sure I understand you.” Well, turns out my students thought cowboy only referred to older male cowboys and therefore the word cowchildren would refer to the kids. I set the record straight, and told them cowboy and cowgirl are all encompassing words and that the word cowchildren does not exist (at least to my knowledge). Another one of my students said, “I eat people.” “What??” I cried. I was a bit taken aback by this comment. Luckily, everyone in my class has a working knowledge of the Hannibal Lector movies, and I explained that eating people would make them a cannibal just like Hannibal Lector. They all understood this and realized that the phrase was missing a key word. My student meant to say, “I eat with people.” Of course, we all make mistakes and other times things are just lost in translation. My friends and I sitting in the top bleacher seats

No it’s no Idaho potato, mainly because it is not from Idaho and well, it’s no spud. But quite frankly, I have tired of eating rice and beans, day in and day out, and so yesterday I sought to expand my horizons while not emptying my wallet. I went to my local market and there it was in all its glory: Yucca (although when I order yucca I prefer to point to it because the word yucca is also a slang word for a certain part of the male anatomy). Sitting in a large straw basket on the side of the curb, with pigs and street dogs sniffing around but not bothering to even take a nibble; lay pounds and pounds of yucca. Well, the animals may not find it worthy of their sophisticated pallet, but gosh darn it I was hungry and I thought I would go for it. I told my local yucca vendor that I just wanted a little bit…she repeated, “Just a few cords then” and I said that would be fine. Two seconds later, I see her piling a ton of yucca into an unmarked thin black plastic bag, which would undoubtedly break on my way home from the market due to the heavy weight of its contents. For what looked and felt like, at least, a few pounds of yucca, I only forked over 2 cords…2 CORDS!! Now, that’s a steal of a deal. I double bagged my purchase (with a bag I had brought from home) because I have played this game before. A street vendor fills thin bag too full and then my bag breaks halfway between my house and the market. Inevitably, all of my neighbors find out what occurred and remark what a shame. Then they tell me not to worry. All I have to do is wash the produce that just fell into the black nasty street water and it will edible. That is just asking to get sick; the two-second rule just does not apply when food is dropped into street water. Anyway, I have learned from my past mistakes and sicknesses. Although, I had to make the same mistake about 4 times before I learned to bring another bag to create the sturdy double bag. Therefore, I started towards my house, hungry as could be, lunch approaching quickly, ready to throw that yucca into a boiling pot of water. Well, here’s another lesson learned, turns out yucca takes a good 30 to 60 minutes to cook through until it becomes soft and edible. My patience was tested, I was on the brink of just eating the yucca half cooked (but realized this was not a viable solution). So I waited it out. Finally, the yucca was ready! I served it up with some lentjas (lentals) and veggies and wada ya know, I had a guiso (stew), I devoured the sweet yucca goodness and determinedly decided that next time I wanted to cook yucca, I would be more prepared. The next day, I had a hankering for some more yucca, just like eating Pringles, “once you pop you just can’t stop”. However, I didn’t feel like waiting a full 30 to 60 minutes for the yucca to cook. I opted to go to the pre-cooked yucca vendor in town. Now, I had never purchased solely yucca from this woman, usually I buy the soup, only 25 cords, and the yucca comes in the soup. However, the yucca is cooked in a separate batch and is added to the soup mix after the soup is ordered. I just figured that I could purchase the yucca sin sopa (without soup). Turns out, that was a no go. Her voice echoed out, “No,” and an image of Seinfeld’s“soup Nazi” flashed into my head. I was refused flat out, “No Yucca for you.” The best pre-cooked yucca (in fact the ONLY pre-cooked yucca in town) and she wouldn’t sell it to me. I tried to reason, I said, “I will pay the same price I would pay for a bowl of soup.” However, with my bad Spanish I probably more likely sounded more like a caveman and said something that more closely resembles, “Soup good, uh yucca better, pay soup, give me yucca.” With my keen business sense, I tried to further reason with the vendor. I explained, once again using caveman jargon, that she would be making even more money off me because she would actually save soup. I was hoping it would come to papelografo (poster paper), but unfortunately my desperation set in and I whipped out a pre-prepped diagram of cost versus savings to demonstrate my point. Hey, no judgments, I’m a business volunteer and I draw diagrams in my sleep, it’s an innate characteristic (I also wear a pocket protector and carry around a TI-83). But her answer was the same, as she uttered a stout reply, “No.” No… no?? The same in Spanish and English, I understood perfectly, it just wasn’t going to happen and I should just throw in the towel. Faced with defeat, I walked away long faced, sad and whimpering like a puppy. On the verge of ETing (Early Termination from PC), because the soup lady denied me yucca, I was ready to pack my bags and jump the next flight out. Instead of leaving, I decided to opt for the second best option: Gallo Pinto (rice and beans). Yes, I walked down the block and bought myself some pre-cooked gallo pinto and ate it while wallowing in my own misery and sorrow. My tears of sadness served to salt my cuisine because I had failed to buy queso (a mistake I have only made once) in all this commotion and distraught. Spiderman and clown preforming acts that defy death

I must admit it has been getting increasingly hotter in Nicaragua, but yesterday I saw something that really made me think I must be living in an oven (which is what the local people call, Leon, the part of Nicaragua that I am living in). I got on a bus headed up North and sat down somewhere in the middle, to the right of me was a man carrying two live chickens in a bag. In front of me sat a mom trying to control her 3 kids and behind me sat a man in a cowboy hat. For the first time in a long while the bus wasn’t packed full had we all had our own seats, it was quite pleasant. As I was looking around observing, I noticed something rather odd, the bus driver and his helper were wearing oven mitts. Now to my knowledge we weren’t planning to bake a cake and Betty Crocker wasn’t anywhere in sight…so why the mitts? Apparently, the steering wheel to the bus, made of shiny metal, attracted the sun’s rays and thusly heated up to temperatures that warranted an oven mitt to be worn. Quick note, all of my fellow passengers were just as shocked as I was that two grown men were wearing oven mitts…all they were missing was an apron! My bat problem is back…now I think I have a whole family making a nest in the rafters of my roof, but a new friend has joined the gang: a giant rat. The rat skitters across my roof and it is the size of a cat too bad it’s a rat and not a cat. The classroom scene, at times, is really a sight to behold. It reminds me of the crazy hyperactive monkeys caged at the zoo mixed with a jailbreak scene from the movies. In the U.S., the worst classroom was simply a noisy classroom but here I have to be a firefighter, referee and teacher all rolled into one. In the past, I have seen fires started, flame balls thrown, kids standing on desks, kids throwing desks, kids throwing large objects, and finally kids tossing kids. However, usually I can handle it. Last week, I reached my breaking point and for the first time since I started teaching, I completely lost control of a class and I had to walk out mid-class instead of teaching. My counterpart was of no help because she was just yelling over all the kids who were also yelling. She kept shouting, “You are losing points, minus 10 points from your grade.” The only problem is that they are empty threats because all the students will pass. Therefore, the kids do not care about their grades! Threatening to lower a grade is not a motivating factor. The class culminated with a mini-fight breaking out between students. That is when I threw in the towel and gave up. I assigned homework and just walked out. I hope that next week will be better. El Rosario, where trash is turned into treasure...aka compost piles help cultivate plants

I came to the turn off, a long dusty dirty road, which leads out to one of my school. Normally, I traverse the road alone, which I enjoy doing. Occasionally, there is a 30-year-old guy that sells lottery who will wait for me to ride into town so that he can ride in with me asking me question after question. I try to avoid this man at all costs, as I find his haranguing annoying and I am sick of telling him, “No I do not want to date you.” Yesterday, was an unlucky day because my bike broke, giving him just enough time to catch up to me. He started with his usual bout of questions about sports teams (that I have never heard of) and as usual he moved onto his dream to live in the U.S. with me. Then he started talking about something weird, he wanted to know about the vitamin water that the USA allegedly provides to all of its citizens. Apparently, the water dripping from U.S. faucets is rich in all sorts of vitamins, which help us to become stronger, taller, and faster (sounds a bit to me like Brave New World). This guy wasn’t talking fiction, he was dead serious. He really thought that the U.S. had this “vitamin water.” I set the record straight (I think?) and told him that vitamin water didn’t exist, which sadden him just a little. More pics from my fieldtrip to El Rosario. This picture shows the actual compost pile.

It has been a good 15 years since I last took a fieldtrip, but a few weeks ago, I was able to experience the pleasantness of sitting on a bus full of passengers ready to go somewhere to see and do something! The first question I was asked when I sat next to my bus buddy was, “Where are we going?” I responded, “El Rosario, why where are you going?” She replied, “I’m just going where everyone else is going.” I told her, “Well then it looks like you are going to El Rosario.” This didn’t seem to disparage her in the least and she handed me a bag full of potato chips, which I gladly accepted and ate. However, there was a rhyme and reason for this fieldtrip. My town was going to another town (4 hours away) to observe their method for recycling garbage. My town has a trash pick-up service, but the service only collects everyone’s trash and then burns the trash in one big collective pile, versus individuals burning their own trash in their own individual piles. Therefore, this fieldtrip was an important step in getting the town’s people to see how composting trash is not only better for the environment, but can be turned into an actual business by selling the composted soil and plants. All of this was just fine and well but the trip to get to this other town was a trip I would rather not take daily (or even weekly for that matter). People were eager to go at 6am; each bus passenger ate a heaping plate of gallo pinto, queso, tortilla, crema and jugo for breakfast (and now I understood why my bus buddy had hopped on the fieldtrip bus). Next, there was a 4-hour ride to the town. We arrived to find that there were only two bathrooms available to 60 people (and oh yeah the water wasn’t working…do the math). We made it to the recycling plant and received 2 hours of interesting information, but it also happened to coincide with lunchtime. People were getting antsy and hungry. We all got back onto the bus and arrived at local restaurant for another huge meal of meat, rice, salad and fresco. Finally, the trip was ending and we were gearing up to drive back to our town in the big yellow school bus. One problem, the bus stopped working. We were served snacks and told to wait a few hours, while the bus was being repaired. Eventually, the bus was fixed and a fresh DVD was popped into the television, which was firmly welded into the front of the school bus. However, not everyone could agree on what to watch. What a conundrum. Half the bus wanted to watch Transporter 1 and 2 (that was my vote as well), while the other half of the bus wanted to watch soap operas (boring). It was a sticky situation but luckily Transporter 1 and 2 won out (thank goodness). My bus ride home involved watching a action packed movies, while the woman sitting next to me spit on the floor continuously while yelling loudly to her friends who sat a few seats away. With my feet surrounded by puddles of spittle and my mind deteriorating slowly from watching too many action movies back to back, we made it back into town at 8pm a mere 14 hours after we departed. It was a whirlwind day filled of valuable information for all. I left the bus feeling a little more informed as I took a sip from my jugo de manzana and a bite out of my sugar-coated piko. What a field trip, and I must say that it made me reminisce on the fieldtrips of my childhood (minus the gallo pinto). More composting fun...

The door-to-door salesman is alive and thriving. I remember hearing stories and even recall seeing old movies with door-to-door salesmen peddling their goods. However, where I grew up I was never solicited by a door-to-door salesman, sure the occasional girl scout would stop by and even charity organizations but never a true blue salesman (which was probably due to the anti-solicitation rules in my neighborhood). In Nicaragua, the salesman still exists and he stops by my house at least once a week (although other vendors stop by everyday). Today a man with a giant duffle bag stopped by my house trying to sell me every single item in the bad. It started with sheets, then towels, moving onto shampoo and creams, window curtains, dishes... It reminded me of Mary Poppins’ bottomless pit of a bag that she carried filled with floor lamps and other home furnishings. This salesperson had everything. He also said that I didn’t even have to pay for everything upfront that I could buy things on credit. I listened to his spiel and then politely declined. This guy was on a roll and he would not take no for an answer (and what salesman will?). He asked what I would buy that he could bring with him the following week! I replied that I couldn’t think of anything that I needed. With all the street vendors selling things, I don’t ever really have to leave my house (but I choose not to be a hermit and thus leave my house daily). Anoche (last night) I did purchase some lemon-scented floor cleaner from a man, which came in handy. Basically, I never know what products are going to pass by my front door…it’s like the home shopping network, except I don’t have to call up and order. Plants being grown at El Rosario...

¿Que Pasa? Scooby dobby doo where are you? Everyone loves that goofy dog (not to be confused with Goofy that other lovable cartoon dog…who to my knowledge does not fight ghosts, which is what distinctly differentiates the two characters). I have a plethora of Scooby Doo stickers, depicting Scooby fighting all sorts of ghouls and ghosts. When I grade papers, the best papers get a Scooby sticker and then those chosen students also get to read their papers in front of the class. It actually works pretty well because the sticker gives them a confidence boost…go Scooby!

The perils of cow patties: Following directly behind a cow herd is dangerous business, word to the wise: look down, not up! Cow paddies are not fun to step in…that is the last time I forget to watch where I walk.

Just buy a tire gage: This has happened numerous times to me…I board a micro bus and the driver gets out of the front of the vehicle to walk 360˚ degrees around the car…kicking each tire as he passes by…what is he doing? Well, he is checking the tire pressure before he sets off onto the road with 30 lives.

A reoccurring problem: When I walk around town, ride my bike around town, or if am just plain out in public chances are I will always be passed by a man on a motorcycle. Now this isn’t such a big deal, except in a machismo society the men always have to shout something in my direction, whether it’s a whistle, or a long drawn out Cheeeeeeelita…doesn’t matter…the fact is they cannot let me pass without commenting. But motorcycle men seem to have a little trouble multi-tasking because 6 out of 10 times, they will be yelling something in my direction and forget that they are driving…and then they stall out! One minute they are yelling at me and the next minute they are stuck in the middle of the street going nowhere because they stalled their vehicle!Another saint being carried through the streets Jesus having a bad hair day. When I have a bad hair day I wear a hat...just a suggestion, Jesus.

1 kilometro (most aptly named for reasons which I will elaborate on): I attended yet another wake. This time, however, I did know it was a wake. Therefore, I ask an essential question: How long are we going to be at the wake? The response: “Only a few hours.” Ok, I thought I could deal with a few hours, no big deal, right? Wrong. Well, I neglected to ask another important question: How far away/where is the wake located? If I had asked this question ahead of time, I most defiantly would not have attended but because I forgot to ask this question I got sucked into one wild ride. I got into a small, low ridding compact car (this time I didn’t have to sit on anyone’s lap, which was a plus). We started driving down the highway, so far so good, and then I realized that the driver and all the passengers did not know where the wake was located. So we pulled over, but everyone was too shy to ask for directions. Then they decided to call a relative of the dearly departed, to ask for directions, well this proved futile as well because the person they called was too distraught to accurately explain where the house was located. So we proceeded forward based on an assumption that the house was located by a “bridge.” Now, I suppose this wouldn’t be too bad if there weren’t about a half a dozen bridges located along the highway. So like the ball in a pinball machine, we bounced back and forth between two bridges, we would reach 1 bridge, look around for some kind of “turn-off” and then pull a u-turn on the highway to proceed to the previous bridge (that we had already visited). This went on for the good part of an hour, back and forth, another u-turn, another u-turn, back and forth. By this time, I knew that I should never have agreed to come, and that it was going to be a loooooonnnnnnnnggggggggg night (not to mention I had to bike about 30k at 7am the next morning). FINALLY, we found the turn off, only to realize that the vehicle we were in was not going to be able to off-road the bumpy, rocky road. “But don’t worry Brie,” that’s what the family told me followed by,” It’s only 1 kilometro”…so the car can make it…right? Wrong again. We started off on the “side road” bottoming out the car over and over again (my face cringing at the sound of metal coming into contact with hard stone). About 30 minutes into this off road’in experience everyone realized that it is a lot further then 1 kilometro. So the driver parked the car at a finca (farm), and we all started to walk, because they didn’t want to damage the car further. After a 20 minute walk, we arrived just in time to hear the screams of a pig being killed and mangos falling from a massive tree onto the unsuspecting heads of mourners below. “Is this some kind of sign?...Maybe I shouldn’t be here,” I thought. But the fact was, I had finally arrived and I wasn’t going to be able to leave for at least a few hours. So we un-stacked our white plastic chairs, took a cup of instant coffee that is a customary offering at wakes, along with a piece of white bread (also customary). And we sat down to join the other 70 mourners, who were all gossiping, laughing, crying, and hitting upon every emotion in-between. Fast forward 30 minutes and all of a sudden a person walked by me holding a pig’s head, about four inches from my right arm. My stomach turned, I shouldn’t have had that instant coffee. But it was too late, and I had to avert my eyes away quickly. Luckily, on the other side of me a bucket full of pig parts was passing by…I was surrounded. Around midnight we made that trek back to the car, it was now pitch black, the blackness encompassed us, and the stars shone bright overhead. We had one flash light and we walked carefully down the steep path…I was in front of the group trying to pick up the pace (keep going everyone!). Then my friend, who I was walking with elbow to elbow, lets out a shriek, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. I shone the flashlight in the direction of the movement, and there was a poor little iguana (more frightened of us I am sure) and I think to myself, RUN little guy or you will most surely be caught and eaten in a soup. My friend started screaming even louder, and as I tried to quite her down the iguana escaped into the trees. We found the car where we left it, got back in, bottomed out a few more times, made it onto the highway, and drove home.

Another sawdust painting in the streets Quick bike story: I was out exercising on my bike, when the chain fell off…no problem….I have a lot of practice fixing my bike, so I flipped that puppy over and started to fix’er up. Well, a group of people on bikes came along and saw me…and took pity. They asked if I need helped, and I said nope, I am just fine. Well, they didn’t believe me…sadly. Because the next thing I know, the leader of the group had taken out his machete and asked me to move aside (I complied immediately…I don’t mess with machetes). The man started to machete my bike chain. In my head I was screaming: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO NO NO NO…don’t take a machete to my bike it has been through enough trauma. But he kept going (I felt like crying but the tears just weren’t coming). He “fixed” my bike aka did a lot more harm than good…but his intentions were good. Then the group insisted I ride back into town because they didn’t trust that my bike would stay “fixed” (and I thought it would probably completely fall apart at any minute due to the machete incident). So there I was riding up hills and pedaling on flat road in the easiest gear (my legs spinning out of control) riding back into town. I guess in the end I did get my exercise, but now my poor bike is really bent out of shape.

El Flaco translates into: thin, skinny, scrawny...Hog Dot translates into: ?? Don´t worry, I didn´t purchase a Hog Dot

I attended Semana Santa (Holy Week) this past week…and well here is a brief synopsis (followed by some pictures): On Good Friday, I went to a barrio in la cuidad de León (the city of Leon) where people assembled sawdust paintings in the street (all depicting various religious scenes). There were food vendors lining the streets selling chicken tacos, carne, and fresco. The paintings were brilliant colors and stood out strongly against the blacktop background. Everyone assembled into two lines and walked nearby the edges of the different paintings, taking photos and observing the various scenes. The paintings stretched for blocks and blocks. After everyone had viewed the painting they were stomped out by a precession holding candles and life-size saint statues. Mixed in with the saint statues was none other than Jesus, who had a day glow shine to his face and a women’s brown curly wig adorning is head. I observed that the saints and Jesus were being slowly rocked or swayed back and forth by the groups of teenagers carrying each statue. I thought this was strange and concluded that the statues must be rather heavy and this smooth motion made it easier for carrying the statues. However, this theory was stomped out when I heard a strange sound emanating from the back of the procession. It was a roaring sound, like a motor of a car. I looked over the heads of the montón de gente (a lot of people) and realized that coming up in the rear was a generator. I proceeded to look a little more closely at Jesus and his companions, and realized that underneath their separate pedestals ran meters and meters of extension cords, which all eventually ran into the generator. Therefore, the swaying motion was also an effort to keep the wires securely attached…to give the saints their saintly glow. As for Jesus’ wig, I would recommend they put a hat on him for next year’s parade.

Yes, those are actual children and not mechanical dolls

Sawdust painting that I felt was very whimsical

¿Que Pasa? SShhhhhhhhhhh: Lately, I find myself in hiding from unwanted visitors aka creepy guys. They will yell into my house “Americana, Americana, Americana” and I will remain silent.

El dia de la mujer: I was awakened at 4am this morning to celebrate “Day of the Woman.” Now, if they really wanted to pay homage to the mujer (woman), they should let her sleep-in instead of waking her up at 4 with an annoying message of: “Attention, Attention, Much Attention: Happy Day of the Woman.” This is the message I heard blasting out of 4 large stereo speakers piled high in the back of a pickup truck that was playing and replaying the message up and down the streets (and I must reiterate at 4 IN THE MORNING).

More pancakes please: People just love pancakes! I had a pancake party last weekend and another one this morning. My neighbors are even talking about potentially selling pancakes in the central market (don’t worry, it won’t really happen).

The power of the cell phone: I see a lot of expensive cell phones around town, which always surprises me. Anyway, people own the MP3-player-cell-phone-combo, and insist on playing their music out of their cell phones so that everyone can hear. I question, why make everyone on the bus listen to music from really bad cell phone speakers…just buy some headphones…please!

My bike is the source of joy and pain: Because, while it enables me to get around town quickly it also breaks down a whole heck of a lot. And of course, last Wednesday was no different. My bike broke in the middle of no-man’s-land and I was forced to walk at high noon. I felt like Laurence, from Laurence of Arabia, walking through the desert wasteland (of course, minus the make-up that he wears in the movie…and why is he wearing mascara in the desert anyway?). The sun beat down hard and the air was thick with heat. I went through 2 nalgene bottles worth of water within an hour’s time. I finally arrived at a village where a kid named Nelson helped me repair my bike. Then I road on and taught class.

Making a quick getaway: I went out for a bike ride to get some exercise/escape, and was joined by a group of people. They were asking me all sorts of questions about American baseball teams (and I don’t know anything about baseball). So the conversation went like this, “Do you know where the “insert baseball team name here” are from?” My reply, “Nope.” This conversation went on for about 12k or mas o menos una hora (or more or less 1 hour).

Mini conversation excerpt: “My name is Carlos, you know that is Charlie in English” “Hey what is your name in Spanish?” “What do you mean; Brie doesn’t have a Spanish equivalent?” “My sister’s name is Darling, what is that in English” “Hey speak some English”…….My response (in English) “Hey”

In search of Brigs Jhonson (even the spell checker on my computer recognizes this spelling of my name as incorrect and therefore has accordingly underlined it in red squiggly line): I believe it was Shakespeare that said “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” But I feel it’s rather apparent that Shakespeare never tried to assimilate into a new culture, learn a new language and simultaneously live with the pseudo name Brigs. What’s in a name? A lot. Maybe I could suggest that the local folk start calling me Lolita (but this opens a whole other Pandora ’s Box). So for now, and for the remainder of my service, I will be known as Brigs. Running down the side of cerro negroWell I guess there is a first time for everything, and I should have seen this one coming, but I didn’t. So what happened exactly? I went on a date, not knowing it was a “date.” In fact, I thought I was going dancing with a big group of people, but it seems like they had something else in mind. I ended up, awkwardly, going to a local restaurant with only 1 other person…”my date?” Of course, my students work at this local restaurant, and therefore within 2 minutes it was all around town…that I was out with this guy who lives down the street from my house. Now, 10 minutes into the impromptu date, the guy asked if I would be his girlfriend…this is a guy I JUST met…heck, I don’t even know his last 4 names yet . Then I quickly learned that he had been stalking me. That’s right, he starts talking about the time when I was riding on my bike with this person or that person…it seemed like he had been watching me for some time (from afar)…which I suppose isn’t that hard to do because I do stick out. Well, I put up with his questions …then…we went to the local dance club (aka outdoor cement covered courtyard and pronounced “CLOOB,” also rhymes with boob). Finally, we met up with the rest of the group (the same group that ditched me earlier). We danced the night away and of course I was caught on camera doing some kind of gawky robot/trance dance. The disco was then shut down early due to “lena” or fighting (turns out some guy was caught looking at someone else’s girlfriend and so that guy had to punch the first guy to defend his girlfriends honor…or something like that). Oh yeah, I told the guy I couldn’t be his girlfriend because I don’t know him well enough…but I am thinking it’s about time the American “boyfriend” comes back into the picture…otherwise things just seem to get too hectic.

Ever stand in line at the ATM for 1 hour and 30 minutes? I have. It’s not too fun. What causes such a line at the ATM…well, it’s a combo of things: first, people don’t know how to use an ATM quickly (because they are not familiar with the technology), also the ATMs run out of money, which forces everyone to wait for a money refill. I was on my last 10 cords…aka 50 cents…so I needed some cash fast, and therefore I was forced to wait in an insanely long line.

On the bus again (the story of my life), some guy sat next to me and insisted on reading over my shoulder. I had my book out and was enjoying passing the time reading until the man next to me started reading random English words that were printed on the page. He said such things as, “Fish, Man, Mountain, Dog.” He couldn’t read a complete sentence but had no problem reading single words. I tried to reposition my book, so that he couldn’t read out loud from it, but I finally just gave up and decided to take a nap instead. That didn’t detour him at all because the “Hot Stuff” song came on and in a high off pitched tenor…he decided to sing to me…and all I thought was: GET ME OFF THIS BUS!

Proof that my students call me Brigs...

Last night I learned a valuable lesson…always ask “how long is this going to last” (and always remember Nicaragua has different traditions and customs). I got myself roped into a commitment. The commitment in question: I agreed to go pay my respects to the dearly departed grandmother of one of my friends. We (my neighbors and I) were all going to leave around 7pm as a group. I didn’t question how long we were going to be, because I thought that might be rude (Mistake numbero uno, I should have asked). I was sitting in the back of a low riding Toyota pick-up, dust kicked up all around us, rolling through mud, over rocks, through rivers…and finally we arrived. That’s when I realized something was amiss; because people were all seated in white plastic chairs outside of the departed’s house…it was a wake. A WAKE! That meant we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. These people had been sitting in their chairs for hours and I was soon to join them. I walk into a small room jammed with chairs and people sipping coffee (coffee at 8pm…that was another sign I was going to be hanging out for a while). Then in a corner, I spot grandma, she is laid out in a coffin, and our group decides to sit 3 feet away. What, I would think, should be a solemn moment of commemoration turned into an all out gossip fest…here are a few excerpts from the conversation throughout the night:

“Brie has really nice fingernails, it’s because she wears gloves when she cleans her plates or does her laundry”

“There should be more food here, I’m hungry”

“Brie is very tall, much taller than the last volunteer we had”

“I could really go for some fried chicken right now”

“Brie’s hair is naturally that color, she doesn’t dye it”

“Let’s go look for food” -by this time it’s about 11pm

“Brie isn’t wearing any makeup and look at how blue her eyes are”

“I could really go for some fried plantains”

Six hours later, we finally left. I was exhausted (by the conversation and the sitting). My conclusion, wakes aren’t fun (and yes, I realize they probably shouldn’t be “fun”), but sitting and waiting for hours and hours while the deceased person is in a coffin only several feet while we converse about fashion, food, and pretty much every topic imaginable except for the deceased. It was tiring (the person being remembered should be glad that they’ve passed on and don’t have to sit and be bored).

Way out in the middle of nowhere, I was riding home from a long day of teaching, with my music blasting, I was riding determinedly towards home. I heard some guys shouting at me, which is normal, and I was resolute to ignoring them, but for some reason I looked up and made eye contact. And who did I see, it was non-other than my neighbor with 4 of his chavalo friends and they were all hanging out of trees, just like monkeys. I skidded my bike to a halt, out of surprise and curiosity. What were these guys doing way out here? Well, they were ahuntin’ iguana. They were hunting with rocks, that were thrown at the poor helpless animals and knocking them out of their trees onto the ground (about 30 feet below). The boys (all in their 20’s) were hanging out of trees, that were twisting and turning every which way, and to my keen eye did not look very sturdy or steady. No matter, because the boys wanted to make iguana soup. They killed 2 large iguanas (1 luckily escaped). I almost got hit in the head by one of the rocks that the boys were throwing haphazardly into the trees at their targets, the iguanas. Later we were all picked up in a truck, which was the only reason I decided to stay with the boys…a ride home (it was really hot that day)! The boys told me the iguanas have all sorts of vitamins in them, but when I asked what kind of vitamins they replied “Quién sabe” (who knows). Apparently, iguana is really good for kids too. The next day, the boys were cooking up their iguana soup and asked if I wanted a taste…I replied NO WAY! End of story.

I remember packing for Peace Corps and being freaked out that I was packing too much, I wondered if other volunteers would be bringing as much stuff as me? Would I will I even be able to carry everything? Luckily, my fears were quelled the moment I arrived in D.C. and saw other volunteers struggling with all of their bags…I fit right in (In the end I brought 3 bags total: 1 hiking backpack that can hold up to 50lbs, 1 backpack and a duffle bag on wheels!). Also, I would suggest future volunteers to email current volunteers with any of their questions or concerns (I know I love getting email!) Ok, on to the list of stuff I brought:

1. Laptop (filled full with my favorite movies, tv shows, music, yoga-video podcasts and Spanish podcasts). What I use it for now: I enjoy typing emails ahead of time on my laptop and completing my work reports on my laptop (due every 4 months) in the comfort of my house (instead of at the internet café). My suggestion, if you own a laptop you might as well bring it! Finally, make sure you have a good anti-virus program on your computer, because you will be transferring viruses onto your computer if you use your flash drive at the internet café and then later plug it into your personal computer.

2. Laptop cooling fan pad and laptop sleeve/cover (Many volunteers don’t have a cooling fan, but I have found that in the heat it just helps. The sleeve/cover is great to keep the dust off of your computer during the hot season).

3. Surge protector /power strip (also, there is no need to bring any kind of power converter because the electricity wattage in Nicaragua is equal to the wattage used in the U.S.)

4. Flash drive (2g or larger)

5. I-pod/mp3 player

6. Mini Speakers to connect to laptop and/or ipod

7. 1 book vs. numerous books (the Peace Corps has a library filled of fiction/non-fiction books from current and past volunteers. Also, the Peace Corps provides volunteers with a great Spanish dictionary, verb conjugation book and grammar book. Plus, during training (the first 3 months) you won’t have a lot of time to read! Remember, your favorite books can always be mailed to you, and generally speaking packages make it through in 2 weeks.

8. Regular backpack (for weekend trips)

9. Old cell phone that is unlocked (new cell phones can be purchased in country for as cheap as $15, but if you have an unlocked old cell phone that you like… it can save you some money because you can just purchase a new “chip” for the phone that will run about $5). The cell phone system in Nicaragua is pay as you go (in other words, you purchase your minutes ahead of time).

10. Minimum clothing and shampoo/conditioner/soap/bath products (as used American clothing can be purchased in country as well as American brand shampoo/soap etc. or these things can be shipped through at a later time). However, you might not have time during training to go out and purchase these items…if you have a higher Spanish level, you will have extra time on your hands…otherwise bring what you think you’ll need for 3 months!

11. Headlamp (used for night reading and cooking dinner or even bathing when there is no electricity…replacement batteries can be purchased in country).

12. Shoes! I brought along 1 pair of running shoes, 1 pair of flip flops, 2 pairs of closed toe flats (which were easy to pack, 1 pair in beige and the other pair in black). Flip flops can be purchased in country for 30 cords ($1.50ish) but I have had a hard time “quality” shoes…so I would recommend bringing what you think you’ll wear for 2 years (I have purchased used American clothing to replace clothing that has worn out, but I have not purchased any new shoes…nor will I…because the quality is just not there…aka cheap material=blisters)

13. 1 towel and 1 wash cloth (towels can also be purchased in country but they are super thin towels…so if you want something “fluffy” bring it from the USA).

14. My definition of business casual= I wear either a dress or a nice pair of jeans (aka no holes) with a (thin cotton) short sleeved shirt

15. Sunglasses and a hat…it’s hot and sunny…when traveling via bus I always like to keep my face covered from the rays!

16. Meds: Peace Corps gives you a “med kit” filled with aspirin, Band-Aids, suntan lotion, bug spray, etc. etc. (so there is no need to pack that kind of stuff)

17. Sheets and pillows will be provided to you during training (by your host family) and after training you can purchase these things in country (I found used American sheets for C$150 cords total or Nica sheets (aka 150 thread count) sell for C$ 250 cords). Pillows go for around C$100 cords.

18. Cooking stuff such as a non-stick pan, measuring cups, garlic crusher etc. etc. can also be found in country…just be prepared to pay American prices for these items!

Local shop where I buy cheese and other good stuff. Que Pasa? Frogger: I have a frog that changes colors living outside in my washbasin…I just hope I don’t bleach him by mistake one day, because mistakes do happen. Play that funky beat: I love when I walk into a business establishment, for example the local internet café or a local restaurant, the owner sees me enter and simultaneously disappears into a back room, and then moments later I hear the melodies of Elton John or Billy Joel being played through the overhead speakers… “Polvo” (“Dust”)=Dirt=Extensive Cleaning: It is becoming increasingly dusty lately, as it heats up everything is turning brown and the dust is being kicked up. Not fun. Low electrical lines: In front of my house there are electrical lines running everywhere, and they are hung rather low. A week ago, I witnessed a large truck drive up my street, recognize that the lines were hung low, but they preceded forward anyway…meanwhile the truck’s passenger, climbed out of the window and got on-top of the truck. As they approached the wires, he lifted them over the truck one at a time. How did he know they weren’t live wires? The answer: He didn’t, but he risked it anyway because who wants to go through the hassle of reversing a vehicle. Eskimo: The ice cream vendor starts selling ice cream around 9am…should I really be eating an ice cream sandwich for breakfast? My heart will go on…make it stop: A street vendor stopped by my front door, trying to get me to buy rat poison, which I didn’t need. I told him no thank you, but this didn’t squelch his spirit and he started serenading me in English…Celine Dion’s ever so popular, “My heart will go On.” I finally found out why this song is so popular…turns out that in English class, the kids “study” the song lyrics. La gata “the cat”: Yet another nickname, because of my blue eyes people also call me “the cat”…because apparently cats have clear eyes…does this also mean that I have 9 lives? …eat mice? ...have hairballs? Bike problems (the ongoing saga): My bike broke down yet again, and this time it was really really broken. I couldn’t even walk it back into town because everything was out of alignment, so I reached for a rock and banged and banged on my bike (no this was not an act of rage or frustration) I was repairing it…and guess what, it actually worked…wait to go caveman tool! Food dishes that are scrumptiously delicious: I ate a “potato fried thing” yesterday that reminded me of McDonalds’ breakfast hash browns except for one difference, my hash brown was filled with beans and rice but no toy…top that McDonalds! 2.3 pounds of fabric please: I went to the fabric store to get a new table cloth and learned that instead of selling the fabric by the yard the store sold fabric by the pound…I just found this interesting… Water and electricity out again: This past week I was without water and lights, but around midnight yesterday I was awakened by the drip drip drop of trickling water. I rushed outside to start filling up buckets. Then I started to rinse out dirty laundry that had been sitting in a soapy tub of water for over a week. I was soaking my undergarments in a bucket and decided to start cleaning the bathroom as well (because I thought there was a good chance that there might not be water again in the morning). Without thinking I dumped the bucket with my undergarments out into my wash tub, and filled the bucket up again to wash out the toilet (side note: my toilet doesn’t flush automatically and therefore I have to dump a bucket of water down it to flush it…or in this case to clean it). Well, I didn’t know it at the time, but I accidently left a pair of underwear in the bucket and then proceeded to dump the water in the toilet. Thus, washing away a clean pair of undies…but thank goodness not clogging the toilet…Whoops.

This restaurante makes home made yogurt and bread...what a treat...the only catch is I have to travel 3 hours by bus to get to it!

I took a quick trip up North to enjoy some cooler weather and stop by the bank (as my town is not equipped with a bank). On the bus ride home a woman in the front decided to “get her flirt on” with the bus driver. Here we all are going around tight curves in the road, while this woman gets right up in the driver’s face to make “kissy lips” at him. He is laughing, having a grand old time. I am on the verge of tears thinking that this is quite possibly the last bus ride I will ever take…because we are barreling down the road without an attentive driver. I did make it back in one piece, but not without having many close calls along the way almost hitting: a cow herd, an oncoming car, the side of a bridge, and a horse. I just wish people would save the googlely eyes for later…when perhaps the bus driver is not occupied with DRIVING! While waiting for the bus, I was approached by a really friendly lady who told me she lives in Dario, Matagalpa, Nicaragua. Then she proceeded to talk about Ruben Dario, a Nicaraguan poet. I don’t know about other volunteers, but the first time I heard about this guys was when I stepped foot in Nicaragua. But he is a huge source of national pride and EVERYBODY knows his name and history. Some people can even recite a poem on the spot. This woman, from the town of Dario, knew a whole heck of a lot about the poet and she decided to impart her knowledge upon me. Waiting for the bus, I had no choice but to sit and listen. About 30 minutes later I spotted a bus speeding down the road, and I took this opportunity to jump up and run (not that it wasn’t interesting…but I have heard the “history” so many times…that I have heard enough!) Alas, the bus was not going to my town, and therefore I had to sit back down and listen to another hour of facts/poems/etc etc. about Ruben! This is what I learned from her (and I am not sure if this is actually historically accurate): He was a drunk who only studied 3 years then married a Spaniard and finally went on and to become a poetic genius. Jiminy Cricket, was all cute and smiley in the classic Disney movie Pinocchio, whistling away as the unfortunate pathological liar of a puppet got himself into deeper and deeper trouble. However, I have found that the cricket whistle is not music to my ears, and I have never uttered the words “give a little whistle.” In fact just the opposite, I have been squashing a few here and there but it doesn’t even seem to make a dent in their population and infestation in my house. The bugs and their nonstop chirping have infiltrated and taken over my bedroom. They are in my roof between the tiles, under and on top of my bed, in my shoes, and well, it seems they are just about everywhere. On the bright side, the cockroach and mouse population has been drastically diminished. Also, my clothes are no longer moldy. In fact, they dry in 5 minutes flat after I put them on the barbed wire line.

The road that leads into and out of my town (this pic was taken while I was waiting for the 5am bus to roll in)

This week marked the first week of school, and what a headache. I went around begging and pleading for the principals to get the class started. I will briefly explain the craziness of school scheduling: Teachers gather in a big room and on the chalkboard there is a giant grid that includes all the days of the week and the different time sessions for school. Next, teachers start marking off what classes they are teaching, what grades, etc. etc. When all of this is finally worked out …they throw it away…and start anew…yes that’s right, they do it all again…this goes on for weeks and weeks. As if for not, the schedule is re-scheduled and all of this creates confusion and disorganization. Teachers don’t like it …but that’s just how it is. I have been on a lot of crazy bus rides, and recently I went on another crazy ride. I loaded onto a microbus (aka a mini-van) and it started out that everyone had a seat (15 people total)…then we started driving towards our destination and picking up more people…20 people, 23 people, a family of 5 jumped on increasing the total to 28…30 people AHHHHHHH!! It got to the point that there were so many people in this thing that the sliding van door…WOULD NOT CLOSE…people were hanging out the side of a MINI-VAN going 50mph. Naturally, there were a lot of profanities floating through my head during this ride… To my dismay, I hopped the “slow bus” yesterday, unknowingly, which turned the usual 45 minute ride into a 1 hour and 45 minute experience. The bus crept along at a snail’s pace all the way to my school. When I finally reached the school, I had 5 minutes to slam down my lunch and then teach class. I went into the classroom as the students were all standing in the quad receiving announcements from the principal. About 10 minutes later a rush of students bombarded my classroom. Like a school of salmon swimming upstream, the students pushed through the classroom door. More and more students continued to flow in and I looked around thinking…how can we possibly fit any more people in this room? Turns out we fit 90 students in a classroom built for 30. The desks were arranged side by side all the way up to the chalkboard. I was only able to walk in front of the class if I took steps sideways. Nobody could stand up because they were all trapped in their desks, yet class went on and in the end it went well (all things considered). There were some great ideas generated, but the classroom environment was not very conducive to active learning, but we all dealt with it because we had no choice.

Another shop that I purchase stuff at!

The school year is back in full swing, and I am teaching a full load. I bike ride everyday to get from school to school, and in this heat it’s a tough ride. I think the kids are glad to be back in school and I am happy to be working with them all again. So far, so good, things are getting done and school hasn’t been canceled too much (but only 3 weeks into the school year and I have already had some of my classes canceled). It’s rough when class is canceled because then the next class feels really rushed, we have a lot of material to cover and we have to get through it all…so I act a bit like a drill sergeant…to get things done. I really want all my kids to be able to compete in the competitions at the end of the school year, which means putting in a lot of work now (but the payoff in the end is worth it and it’s a huge motivator). The class is the same course I taught the previous year, a business course, where students learn about small business owners, stocks, market studies, business planning etc. and create their own products and businesses. At the end of the year they can enter their Business Plan and product in a total of 3 ascending competitions (with prizes) to compete against other Nicaraguan students all over the country. In the end, the most creative product takes the grand prize (the kids love competition…and so do all of my co-teachers). So a few weeks ago an Evangelical church moved into the neighborhood. They started zapping everyone’s electricity because they were plugging in their ridiculously large speaker system and singing at the top of their lungs. Well, I am happy to report that they have been kicked out and moved to another location (where they will most likely be kicked out of as well). Everyone around me started to complain about the noise, which is a big deal because Nicaragua is a “load/noisy” country…so if my Nica neighbors are complaining about noise it must be bad. Also, everyone was upset by the fact that “se fue la luz” (“no lights/electricity”) whenever the church group plugged in the big speakers. Their celebrations would often last until 10 or 11 at night (and they started at a cool 4pm in the afternoon). Imagine, 6 to 7 hours of really loud annoying music. I recently struck up a conversation on a bus with a 40 something year old musician that travels around Nicaragua playing at different venues. He was curious what I was doing in Nicaragua and I told him that I was a Peace Corps volunteer. He was familiar with the name of the organization and I explained to him that I worked in the schools teaching a business course. He then proceeded to tell me that he would like to travel to other countries to branch out his music career. And then he struck me with a question, “Can I drop my kids off at the Peace Corps office so that you guys can watch them until I get back, they are old enough anyway to be on their own.” I looked at him with a quizzical eye and responded, “Well, Peace Corps doesn’t really work that way.” He seemed confused, he restated his question and then added, “You guys are teachers and look after kids in school, so why not just watch my kids after school too.” I knew he would never quite grasp the Peace Corps mission and I resorted to changing the subject until I could disembark the bus (this tactic actually worked).

These are my new curtains...beautiful!

Que Pasa?

Tub of lard: I hadn’t seen one of my counterparts for a while, but yesterday we got together to do some lesson planning for the new school year. The first thing she says to me , “Gordita (translation=fatto) how much do you weigh now?” I laughed it off, don’t worry I take everything with a grain of salt. But she just couldn’t let it go, she kept insisting that I had to of gained weight, which I haven’t, but finally I gave in and just said “como, no” (of course).

Regalos Regalos (aka recent gifts): My neighbor made me curtains for my house; she picked out the fabric herself and sewed them together by hand. Now when the sun shines through my one and only window, my house lights up in an orange glow.

Why won’t that ship just stay sunk?: Titanic the movie AND soundtrack have been playing continuously, non-stop, there must not be a pause button on my neighbor’s DVD player, forget about Jack somebody save me, and who took the time to translate the song “My heart must go on” into Spanish…am I rambling?? I apologize, but after hearing Titanic playing for the umpteenth million time, I think I have finally lost it…

“The money is in the banana stand” - Arrested Development: In Nicaragua, a popular treat is a frozen banana dipped in chocolate. It is called: Chaco Banano. After months of gaining confianza (trust), I now have an in with the neighborhood chaco banano vendor, and I get them for free…delicious, delightful, delectable…I have built this treat up a little too much, it’s no Crème Brule, but it’s as close as I’m going to get.

Band Practice: First of all, I would just like to state that I am a propionate of band practice…because practice makes perfecto. Also, because my parents had to put up with my flute playing for years and years until I mastered my craft (their poor ears). However, I do not support the right to just blow away on any old instrument, without any regard for tone. That being said, my neighbor just got a new trumpet, and he feels it’s his right to just blow the heck out of that thing morning, noon and night. My only sugerencia (suggestion) is that the sound of an instrument should never be mistaken for the sound a dying animal makes. So this is my last plea to the little boy across the street, “Kido, you have tuned the C long enough, and guess what, it’s still flat…maybe you should take up a new hobby (something that doesn’t involve noise).”

I arose at 6am one morning, in anticipation of catching a big Expresso bus to Managua. I am standing on the side of the road peering into oncoming traffic, wishing the cars and buses would all just go a tad bit slower, as my retinas do not have time to register the destination clearly printed on top of each bus passing my way when they are cruising at a casual speed of 100kph. What’s the point of even printing the route on the bus, if one cannot read it unless their name is Superman? So to truncate my effort I flag down almost every bus…only to flag them away with a stern “no” headshake when I realize their final destination lands elsewhere other than Managua. Finally, a bus to Managua arrives and I jump on, only to find out that it is “standing room only” and I still have 2 hours to go…but I’ve learned to take what I can get…and so I board, no use in being picky. I wondered why the bus was called an Expresso, and I found out soon enough. Like a high speed Hollywood car chase scene, I was suddenly staring in my own version of Speed (of course minus the fabulously handsome and always comic Keanu Reeves). Hopefully, the fact that I enjoy a good Keanu Reeves flick doesn’t discredit my own character; judge me not by my movie selection. But I like Keanu, not only for his acting ability (or arguably his lack there of), but simply because he looks good doing whatever he is trying to do…no he’s not a classically trained actor, but if the part calls for someone to deliver a line in a monotonous fashion, then Keanu’s perfect for the part. Alright, enough about my Keanu crush…back to my real life version of Speed. However, if Keanu was on my bus he would of probably uttered the line. ”We can’t drop this bus below 40mph,” undoubtedly in a lifeless tone. The bus I was riding was abiding firmly by this rule; in fact it was going even faster than necessary. Not only did we not drop below 40mph (remember I am riding in a giant yellow school bus) but the big bus also felt the need to pass every car, truck, and big bus in sight. At one point, we were passing another yellow bus and the passengers on that bus were pointing at our bus …yelling…warning us not to pass…because quite clearly there was another micro bus headed our direction in the “passing lane” and we were bound on a collision course. Oh well, we went for it…and by “we” I really mean to say the idiot bus driver that 150 people had trusted their lives to…reckless…yes…exciting…not in the least. I have learned to look the other way and just hope the accelerator kicks in soon. We cleared the other big bus with seconds to spare…and I made it to Managua in remarkable time…and that’s why it’s called an Expresso.

Whenever/wherever (no I’m not talking about the Shakira song) I travel in Nicaragua I always bring along my best friend…Saco (pronounced “sack-o” and which translates directly to mean sack). Saco is compact, reliable, and the perfect accessory for any trip. When I went back to the States for Christmas, Saco came with me…I forgot that in the U.S.A. people don’t use Sacos and therefore my Saco elicited some stares…were they envious of my fashion forward style sense? Just maybe. Saco, used to be a flour bag in a previous life, but now it has been converted into an over the shoulder satchel. I like saco for another reason, it blends in. I haven’t had anything stolen yet (knock on wood). If I stored my belongings in an incongruous sack, I might be setting myself up for theft so instead I opt for the reliable and dependable saco. That way, it doesn’t stick out from the rest of the bus cargo. Also, saco only costs 5 cordobas…cheeeeap! Saco only has one shortcoming…sometimes saco unravels in very inconvenient places. I have overcome this defect by simply doubling up on sacos…problem solved…however it took me one very unpleasant unraveling experience to learn that I should double up. There I was on the streets of Managua caring hoards of books in my saco (yes I readily admit that I packed saco too full…my mistake). Suddenly, I heard a funny crinkle sound (later I realized it was the sound of plastic threads unraveling) and then snap…the handle broke. I was 5 minutes away from the bus stop and so I sucked it up, instead of heading somewhere to buy another saco, I just forged ahead. In my two arms I was carrying a heavy load (this experience also reawakened my weight training routine). I boar the heavy load all the way back to my house (3 hours and 30 minutes away, most of which was on a bus therefore I wasn’t carrying saco in my arms this entire time). Since this experience, I have started weightlifting my gatoraid bottles filled with rocks (approxamility 5lbs. each) and I have purchased another saco!

Once in a while I need to get away from the constant stares and just escape from my town. Everyone means well, but I have little privacy and that can be wearing, at times. When I want to get away, I usually ride my bike out around the farms that surround my town. It’s just an hour circle around town but it’s enough to escape! Yesterday, I put my headphones on and blasted some Justin Timberlake “Sexyback”, and was looking forward to my peaceful ride. I was 10 minutes outside of town when I was approached by several other bike riders…going my way. Not wanting to be rude, I took off my headphones (paused “Sexyback”) and started up a quick casual conversation, meanwhile I was focused on passing this group and riding ahead at a faster pace. I said my hellos and goodbyes, then attempted to ride off fast…but it was to no avail…they all followed me…wanting to participate in my daily ritual called ejercio (exercise). So now, I permanently removed my headphones and was thus bombarded by questions from the group of kids as they struggled to keep pace with me. They continually asked if I was getting tired yet, to which I replied, “Not yet.” They all followed me on my route and then asked when I would be back. The end of this story is that now I have a bicycle exercise group…and I have NO where to escape when the attention becomes too much!

In the past, I have ridden the bus in some pretty uncomfortable positions, but nothing beats the last bus ride I had going to and from my town. I boarded the big bus at half past 4, which meant that we would not be departing for at least another 30 minutes. They only seat available was the “wheel seat,” the one I always try to avoid with a passion. For those who have never ridden on a yellow school bus, the wheel seat, is a dreaded seat because there is absolutely no leg room…why? Because a giant hump takes up all conceivable leg room, thus allowing the bus wheels to turn and the bus to more in a forward motion. I do not object to the idea of the wheel seat, because without it, the bus wouldn’t be going anywhere very quickly, or it would be extremely off balance, like one of those giant monster-truck vehicles that insist on running over other vehicles for the sake of entertainment. As I have yet to attend a monster truck rally, and do not have the need to participate in one, I prefer that the wheel seat stays put. But sometimes, there is not choice and reluctantly I sat in the “wheel seat” right up against the window. Next to me sat a women with a tub of chote on her lap, a big burlap saco filled with stuff (thankfully she didn’t have a live chicken). So there I was smashed up against the window, knees to chest, and my own backpack resting somewhere between my lap and chin. The bus was heating up as well, we still had 30 minutes till takeoff and the body heat combined with the sweltering sun, and the fact that all windows were rolled up, made the bus feel like a sauna. Finally, we rolled forward and I was forced to sit in the fetal position for 1 whole hour, until we finally rolled into my bus depot. As I shakily stood up to depart I realized that both of my feet were asleep along with the entire right side of my body. This made for an awkward exit, as I looked strickenly like the hunchback of Notre dame, hunched over and hobbling. Good news is my body quickly gained feeling again and I have sworn off the “wheel seat” permanently, I would rather stand, and in fact, next time I will stand.

My name has morphed into its own, I have been called Brik, Bris, BRI, La Gringa, Chela, Chica, Muchacha, and now I am most commonly called “La Brie.” I have officially become an object, no longer a person, or a gringa, I am a thing…gladly I am still a noun (I could easily be an adjective, for example my neighbors call each other “fea,” ugly, all in jest). I must admit I have grown rather accustomed to hearing “La Brie” that dare I say I like it? It has a certain ring to it, and like I said I could always be called worse!

After all this time in-country my Spanish has made leaps and bounds…but it’s still not fluent…and I still make mistakes…and most of this mistakes result in embarrassment. This week seems to be that kind of a week, I haven’t fumbled up lately, and therefore it was bound to happen sooner or later (more likely sooner). On to my story, my friend came over to my house and asked me if she could borrow my “grabadora” (CD player). I was unfamiliar with this vocab word, but I was familiar with another vocab word that is very similar: “grapadora” (stapler). Therefore, when she said grabadora, I heard grapadora…and was immediately confused…why did she need a stapler? I told her I didn’t have a stapler, because I don’t, but then she insisted that I did have one. This friendly argument went on for a bit and finally I asked why she even needed the “stapler.” She said she wanted to play music. I asked how she could play music with a stapler. She was no thurooly confused as well. She was about to give up and then she made a final point towards my mini-speaker system (used for playing music). Then it clicked, I ran to my trusty dictionary and looked up “grabadora,” it wisely revealed to my dense mind that a grabadora is a CD player. I lent my friend my CD player. Then the next day, I was on the bus with one of my friends and they referred to the grabadora…once again my mind thought of a stapler, before I was kindly reminded that a grabadora plays music and is not used to bind together paper. I think I finally got it!

¿Que Pasa? Minor injury: I lost my thumb nail, which presents a slight problem when washing clothes and dishes. Quite frankly, I am just glad it is growing back… slowly but surely. Not sure how I lost it in the first place, but I suspect one of my many bike crashes to be the culprit.Mop up that mess: I came home from a weekend away and the minute I opened the double door to my house (reader beware random tangent coming: in reality, I fumbled for my keys that are attached to a rusty-red chili shaped key ring, which people often mistake for a real chili pepper and frequently question why I have decided to attach keys to it instead of eating it...this happens at least once weekly, let me just say on their behalf that it is a very realistic looking wooden chili…kudos to the artist. So I began to unlock the first door into my house, a clad iron door that I am forced to squeeze my hands through while twisting an upside down padlock right-side-up in order to unlock it with one of my 4 keys…sometimes the lock rusts shut and I am unable to open it on my first try…and yes, it is a brand new padlock… next, I unlock the wooden double doors that lead directly into my house…both doors are secured with giant padlocks, which take me way too long to open…and it is at that moment of frustration… when the pain being issued from my contorted right hand currently struggling with the lock conjures up a distant memory …my electric garage door opener…just one click, I am shedding tiny tears just remembering this modern convenience and the fact that with just one click access is granted). Sorry, I had to get that off my chest. Anyhow, the minute I opened my door, my neighbor showed up right behind me, causing me to startle, with a mop in hand. She said she wanted to help me clean, since it is now summer the dust is starting to consume my house. Anytime someone offers to help me clean I gladly accept, and this is just another example of my helpful Nica neighbors!School is in session (almost): The new school year is about to start in Nicaragua on Feb. 4th and I cannot wait to work again with my forth year students (who I worked with last year when they were in third year). I am ready to get going again; however, I am not ready to ride my bike in the summer heat. Although, I did have a water bottle holder recently installed on my bike, which will prevent me from foaming at the mouth while the afternoon sun looms overhead threatening to dehydrate me further.Current side project: Since school has been out, I have been working with the local library in my town with kids ranging in age from 6 to 12, it has been amusing. They especially love to play games with me. I tend to lose the games and suffer the punishment (aka ridicule). As punishment, for losing, I am expected to sing or dance…if I sing, I sing in English (which the kids LOVE), but I have found that, oddly enough, I also enjoy singing in front of this hyper active bunch. Por que? (why?) Because I am horrible at remembering lyrics, but when I sing an English song in front of kids that only speak Spanish it doesn’t matter what I say…so there is no pressure. So I belt out songs (such as: We All Live in a Yellow Submarine, Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head, Bye Bye Miss American Pie and the occasional Irish lullaby) that are littered with lyrical mistakes …so I just sing my heart out…who knows maybe Broadway awaits? After singing I like to mix in a little dance such as the “the robot” or “sprinkler” or the ever popular “disco”…have I found my true calling? I sure hope not.Popular fresco of the week: Piña con arroz (pineapple with rice)…still not sure if I like this one…enough said.Funny (at times ironic) T-shirt phrases: 8 year old girl wearing a t-shirt adorned with the English phrase “I drink until he looks good” (She didn’t know what it said but still YIKES). Also spotted, a teenage boy wearing a “Sorority Sisters for Life” t-shirt…I will keep my eyes peeled for more.The World Map Project, hopefully coming to my town soon...this is a map another volunteer painted in their community (with the help of local community members). I hope to paint the map in my local town´s library.

Today I participated in a four hour bus ride. I was crammed in the second to last seat located in a tiny, microbus that insisted on passing cars on blind turns while the noon sun blinded the driver’s vision. I knew the bus driver was “blinded by the light” (thanks Manfred Mann) because he wasn’t using a sonar radar navigational system…like that of other mammals such as whales and bats. Alas, and sadly for all bus passengers involved, my driver was unmistakably marsupial and therefore had no sonar radar navigation capabilities. But anyways, I am getting off track already and so early on in my Blog, all the windows were rolled up so that hairdos remained motionless but sweat dripped freely on the foreheads of everyone inside the “moving oven of fun” (nope this is not a new amusement park ride…it’s just the bus). Unlike my fellow passengers, I worked up an “afternoon glisten,” because I don’t sweat I only glisten. I made it back to my town (glistening) only to find that my street was sin luz (without light). “Why, is only our street without lights?” I questioned my neighbors. And their reply was plain and simple…the evangelicals. Now I was a bit confused at first by their response…were the evangelicals masterminding a plan to put the Catholics in the dark (until they converted?). Or maybe the evangelicals were just sick of watching all of the Catholics drinking and dancing freely (since evangelicals are not allowed to participate in either) and they decided to smite the Catholics…finally, sweet revenge? Well, while all of these scenarios seem very possible in my mind…the truth is that the power went out simply because the electrical wiring was overloaded when the Evangelicals decided to have a giant church gathering on my street. They made the mistake of plugging in 1 too many giant speakers and microphones …the result being a power surge…and boom, the electricity went out for the entire block. Anyway, all of the “power overloading” explanations were revealed to me at a later time. Because when I came home all I knew was that I had no electricity. I didn’t know there was an evangelical gathering 3 houses away getting ready to sing religious music so loudly that I would be forced to stuff cotton in my ears just to get to sleep later that night (but like I said, this was all revealed at a later time). So fortunately (which later turned out to be unfortunately), 10 minutes later, the lights were back on when someone switched the circuit breaker. However, I quickly realized that there was a diabolical plan working against me, I would not get to rest peacefully that night or subsequently for three nights following this fateful day. Because the second the electricity came back on, it brought with it…the Evangelical’s worship service. The worship service involves the “worshipers” sitting as close as possible to giant 5-foot wide speakers as someone “sings” (subject to opinion) music into a scratchy microphone. Then I realized…in a moment of weakness I wished the lights back on giving the Evangelical gathering, a mere 3 houses down, “the power” to blast music and sing off key into a static filled microphone. As I went in search of food later that night with my neighbor, we both walked by the gathering and looked into each other’s faces and without saying a single word I knew what we were both thinking, “I wish the electricity would go out again.”Growing up I always had dogs, there was Zach my Scottish terrier, Oliver the Wheaten Terrier and Zoie my Golden Retriever. Needless to say, I like dogs, always have. Therefore, yesterday when I saw a small puppy wondering dangerously close to a busy highway road, my instinct took over and I reached out for the puppy, no bigger than my hand, to “save it.” I cradled and cooed my way to friend’s house where I thought I could drop off the puppy for safe keeping. A meager 10 minutes passed, of puppy cuteness, and I realized and commented shortly thereafter to my friend, “This was a mistake.” I can remember Zach, Oliver and Zoie all being irresistibly cute when they were puppies but I have obviously repressed all of the negative memories such as, their nonstop noisiness and whimpering. Not to mention, it is a big responsibility caring for a dog/animal. So after unwittingly rescuing the puppy from the side of the road and bringing it into my friend’s house, I knew I couldn’t handle the responsibility of owning a dog in Nicaragua, although many volunteers can and do. I knew I traveled too frequently to ever be home for the puppy. Therefore, there was a decision to be made…what to do with the dog? I didn’t want to put the poor thing back out on the street, and I came up with only one possible solution…and I fully admit that it’s a bit (ok extremely) childish but in my defense, it was late at night and I didn’t know what else to do…so….gulp…I took the puppy and dropped him off at the richest house in town. Yep, I gave the puppy to the rich people in town (childishly thinking that they would properly care for the dog). In defense of this decision, at least the dog isn’t wondering the streets where it was highly likely to get struck by a car. I tend to always be on my guard while walking in the more urban areas of Nicaragua, due to the fact that there are uncovered manholes everywhere (which I have thoroughly written about in a previous blog entry). Today I am unhappy to report that like a ignoramus, I fell into a manhole (only my right leg, and thank goodness it wasn’t that deep of a hole, only 1 foot deep). Still, there I was walking along, saying adios to someone and BOOM; I instantly shrunk a foot in height as my foot sank into the uncovered hole. I nervously looked around to see if anyone else saw my blunder. Of course, I picked that day to wear flip-flops as well. I didn’t think anyone saw but just in case I thought I would try to “play it off” as natural (I know, this is ridiculous, but it was an unconscious reaction to cover up my mistake). I am happy to report that I did not fall over; I just pulled out my uninjured foot and gave a slight chuckle while shaking off dirty stagnate water(to demonstrate to anyone watching that…hey, look, I can laugh at myself) and then I quickened my pace into an awkward jump/jog…as if to further show anyone watching that, yep I meant to fall into that hole, in fact I purposely fall into manholes as often as possible to increase the difficulty-level of my cardio workouts?? I know, I know, who would buy that excuse. Word to the wise, watch out for manholes because they are just lurking, watching and waiting to grab onto a foot and suck it into the dark abyss. A week ago, I joined my neighbors to watch soap operas in their impeccably clean living room (mopping 5 times a day would have that affect, unlike my house that gets mopped 1 time per week). Everyone was staring into the television waiting for the big plot twist to be revealed (that the two lovers are in fact brother and sister…or maybe just distant cousins…I don’t quite remember the details…I only remember that there was incest involved…channeling Oedipus). After 2 hours worth of nonsensical soap operas, the news was scheduled to come on, finally, what I was waiting for ACTUAL NEWS! The soap operas all ended with enough of a cliff hanger to get the audience to tune in again next week… and then the news was about to start…here it comes…I held my breath as the first story was about to be revealed to my intent ears…but then, the screen turned black, just like that…nope, it wasn’t a power outage, not this time, my neighbors apparently aren’t the “news watching type.” I put in 2 solid hours worth of soap opera viewing with the intention of watching the news at the end… 2 HOURS and THE MINUTE the news appeared on the T.V. it was turned off… NOOOOOO….I was really looking forward to an update on world, local, and statewide events…but all my wishing was to no avail. My neighbors ushered me into another small room, which contains a computer (by the way, very few people actually own computers and those who do cannot afford an internet connection). Anyway, they started up the computer, because they had some things they really wanted to show me. I waited, not sure what to expect, and then there it was: On their computer was a “My Documents” folder containing hundreds of email forwards, which they saved onto a floppy disk at the local internet café and transferred onto their home computer. Hundreds and hundreds of cheesy email forwards promising things such as “eternal happiness if this email is forwarded onto 10 other virtual friends” and of course if the recipient decided not to forward these messages…they will have bad luck for 20 years. At the end of the night, my neighbors requested my email address (and I told them I didn’t have one) because I didn’t want my inbox to be bombarded with the dreaded junk mail that they seem to love.Riding along on my bike one day, fancy free, I turned the corner of the dirt road that stretched out before me and found myself in a slight predicament. An ox cart lay 20 feet in front of me blocking the road. I looked to my right and then to my left, there was no way out, surrounded by trees and farms the only way through was bypassing the ox chart. The driver heard me approaching and turned, looked me in the eyes and acknowledged the predicament. I’m sure he was thinking…what the heck is the gringa doing way out here on her bike. As my bike came to a grinding halt, the ox cart driver attempted to maneuver the giant animal to the side of the path, in order to make room for me to pass. After a few attempts, the ox complied and I was able to safely slip past waving goodbye to the driver and thanking him repeatedly. Just as I thought my worriers were over I was hit with a whole new obstacle…mud…and lots of it. I quickly analyzed the situation because I knew I didn’t have a whole lot of time (as the ox cart was approaching behind me and I didn’t want to be stuck behind it again). So I made a split second decision, which turned out to be poor judgment on my behalf, I backed my bike up 10 feet to get a running start…and I charged through the mud on my bike, peddling at full speed. Regrettably, my bike toppled over and brought me with it…there I was face first in mud/cow dung. I was unhurt (except for my ego, which was badly bruised). My face, hands, legs and side were covered in mud. I didn’t expect to be receiving a spa treatment that day and forgot to pack my fuzzy slippers and Egyptian cotton spa robe. I contemplated sitting in the mud for a bit with the intension of taking advantage of the mud’s mystical healing properties (does cow dung have healing properties too? …doubtful). I decided to haul myself out of the mud, I threw some water on my face and hands to wash off (meanwhile my clothes, arms, legs and shoes remained covered) but I didn’t have time…the ox cart was coming! I hopped back on my bike and rode home a muddy/smelly mess. Only to immediately jump into a cold shower and wash off the mud. As I watched my hubris being washed down the drain, I knew I learned another important lesson: when faced with a giant mud pit, and the possibility of being stuck behind a slow ox, ALWAYS pick the ox…and remember patience is a virtue.

¿Que Pasa? Why not make a fruit basket: The current seasonal fruit is cantaloupe, and I just cannot seem to get enough of it…sweet and juicy! As well, we have mandarinas (mandarins). Blood hound: Yes, I now have a new skill that I will undoubtedly place on my resume. I am like a blood hound in the sense that I can now detect the faint smell of … (wait for it)… dead rat (gross, I know). It’s a musty sour odor that permeates through the air and wafts into my nostrils. I can even detect the time of death (no I can’t, that is an exaggeration). But this skill has its benefits, because it enables me to detect and therefore remove dead rats from my house ASAP. Yesterday, I did just that, and another one bites the dust. Weather report: Cool and windy. I am having trouble housekeeping due to the wind, every time I sweep my house the dust just flies back into my house (into my eyes and face). There’s a hole in my bucket: That’s right, my trusty bucket now has a hole, and I am too cheap to buy a new one. Water transfer has become a speed race, fill the bucket and quickly pour the water before it leaks out the bottom of the bucket. A new bucket is an investment that I currently cannot finance, don’t worry I am raising funds for a new bucket…hopefully next month I can buy one. The funny thing is a new bucket isn’t even that expensive, I am just that cheap. The fiesta band...live singers that moved to the beat!

In my state of sleep deprivation it is difficult to even remember the events that occurred the previous 3 days. All I can say is: fiesta, plain and simple. Yes, this past weekend my town celebrated their patron saint in an all out extravaganza that included a Ferris wheel, live music, FOOD, carnival games, carnies, and all sorts of debauchery. Preparation for the fiesta started early last week, with the assembly of rides and food tents. By Friday, everything was setup and people were ready to let loose and party. The first night, I went to sit under a tent and simply people watch. The streets were crowed; the smell of carne asada drifted through the tent and created a smoky cloud that reminded me of the 4th of July, and Colorado summers. People of all shapes and sizes were pushing their way through the throng of bodies, some with deliciously sweet candied apples in hand, others with flashing toys and laser beams pointed on the foreheads of innocent bystanders. The scene was far from quiet, as fireworks were being continuously shot off in the sky and music was blasting its way through 40 loud speakers. And then it happened…a tidal wave of children and adults were rushing in towards the tents where people were eating, conversing, and drinking. The screeching sound of their voices permeated through background noise and I heard “EL TORO, EL TORO.” What? I didn’t know my town did the running of the bulls, I thought to myself should I get up and move away from the ”danger zone”…all of the people around me seemed panic stricken, and I didn’t feel like being impaled, so I arose and attempted to look over the crowd (which wasn’t difficult as everyone is rather small in stature). And there in all its blazing glory was “el toro.” El toro, is a man with a box on his head, and sticking out of the box are fireworks (bottle rockets, sparklers, aka dangerous projectile objects). And this crazy man was lighting the fireworks (that are attached to his head) on fire. CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY. To boot, he is pointing the projectiles towards the kids, which made them run towards the tented area in the first place. Apparently, the crazy man with fireworks attached to his head is not allowed into the tented area, but I have to make a slight observation, would a man who willingly stapes fireworks onto his head consciously stay out of the tented area? I mean, come one, he has FIREWORKS on his head, is he going to even remember where he can and cannot enter. I think not, and therefore the fear in the children’s eyes was warranted, as they ran from the crazy man. Also, can this man see or hear, after having fireworks coming out of his head? Anyway, to my knowledge no one was injured, or impaled, but nevertheless, I kept my distance. I am beginning to feel like a broken record lately, because over Christmas my little neighbor (who is 5 years old and as cute as a button) received a tricycle, which she rides past my house hours on end. Every time she passes by my house she says “Adios” and I respond “Adios.” This continues on and on, and I mean hours, I am hardly exaggerating. Adios, Adios, Adios, Adios, Adios, Adios. But I continue to humor her because she is just so darn cute. Of course, in turn I feel foolish for saying Adios 15 trillion times, but that is the price I pay for cuteness. Sitting under the tent people watching...

Exciting news I have a new lawn ornament, kind of like a lawn gnome but not quite as colorful. In fact, a lawn gnome wouldn’t be quite as exciting as what I have…a drunk camped out on my street corner. Yep, he sits there all day long, drunk as can be, teetering back and forth on the front stoop calling out unintelligible things at passersby, occasionally throwing things and always slurring. However, having a drunk on the corner has its benefits too, they keep people away. Also, when they are awake and not slumped over in a drunken stupor, they act as a security alarm…yelling and keeping people off my stoop. Toss them a few cordobas, and they have now become a hired watchman, reporting all news and keeping shady people away. The drunk is friendly and not dangerous because his family lives in the corner house and they keep an eye on him, and in turn he keeps an eye out for the entire street. However, he does present a minor problem, when I walk outside of my house I don’t always enjoy walking past him because he’ll try to engage me in a conversation, but with his slurring I just cannot understand a single word he says…to avoid this I trying going to opposite direction down my street, but this presents another problem because when I go the opposite direction I run into the 30 year old bachelor who apparently is my one true love (prince charming, in fact). So I am left with a difficult choice, walk by the desperate bachelor man or walk by the drunken slurring man, 9 out of 10 times I pick the drunk! Four days ago I went to yet another children’s piñata party. As a gift I brought chica fresa (a small little strawberry shortcake doll) for the birthday girl. I came to the party fashionably late, because I had already eaten dinner and wanted to avoid being fed twice, but it was to no avail, because even though I had come late the hosts still insisted on feeding me! So I ate two dinners that night. The nicas are very gracious hosts and would never let a guest go unfed. Second dinner consisted of rice, with veggies and chicken with a slight BBQ flavor, it was very good. The decapitation of Winnie the Pooh (the piñata) happened earlier in the night and I had missed seeing it because I had arrived late (but just in time for cake). In the corner lay a piece of Winnie’s torso but amazingly his head (although apart from his body) remained unharmed, which presented an opportunity…kids started passing around the giant Winnie piñata head and placing it on top of their own head. As music was blasting from a small portable boom box kids danced, their bodies moving to the beat and the Winnie head staring expressionless into the distance. And then it was my turn…yep, I did it too…I put a Winnie the Pooh piñata head over my head. There are pictures too, but I have made an executive decision to not post them, why, because I am trying to forget this lapse in judgment. There I was sitting in a chair doing a mini dance with a piñata head on! Finally, to culminate the absurdity of this night, I dance to “It’s raining Men” (sans Winnie the Pooh head) and taught the YMCA dance to a cluster of niños (kids). This is a vendor selling toys at the festival.

Since the month of August (the month I arrived in my site) my counterpart kept talking about her town festival, and how excited she was for me to attend. She even brought out her photo album with pictures of the festival. To my untrained eye the pictures all seemed to be from the same event but I was carefully informed that the pictures were taken several years apart at each different fiestas (apparently the decorations stayed the same from year to year…tradition). Well, in the month of December, I attended the festival and I must report that it was nothing less than extravagant. As always, we left late (just the way things are done, no one is ever on time) and made our way to the festival in the back of a truck. I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair that was positioned precariously in the back of the truck and in my lap sat a 6 year old child. I thought to myself, if we hit one bump, me and the kid are flying over the side…and as a precaution I gripped the side of the truck until my knuckles turned white and my arm ached with pins and needles (like my own super human strength would save us if we crashed). I am happy to report that I did arrive safely to the festival. Since we were so late, I was made to walk awkwardly in front of the entire town to the front, where I was seated and then serenaded by a local band that sat a foot away. Halfway through the celebration fireworks were shot off overhead and instinctively people rose off of their white plastic lawn chairs and placed the chairs upside-down over their heads (protecting themselves from the fiery flames falling onto the crowd from the fireworks being shot off above). Alas, I didn’t immediately put 2 and 2 together and I thought the crowd was taking part in some kind of ritual “The plastic chair over the head dance.” I was 2 seconds away from raising my own plastic chair and taking part in the “ritual” when I was politely informed that because I stood under a tin roof awning there was no need to put a chair over my head….”oh, of course” I said. At the end of the festival my counterpart passed out 1,100 nacatamales served on glass plates (she gave me 2 extra tamales and some ground up pork meat as well). The night ended well, full from nacatamales and fresco I fell asleep on the way home. However, I was seated safely inside the truck this time around!

¿Que Pasa? Back from break: Not like it was any surprise, but when I opened up my house after coming back from vacation I found several dead rats strewn across my floor. Nothing that a broom and a little bleach won’t fix! Another moment of feeling totally ridiculous: Oh the head lamp is a wondrous thing (thanks again Whit). What is a head lamp exactly; well to put it simply it’s a hands free devise that straps a flashlight onto the wearer’s forehead. It sheds light upon things that I once awkwardly stumbled over, while simultaneously making me look like a total idiot/miner searching for gold. The good news is I have fewer bruises; the bad news is my neighbors mistook me for some kind of ghostlike apparition…BOO! Music of the moment: The always popular Celine Dion “My Heat Will Go On,” from titanic (maybe it’s finally time to let go of Jack). Insightful thought (which consequently lacks insight, and therefore is merely a thought): Looking back, the month of Diciembre (December, in case that was unclear) was speckled with fiesta after fiesta...it started with La Purisima celebrated on Dic. 7 followed by el Dia de Guadalupe and concluded with a brief trip back to the United States where I rang in the nuevo ano (new year) with friends and family. My neighbor came over to my house with fresh coconut and a pot of white beans (which are rare because Nicas always eat red kidney beans). She asked me a simple question, “Do you like these (as she pointed her nose towards the pot).” Like a dimwit, I responded, “I don’t know? What kind of beans are they?” She looked at me… and then looked at the pot…then looked at me again, and responded curtly, “White Beans.” I answered with a quick “oh, yes” (as I felt the stupidity swell up inside of me). Her eyes gave it all away because I knew immediately that she was thinking: you nincompoop, what do these look like… they are white things shaped in the form of a bean. Later that night I ate my frijoles blanco (white beans) with a few chilies, red peppers and onions thrown in the mix (I call it white bean chili, I know… original). And for the record, I knew they were white beans, I was simply making an inquiry into what variety of white beans they were…and I still haven’t found out, because I am afraid to ask my stupid question again! What happens when a virus is transferred from a local internet café onto a perfectly reliable computer?? It wreaks havoc destroying all music and photo files one by one before finally finishing off the computer by flashing the ominous ERROR 11 warning. Unfortunately, I know this warning all too well because my computer was attacked by the deadly internet café virus…and was accordingly shut down. On a good note, I was headed back to the U.S. in 1 weeks time…land of computer geeks galore. The end of the story is that my computer was out of commission for most of December (hence the lack of blogging) but now it is up and running again. Be forewarned…always scan flash drives before transferring data from a café onto a personal computer… My counterpart and I at a fiesta

About a month ago, I was on a bus headed back to my town and a lady (who also happened to be from my town) plopped down in the seat beside me. We were talking for a while and as we drew nearer to our town I remembered that I needed to buy some cheese to accompany my dinner for that night. However, as the sun had already set and the moon could now be clearly seen overhead, I was faced with a predicament…who sells cheese this late at night? I know, extreme crisis! As a momentary panic set-in, shortness of breath included, I asked the woman next to me if she knew of any cheese vender that stayed open this late. She looked at me (seeing the pain in my eyes due to lack of really salty cheese) and respond “Si, claro.” As we exited the bus she beckoned me to follow her (using the popular shoo-away hand gesture…which I refer to in an earlier blog accompanied with an easy to follow picture diagram). I quickly stood up from the sticky plastic vinyl bus seat, which always manages to leave unsightly crinkle lines on the back of my legs. I stayed by her side as we approached the house of cheese and she shouted in “Hay queso fresco?” (is there fresh cheese?). I held my breath for the response, and then it came, “Como?” (“What?”). Apparently the T.V. was up too loud, and the family inside didn’t hear the question. As my companion shouted again “Hay, queso?” I impatiently waited for an affirmative response, and finally it came, those lovely words that I wanted to hear “Si, hay queso” (yes, there is cheese). I hurriedly bought 10 cords worth of cheese (or approx. 50 cents worth) and started my walk home (of course not before graciously thanking the women who led me to the cheese vendor). Dinner was splendid, rice and beans with a side of really salty (but fresh) cheese. I have been in Nicaragua now for 9 months, and this longevity has enabled me to subsequently distinguish and clearly identify certain sounds that when I first arrived in-country seemed to be just background noise. But now I see that they represent certain cultural aspects of Nicaragua that are unique and intriguing. I will now proceed to describe the noises I hear and although I cannot post clips…I implore the reader to use their wondrous imagination to conger up the sounds! Every morning at 4am the “noise” starts, and no it’s not just noise, it’s in fact a CD. A very popular CD, that happens to be played at every child’s birthday party I have ever attended. I call the CD “Jammin’Jams to listen to while eating corn flavored birthday cake and watching children practically maul one another over small pieces of candy that are flying out of a Strawberry Shortcake shaped piñata.” If this title is a bit confusing, I will try to break it down another level. At piñata parties there is inevitably a piñata shaped as popular cartoon character (chica fresa aka strawberry shortcake seems to be pretty popular right now on the party scene). Also, after the kids swing at the piñata and dance the traditional piñata dance (that involves clapping and twirling…far too complicated for me to perform…I am still searching for my inner-rhythm to emerge triumphantly). Finally, cake made with corn flour is served to all the guests. Now note that while all of these things are taking place a CD filled with 22 tracks of birthday songs (including tracks from The New Kids on The Block, which was a popular 80’s boy band group, and ever so popular Simon and the Chipmunks). Yet, the scariest solo rendition of happy birthday is sung by a man with a deep tenor voice, who pronounces Happy Birthday as Happy BIRDday. Now I can tolerate this CD at kids parties but my neighbors apparently really love the birthday songs and they insist on playing this CD EVERY morning (starting at 4am) until around 11am. Yep, the “Birthday Remix CD” is played on full blast EVERY morning. And as much as I like waking up to Simon and the Chipmunks singing their remix of the classic happy birthday song, I would much rather wake up to…well, silence…yes, silence would be wonderful. I am curious as to what CD the neighbor’s play during fiestas, because it seems like they would want to switch it up once in a while! The next noise that I am now able to recognize on a whim is the sound of the “Giant Tall Things.” I need a photo to accurately depict their true size/appearance, but I will briefly describe the costumes: There is a person that stands under a large giant woman costume (complete with a head made out of newspaper and painted into the likeness of “a woman” and a large rippling skirt made of various colorful fabrics, which acts to hide the person underneath that is touting the giant woman doll). I would venture to guess that the giant tall thing stands about 10 feet. Next, there is always a kid standing nearby with a giant head placed over their regular sized head (yep, just a giant head made from newspaper and painted). And finally there are the kids with the drums. They bang their drums around town (signaling to everyone within earshot or a 10 mile radius that the giant tall thing is approaching. What next? Nothing, that’s it, the kids march it around town! But the scary thing is I now can recognize the distinct sound of the “Giant Tall thing” march…I can in fact discern the sound from just normal drumming or various marching band drumming. It is music to my ears. These are nacatamales (chicken or pork mixed in corn stew)

A few weeks ago I was dog sitting, and decided to take the dog for a walk. I put Clavo, the dog, on a leash and prepared to venture outside. Clavo is a very popular attraction in my town (perhaps because he is a novelty…a dog not roaming free… and a dog that likes to give big kisses, without trying to bite or bark). So there I was, walking through the streets with Clavo, people yelling his naming (and totally disregarding me!!) …he’s like a celebrity. About 5 minutes into the walk I came across some local kids and they were looking at me and then at the dog, then back at me, and at the dog (this awkwardness continued for several minutes until I finally asked them “What was up?”). Apparently, they thought Clavo had died (not sure why or how) and that he had been brought back to life…miraculously. In other words the kids thought they were staring at a ghost-dog. I tried to explain that Clavo had never died, but they couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Finally, I gave up and decided to let them believe whatever they wanted to believe! My trip back to the USA (and more specifically, Colorado) was fun but short. It was nice to have regularly running water and lights (although now that I am without these modern conveniences again, it’s not that bad). While in Colorado, I found myself missing: the sound of the roosters in the morning (and come to think of it, all throughout the day because they just never stop squawking), the sounds of my neighbors yelling my name, “Brik/Bris” (well, it’s not exactly my name, but close enough, right?) and the warm tropical climate of Nicaragua. The most exciting thing I did during my trip back home was EAT! But it’s good to be back in my little town, in my tiny house, surrounded by all the creepy crawly things that keep me on my toes. Acclimating back into life in Nicaragua, after spending 16 days with my family and friends during the holiday season, was interesting. I was yelled at (cat-calling) by two guys in the airport parking lot and then 10 minutes later I had a man ask me to be his girlfriend (yep that’s right…he didn’t even know my first name but apparently it was love at first sight and we were meant to be together). So, of course I accepted and now I am dating someone I know nothing about, so far I think our relationship is off to a good start, I know absolutely nothing about him and he knows absolutely nothing about me, ignorance is bliss. Now back to reality, I have not completely lost my mind…so no worries, I am not dating a random guy I just met. But that run-in did remind me to put my guard back on…because in my delusional state I forgot that I have a boyfriend already (yep, my imaginary boyfriend). However, I have noticed that sometimes the mention of a boyfriend just makes guys more willing to fight for my love, so I think I am going to say I’m either engaged or married. As I got onto the big yellow school bus I was immediately snapped back into reality. Crowded seats and vendors selling jugo(juice), dulce (candy) and anything and everything else! About half way through my bus ride I was rudely awakened from my catnap by a bunch of tomatoes falling onto my head. In my daze, I was confused at first, and mistook the tomatoes for apples, but once I came to I realized that they were in fact red tomatoes…that had rolled out of their bag, which was conveniently placed directly over my head in the baggage rack. They hit the top of my head (bop, there goes tomato 1, bop, and tomato 2…bop, bop, bop add 3 more to the mix) and then I was forced to collect them and re-bag them for their owner. Following the tomato incident, the two women sitting in front of me were hit in the face by a mystery liquid dripping out of another produce bag. I am just lucky that the tomatoes that hit me weren’t very ripe. However, the women in front of me were not very lucky, and not too happy either, the owner of all the produce had to gather their numerous bags and put them of their lap for the remainder of the bus ride. This is the virgin guadalupe

I felt the excitement brewing as the bus slowly approached my town, and as I peered out my window I saw people carrying buckets filled with water, which could only mean one thing…the water in my town was out. And therefore I arrived home to find my house a complete dusty disaster (from being left 16 days without cleaning) and there I was, standing in the doorway knowing that there was no water to use to clean my house. I found several dead rats, which I swept out the front door. And for dinner I ate tuna in a can, so I wouldn’t dirty any dishes. Now I am sitting in the semi-dark, the room being illuminated by a single flashlight, but tomorrow is another day (thanks Scarlet) and hopefully it will bring with it water!

View from the top of Cerro Negro. I hiked down into the volcano Cerro Negro, it was hot and gas could be seen coming out of the earth...amazing.

Quick updates:

Good ridenance, the raton is Dead!: My little mouse friend as passed-on…I did not kill him but I am pretty sure my neighbors did and he ended up dead in my house.

Bike problems…the continuing saga: My brakes are shot again…I have obviously been riding too much…on really steep terrain! And of course, my bike got two flat tires, but it only cost C$6 to fix the problem, not too shabby!

Dog sitting (warning: don’t actually sit on dog…this is a figurative term): While dog sitting, my neighbors decided to give Clavo (the dog) a goodie. No it was not a milk bone or a chew toy but instead it was a giant pig’s ear, which Clavo decided to bring into my house. I looked down with a surprised look as I caught him gnawing happily on the ear…no biggie…but I did ask him politely to take the ear into the backyard.

Another wild ride on the bus: Catching the big bus is always an adventure and yesterday’s ride was no exception. I boarded the bus only to find myself stuck in between: señor sexy, big madre and bollo de coco vender (candy vender)… YIKES! I couldn’t move, and there was no point of even holding on because I was wedged so tightly it would take the Jaws of Life to get me out of that predicament. Thankfully a really nice Nica couple saw the look of desperation on my face and squeezed together so that I could sit down next to them on the bus. Once again, the kindness of strangers never falters…gracias a dios!

Weather update: The rain has stopped and will not return until next rainy season (the month of July)…from here on out it is just going to get hotter

Quality vs. price the debate rages on: My kids think that quality is nonsense and that price is the only thing that matters; however, when I approached them the scenario concerning my ongoing bike troubles they had to stop and wonder…is price all that matters? I believe they are still pondering this thought, but at least it has them questioning the quality of products (and therefore simultaneously preparing them for the business class next year).

Cultural difference: Customer service…does not exist aqui…case and point, when at any local restaurant…after finishing the meal…the customer has to hunt down the owner to pay for their meal…and on top of it all the owner is guaranteed not to have cambio (change)…so be prepared and always carry small bills!

Tour de Sauce: Lance Armstrong has the Tour de France, and Nica Peace Corps volunteers have the Tour de Sauce…what in the world is the sauce? It’s a small town in Nicaragua that a bunch of us decided to bike to…35k later we reached our destination, hot, thirsty y con hambre (with hunge)! All of my Nica neighbors thought I was CRAZY for biking that far, but it was a lot of fun!

Cerro Negro, the volcano located behind my house...a 4 hour bike ride to the base, a 30 minutes hike to the top and a 1 minute run down the side of the mountain!

Chavalos are painting my house “bancentro” yellow (for those of you that do not live in Nicaragua and therefore do not know what bancentro yellow is it can be described as: sunshine/Tang (the astronaut drink)/dull/no need for sunglasses because it’s not that bright/they call it mellow yellow…that’s right…or put simply bancentro yellow). The trim is being painted a rusty red color (no need for an overzealous description, because rusty red says it all). And as an added bonus the chavalos also painted my clothes and hanging plants (por gratis…for free). Ok, here’s the story, I hung up my laundry apparently a little too close to the hombres trabajando (men at work) area because when I came home I noticed that all my clothing had a thin coat of paint! The chavalos apologized and assured me that they used water based paint; and therefore, it would wash out of my clothes. It seems that someone lent the chavalos an automatic paint spraying gun (mistake numero uno: NEVER lend chavalos an automatic anything…things are bound to get broken and people are guaranteed to get hurt). Case and point, my clothes were covered in paint and the once green plants were now paint covered in rojo. My cement walkway is also a blend of yellow/red…whose idea was it to give the chavalos this paint sprayer?? When my host mom arrived home to see the gigantic mess the boys made, she reprimanded them and hastily took away the paint sprayer. The boys are still painting (it’s been a three week “process” but at least they don’t have the automatic painter anymore). Oh the chavalo drama continues, because not only are they painting the house they are also making stuff (not sure what exactly and I am pretty sure they have no clue either as to what they are constructing, but once again someone lent the chavalos an automatic tool… in this case, a table saw). Therefore, the boys decided to cut a bunch of wood up INSIDE their house, which happens to be connected directly to my house. Out of nowhere a huge cloud of saw dust descended on my living room and bedroom…coughing and frantically looking for my keys I blindly rummaged through my house before escaping the dust cloud. I left for the day (in a sour mood and allergies) only to return later on that afternoon to find my house blanketed in saw dust…it took me 3 days to clean everything up/out (think laundry, mopping, basically the works)! Lesson learned NEVER give chavalos power tools or anything that requires electricity!

Bus incident (number 203…but who’s counting): I was sitting on the microbus minding my own business (WARNING THIS IS A LITTLE GROSS) and the next thing know I have throw-up running down my right arm…yep, I was thrown-up on! It was bond to happen sooner or later and I don’t doubt that it will happen again. I am quite honestly surprised that it doesn’t happen more often considering the fact that bus rides are long, traversing on bad roads and people eat things on the bus such as: coleslaw/mustard/ketchup covered hotdogs, candy, fried platanos and gaseosa en bolsas (soda pop in bags). The best part about this isolated incident is that my stop was still an hour away, but on a positive note the windows were all rolled down and therefore a cool breeze was passing through the bus! I would like to suggest that all buses carry barf-bags for passengers (they seem to bag everything else so why not just place bags throughout the bus for people who suffer from carsickness…it would save the rest of us from getting thrown-up on!!). Now if only I could find the “suggestion box” to place these words of wisdom…aka not going to happen…but I can dream, right?

Water and electricity: The water has returned!! Good thing too because I had all my laundry sitting in buckets of water (so it wouldn’t mold) ready to be washed thoroughly whenever the water returned…I have also stocked up on my drinking water because during this last water shortage I was literally sucking the juice out of oranges, because I was so thirsty and had run out of drinking water! Just to drive home my point, my town RAN OUT OF FRESCOS because of the water shortage and this is simply unheard of in Nicaragua…there is ALWAYS a fresco available, so its gotta be bad when the local fresco lady doesn’t even have water for those sweet concocted beverages that I love sooooo much.

Let’s see, for the past week my neighbors have been busy as beavers remodeling their house and because my house is connected directly to their house I have suffered sawdust, loud construction noises and electrical problems. However this isn’t even the worst of it because I am sin luz again. My house has been re-wired AGAIN…which means quite simply I have no electricity…meanwhile my neighbors (who have plenty of electricity because they are sucking the electricity that should be going into my house into their house in order to power multiple TVs and radios simultaneously). Meanwhile, I sit alone in the dark without even enough electricity to power a nightlight! The chavalos rewired in order to put a large, incredibly bright light in the backyard. Now when I open my back door in the middle of the night, I feel like it is high noon because the new light blinds my eyes and illuminates the surrounding sky (I can’t even see the stars anymore). The light takes the place of the sun…and no I am not exaggerating the luminescence.

¿Qué Paso?: Get a shoe shine: For only C$7 I am able to get my shoes shinned. They tend to get pretty beat up on these dirt streets, so it’s a good thing it is cheap and the shoe shiner lives down the street from me. Minor injury: I did something to my fingernail (ok I slammed it in the door one night when there was no electricity and I was super sleepy trying to guide myself around in the dark) and now it is turning black and hopefully staying put…I really don’t want it to fall off…but time will tellL Weather: It is winter, what does that mean exactly in a tropical country…well, it’s still hot, there is no snow, and it is only going to get hotter because guess what season comes next…summer (aka hot hot hot). My bike: The key to riding my bike is simply to never switch gears. Yes, this presents a slight problem when there is a drastic change in terrain, but I have learned the hard way that switching gears = long walk home (probably through mud). It also elicitates stares from all the people I pass by while walking my bike…this of course leads to town gossip…by the time I make it back to my house EVERYONE already knows that my bike broke down (again) and that I tried to fix it (again) and finally gave-in and resorted to just walking it back into town. What I am thankful for this year: This was the first Thanksgiving that I did not go home to be with my family. Instead, Peace Corps arranged for volunteers to eat Thanksgiving dinner with various American families that live in Managua. Therefore, I was not without pumpkin pie and turkey (but I still missed out on Gram’s hot apple pie…can pie be shipped through UPS??). Sweet dreams: The typical Nica bed frame is made from wood and woven wicker…then there is the option of placing a thin foam mattress (or if extremely lucky putting a REAL mattress on top of the frame). Unfortunately, I am not “extremely lucky” and I only have a foam mattress placed over the woven wicker (to provide a thin cushion for my back). I chose to buy the foam mattress to save money, but it has drastically deflated since I first purchased it and now it is merely a thin fabric covering. Recently, I also splurged and bought a real pillow!! I was so excited to have a pillow again…that very night I anticipated getting the most restful sleep ever…but unfortunately that didn’t happen…I got maybe 3 hours total! Turns out I have to ease back into using a pillow…go figure! Playing on my radio now: Juanes

Here is a sample of a product that 4th year students came up with for the business course LEC National Contest. The product his group created was a notebook holder:

Well, the water went out again…and has yet to return!! Now if I had some warning (any warning in fact) it would be just fine because I could plan ahead…but there is never any warning and my neighbors dig into my stored water before I can even dig into it. Therefore, even though I store water (just in case) it doesn’t even matter because everyone else using it! I am left with inability to shower, dirty dishes, dirty floor, unclean clothes and barely enough drinking water (I am soooooo thirsty!). However, I have learned to wash a ton of dishes with only 1 gallon of water…I can also shower with 1 gallon of water (but right now there isn’t even 1 gallon to spare). The town announcements have promised that the water will return tonight (but I have my doubts!). In the meantime, I am using plenty of deodorant and my hair has been braided for the past few days! I have no issues living without electricity, but living without any secondary water source (my town has no rivers) is a difficult adjustment. People in my town resort to either traveling out to fincas to shower or going into the cities to shower…I am just playing the waiting game for now and hoping for rain.

Sometimes I make some poor decisions, oh the gift of hind sight, if only I had the gift of foresight! Anyway, I decided I needed to get some exercise and I went for a bike ride. However, instead of leaving in the morning (which is my typical routine) I waited until the sun was going down…during dusk! Apparently, the bugs come out in droves during dusk. Therefore, I was riding around an hour from my town and watching the sun fade behind the volcanoes, while getting pelted in the eyes with bugs! I finally made it back to my site and washed out my eyes with drops. Three days later my eyes are still blood shot and itchy! I will never again ride my bike that late in the day…it may be cooler but it is not worth getting bugs in my eyes. Another lesson learned the hard way. The school year has commenced and summer break is in full swing. To keep myself occupied, I decided to pull together my best students and create a youth group. The kids like hanging out at my house, and I like the ability to practice my Spanish with my students. I have also been taking on some extra crafty projects…por ejemplo I made a shelving unit for my books and I also jarred my own jelly. I decided jarring food would be a useful lesson to pass on to my students, because without refrigeration jarring is a wonderful alternative for preserving food (plus it’s a fun activity to do with kids, very hands on and they can all taste the jelly!) I will give an update in a week or so about how the jarring lesson went with the kids. The first youth group project I completed with the group was a fundraiser. I pitched the idea to the group that we make panqueque (pancake) mix. The kids are not really familiar with pancakes, because their typical diet consists of rice, beans, cheese and tortilla (morning, noon and night). So I thought it would be fun to introduce a new (and easy to make) food to the kids. To kick off the project, I invited all the kids over to my house on Saturday morning to enjoy a feast of panqueques (basically I turned my house into IHOP). Anyway, I had the kids, and all my neighbors jam-packed into my house as I was cooking up a storm. It worked out really well because each kid brought a different pancake ingredient with them (sugar, eggs, flour, and milk). Instead of pancake syrup, which costs a fortune because it is only sold at an American-like grocery store located in the city, I made a fruit syrup sauce. The kids and my neighbors loved the party and people came back for seconds!!! After the party finished, the kids and I assembled pancake mix in small bags, which we then sold for C$5 a bag! The fundraiser was very successful and now we are just trying to identify a community project that the money will contribute towards. The next party I am hosting is simply a Queque party (cake party) to celebrate the youth groups hard work (I have learned through trial and error that incentives are key to keeping a group together and making food is cost efficient because each kid can contribute ingredients found in their backyard). To keep in shape I am still bike riding everyday, but instead of riding to my schools (since school is not in session) I have been able to explore the more rural farm community around my site. The paths have been badly washed out due to the rain but it is slowly drying up. As I was biking out by the fincas (farms) yesterday, I reached a point where there was a 4 foot deep mud pit. On the side of the mud pit was a very narrow dry path full of rocks and lined by barbed wire. I stopped my bike to scope out the situation (should I turn around? Go through the mud? Or risk riding on the small narrow dry patch of dirt?). Meanwhile, a farmer on his bike was on the other side of the mud pit doing the same thing I was doing…scoping out the situation. He decided to walk his bike carefully across the narrow dry path, teetering dangerously close to the mud one minute and barbed wire the next minute. After watching this scene, I decided to up the anti and cross the path while riding my bike. The man told me to be careful!! I backed up my bike 15 feet to get a running start…then I hopped on full speed ahead and crossed…the farmer cheered me on…I luckily did not fall into the mud pit…what a rush! The paths that I bike on are always full of rocks and I have become accustomed to using my brakes to navigate over rocks/mud/pits etc. The nicas are amazing bike riders…so I feel the pressure to be a good bike rider as well…I have mastered riding without hands on rocky dirt paths (and my neighbors just laugh when they see me coming…gringa riding without hands…haha!). My next challenge will be biking while having a fellow passenger riding on the bike-bar in-between my handle bars and bike seat (Nicas are always giving people rides around town using this method…so in order to fully integrate I feel I should also learn how to do this!).

Striking a pose with 2 of my counterparts!¿Qué Paso?:

The evacuation is over: After being evacuated from my site for about 2 weeks, I was finally able to return to my house. Things are a bit on the moldy side but it’s nice to be home.

Weather: Lately, it has been very sunny and the nights have been rather cool. The torrential rains have stopped and winter has set in…Deciembre is the coldest month of the year.

Knock Knock: Who’s at my door? Why a Jehovah’s Witness!! Trying to convert the gringa…Gracias a dios!

My bike: The local bike shop came to my rescue again and fixed my bike seat (woo hoo it no longer swivels left to right while I’m riding). The bike repair guy also feels sorry for me, which he should considering I tend to do more “bike walking” than “bike riding.” Therefore, if I have just a minor bike adjustment the bike repair man will fix it for free. Today, on my way back from a rural school I realized that as the weather gets hotter, the earth gets dryer, and the dust starts to swirl. I was so dirty after my 20k ride that I had to jump into the shower really quick before going to my next school (I was just glad that the water was still running that late in the day).

So I have been carrying a Nalgene bottle filled with water for the past few months. It is an essential part of my “pack,” because I ride my bike everywhere. Plus, there is a high probability that my bike will breakdown, and so, it is always good to have plenty of water and a snack for those occasions. Well, it wasn’t until recently that one of my counterparts asked me about my “kidney condition.” I was struck with confusion and responded “What kidney condition?” She responded, “Your water bottle is filled with Swero, right?” Now, until recently I didn’t know what “Swero” was and during this particular conversation I thought that Swero was some kind of alcoholic beverage. So I assumed that the teachers all thought I had some kind of kidney or more likely a liver problem because I was drinking hard alcohol throughout the day. I immediately asked my counterpart, “What is Swero?” And thank goodness she explained to me that it’s not liquor (as I had previously thought) but it is oral re-hydration salts. This made me feel a bit better; at least they didn’t think I was a drunk. Instead everyone thought that I was dehydrated. A big cultural difference is that Nicaraguans do not drink as much water as I do! I get at least the recommended 8 glasses a day…where my guess is that they drink maybe 2 glasses a day (mas o menos). Also, another Nicaraguan teacher at my school has a kidney problem and therefore she has to drink a lot of Swero to stay hydrated…so that’s why everyone thought I too must have a kidney problem. No worries, I am healthy (so to speak…minus the occasional parasite or bacterial infection).

I was recently sent a fabulous care package that included a large map of the United States. Naturally, I hung the map in my living room so that I could point out my home state of Colorado to all visitors. However, I was not prepared for the map to be such a big hit. A friend of mine came over to chat and caught site of my map. She rushed over to look and started tracing a route on the map. Next, she asked if she could go get her friend…pretty soon I had a group of people in my house all staring at the map. One hour later, people finally started to disperse but up until that time they all had been standing and simply staring. They all wanted to know where the Casa Blanca (Whitehouse) was located, New Orleans, and Colorado. To the right of my U.S. map I have a large map of Nicaragua. This map also fascinates people and I am happy to point out where our town is located. I never thought that I would be a geography teacher, now all I need is a World Map (that would blow peoples minds!)

This is the really big spider I have livig in my house!

I never enjoy visiting people late at night, because by that time I am exhausted and my Spanish comprehension diminishes by 60% when I am tired. Of course, people always ask me to visit at night and so I make my rounds…but as soon as I step out of my house I get bombarded with further visit requests. For example, yesterday I left my house at 5pm to make a quick run to a friend’s house and somehow I didn’t end up returning to my house until 11pm. I talked to everyone and was ready to crash when I finally got back home. I have learned that nothing is ever “quick.”

Last week I traveled a few hours south of my site to participate in a Spanish Taller (workshop). I got to stay with a different Nicaraguan host family for 1 week as I worked on the subjunctive tense. The family took in the back of their truck to a nearby tourist town, because they thought I would enjoy the mirador (view). In this town, there was a hotel (4 stories) that we stopped at to visit some of their Nicaraguan friends (who worked at the hotel). My host family wanted a tour of the hotel. We all got to walk around and check it out. Then we all went to the 4th floor to see the dinning room area. I was with 5 adults and 2 small children and once we all reached the 4th floor, I went over to the balcony to look at the view (a huge full moon hung in the night sky) but inadvertently I scared all the people I that brought me to the hotel. In small towns, tall buildings are few and far between (it is very rare to see a two story house). Therefore, this 4 story hotel was a colossal building for the Nicaraguans I was with and they were scarred for my safety (because I was much to close to the railing!) They pulled me back and wouldn’t let the kids get within 4 feet of the balcony. I could only imagine what they would think of a city like New York, with skyscrapers galore.

I had a brief moment of worry this morning as I biked out to catch a bus only to find out that the bus may not arrive at all! However, 40 minutes later the bus pulled up and I gratefully hopped on and had the conductor throw my bike on top. Twenty minutes into my bus ride, a guy on from the back of the bus tried to “put the moves on me.” In the U.S. a guy will usually buy a girl a drink at a bar when he is trying to hit on her but in Nicaragua it’s a different story…the guy in the back of the bus bought me an ear of corn to eat…that’s right, I accepted corn on the cob from a guy a didn’t know! Delicious. Next, I arrived at my school just in time to see prizes being given away to the students with the highest percentages. The prizes included brand new bikes, and in between the prizes being announced, my students preformed various dances. It was muy algre (very happy)! Afterwards, I had to wait for the bus to bring me home…but to my horror the bus that had brought me apparently broke down…and there was a good chance that I would have to bike 40k out (through some really rough terrain…in a dress). After waiting for 2 hours at a bus stop, a new bus arrived to take everyone out of the town to the main road (where I could easily bike back to my town).

¿Qué Paso?: Just call me Brik: That’s right, people in my town call me Brik…why?...because some people have trouble pronouncing the “e” and turn it into a “k” instead (even though I explain to them that my name has no “k” they still say BRIK!!) Inflation: Gas prices and bean prices have gone up quite a bit...looking ahead to next year, there will be a lot of problems associated with lack of food…and the bus fares have already increased to make-up for the increased gasoline cost Please wipe your feet before entering: I have a cardboard door mat now, because my neighbors thought that I was getting my house too dirty…only problem is that cardboard isn’t very water resistant Weather update: It’s STILL raining on and off…I returned to my site after being evacuated…only to find out that I had to evacuate a second time…I will be returning to my site soon?...I hope. However, when I was allowed to go home for a few days I discovered that my house had turned green (yep, the mold had taken over). However, my town is just fine. Currently playing on my neighbor’s radio (on repeat): “Said I loved you, but I lied” …someone save me from this song…if it repeats one more time I am not responsible for what I might do... “said I disliked this song, and I’m not lying” A “should we really be doing this?” moment: A bike lane is being built along the major highway I travel along (It feels just like my crazy biking days in Boulder, Colorado but the raccoons have been replaced with herds of cattle and the occasional horse). The funny thing is I seem to people one of the few people using the new bike lane…others still insist on riding in the middle of the road. So here I am “the gringa” riding in the bike lane, all excited, while others still are not sure what the lane is used for…but I know everyone will catch on soon. In the meantime, busses are still having to swerve wildly around bikers The Great Wall of Brik: My landlady built me a wall because she thought I was exposing myself to too much sun while washing my plates and laundry. It was a very nice gesture…and unlike the Great Wall of China, my wall was built in 1 day by about 10 chavalos…I just hope it doesn’t fall down…but so far so good Plant update: My cilantro plant is thriving…I cannot wait to make guacamole The fresco kid: Jon, the local door to door fresco kid, came by my house a few days ago and was soaked to the bone…but he knew I would want my carrot and orange fresco…he braved the rain to come by my house to drop off my fresco…muy amable! My internet boyfriend: I was introduced to a Nicaraguan guy who lives in the city, he is a friend of a friend, and he is very nice but he wanted to get my phone number…instead, I gave him my email address and now my inbox is overflowing with various emails from him. I explained to him that I check email only once a week…but he still sends 1 email everyday of the week…and in hindsight I am very glad that I didn’t give him my phone number! This is the Piggy Box that some of my students created as part of their small business...they make various clay animals to sell to the locals.

So I bought a bike about 2 weeks ago and almost every part on the bike has been replaced or adjusted in some shape or form. However, people just love my bike…and I just now understand why. I had a Nicaraguan friend of mine pick out the bike for me in order to get a fairer price. I told them all I wanted was a bike that worked well (because I have to travel pretty far on this bike). They seemed to be overly concerned with what color bike I wanted, but I told them again and again that it could be any color as long as it rode well. Ok, now flash forward 2 weeks, and I realize that my friend simply picked out my bike based on the color. My bike is niquelado (nickel plated) and for some reason people associate quality and expensive with that color. I associate cheapness and sudden disaster with that color, but I’m a bit biased. Anyhoo, I now know that my bike was purchased purely based on its color scheme, because it has broken down a bastante (enough) amount of times. On a positive note, all bikes around here break down on a rather consistent basis, which makes bike repair shops ubiquitous and inexpensive. Now a short walk down memory lane…As a kid, I always wanted bike pegs. I remember begging my parents for the pegs, but I was denied my request due to safety concerns. But guess what mom and dad, I now have 4 bike pegs…2 on the front wheel and 2 more on the back! Oh yeah…safety concern, I think not, just pure fun!! Now I just have to find 2 willing chivalos who would like to go for a bike ride with the gringa (which should be easy) …I will also try to take a picture pre-wipeout (that will be a challenge). And finally, my brakes don’t work when they get wet, and it is hard to keep them dry when it’s raining out and I’m biking through a river…que bárbaro (how brutal/cruel)! HOT, HOT, HOT!!! I was warned ahead of time that the chilies I purchased were hot, but as usual I didn’t listen and threw a small fist full into my soup. Next, I went to sip my soup and about 10 seconds later my eyes started to water profusely. I then did something I’ve only seen in the movies…I drank ketchup…and it actually worked! Dona Tina’s ketchup saved my mouth from the unsavory hot chili fire burning sensation. Of course, being rather stubborn I was not going to throw away the large super spicy soup batch I had just cooked. So, I went to the local bean lady to purchase some red beans, which I hoped would tame down the hot flavor. I arrived at the bean lady’s house to find out that bean prices have DOUBLED in less then a week. The bean price increase was also mentioned in the local paper. So I had to shell out twice as much to make up for my cooking disaster. When I got back home with my beans, I threw them into the soup pot and that did the trick! In the end I made “bean soup” that was quite tasty. I was evacuated for 5 nights and 6 days because of the torrential amount of rain hitting Nicaragua. I had to leave my house ASAP and when I got back I found that mold had taken over. My allergies started acting up (my throat became a bit constricted) and then I broke out the cloro (bleach). Mold didn’t have a fighting chance against my spray bottle of bleach. I gave all the walls a good spritz and after a few hours my house smelled very fresh and was devoid of mold. Hurrah! Thursday, I arrived at school to find out that my counterpart was also at school but didn’t want to teach class. So I went ahead without her and had a heart to heart conversation with the kids. I wanted their honest feedback about the class. I also wanted them to get to know me better and therefore I told them they could ask me questions. The feedback I received was as I had expected, they were bored and felt the class lacked energy and dinámicas (dynamics/games). I must say I agree, after seeing the teacher use her “copy the information I read out load” technique I was bored to death. The kids loved the fact that they could ask me questions and the first question I received was when is your birthday? Next, the kids started calling out the word: Libra. Let me explain, Libra in Spanish means “pound.” For example, una libra de pollo (1lb. of chicken). However, Libra is also an astrological sign, in fact it just happens to be my astrological sign. Therefore, I proceeded to give the class my body weight (in pounds). I was of course confused as to why they wanted to know my body weight but thought oh well, no harm! Well, they didn’t want to know my body weight, they were yelling out Libra because they wanted to see what male students I was astrologically compatible with…because if the stars are aligned just right they think they might have a shot at a date. YEAH RIGHT. I did it, I bought fish from the local fish vendor. I figure the ocean is close enough that the fish is fresh. Really, I am just praying that the fish is fresh because it was not on any ice when I bought it. However, I cooked it up several days ago and my health is just fine (no bad side-effects …yet). Next, I plan to buy shrimp or shark. Next week, I will be at a Spanish Taller (a Spanish workshop) and then that following weekend I will be a chaperone at Prom! The school year is quickly winding down, and I hope to keep everyone motivated enough to teach 1 more lesson. Then comes vacation time for all the students and teachers…during this time I plan to start working on some side projects (like a small reading group). I have also been invited to tons of fiestas, which I am excited to attend.

¿Qué Paso?: Weather update: It’s STILL raining…and I have been EVACUTATED due to a tropical storm that is coming through the area. So, I packed a small bag with some clothes, grabbed my rain boots, and threw on my rain jacket, which is molding due to all the rain…oh sweet irony. Cleaning house: My host mom offered to mop my floor for me because I am not doing a good enough job!! Ok, I clean but I certainly don’t mop 3 times a day (which is customary). I mop once every 3 day, which quite frankly I think is enough! Interesting stuff that has been said to me: “Are you from Costa Rica?” (which makes me think my Spanish is getting really good…not!) and “You have nice legs” (this was said to me in English by one of my students. He was trying to practice his English with me, and this was the one phrase in English that he had been taught). Latest infestation: As if having a bat and mouse problem isn’t enough…I am now having a cockroach problem as well! Strike a pose: If one of my students owns a camera or a camera phone…I am likely to be in their photo archive. Why, because students like to take pictures of me…yes, just me…I try to invite others into the photos…but I am usually unsuccessful. So there I am standing (alone) smiling as students go crazy snapping multiple shots. Uncomfortable situation…oh yah…but I just keep on smiling. Don’t worry, I’m not letting the fame get to my head. But in the meantime, would someone get the paparazzi off of me? Whoops: I went to the market to buy oranges and was asked, “Do you want these oranges for fresco?” I said “yes” because I just wanted the oranges ASAP. Well, that was a mistake. It turns out fresco oranges are not sweet…they are very bitter. So I bought 8 bitter oranges that were not edible. And I ate them anyway, but next time I will specify that I want “dulce” (sweet) oranges. Transportation update: I bought a bike, went for a cruise around town, 3 hours later I had a flat tire, got it fixed, next day went for another ride even further away from town, the bike gears broke, I flipped the bike over to fix the gears, got grease all over me, it started to rain, I walked through a mud river to get back into town, I got the gears totally replaced. Did I mention that I bought this bike new? Yep, the guy told me it was “brand new.” A “should we really be doing this?” moment: Cruising down the highway in a microbus is always a little bit dangerous…then add rain and total darkness and the adrenaline really starts pumping. I can usually handle the micro, but two days ago I hopped on board a micro (at night while it was raining) and the driver decided to go into reverse on a major highway right near a blind corner. Why would the driver pull a move like this? To pick up an extra passenger, obviously. No worries, I am still alive.

This is the cake and present table for the pinata party I attended. The cake is made with corn flour, which makes for an interesting tasting goodie!

I just got back from an interesting/bizarre cultural event which is called an “Acto.” It takes place at the school, and class is canceled to make room for the “acto.” To prepare for the event, there is a stage and backdrop set-up on the basketball court. There are 2 giant speakers on each side of the stage and around 200 students stand in single file lines near the front of the stage. Actos can last anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours! The acto begins with the national anthem and is followed by various presentations from students and teachers alike. I will describe Thursday’s acto only: I arrived at my school right on time, only to find out that I had walked through the pouring rain for nothing, because class was canceled and replaced with an acto. There were 5 students on the stage, 3 dressed as Native Americans, 1 dressed in a suit (who apparently represented the country of Spain) and 1 girl dressed as Wonder Woman. No kidding, she wore a cape, a shiny tiara, magic wrist protectors, a corset, and a really short skirt/underwear (apparently ready to fight evildoers at a moments call). The Native Americans wore feathers in their hair, and their shirtless bodies were painted with “Native American” symbols aka random lines and circles drawn all over their bodies (most likely in permanent marker because after the acto was finished I witnessed the boys hopelessly scrubbing their bodies off to no avail, which leads me to believe that they used permanent marker instead of washable marker!). Anyway, the girl dressed as Wonder Woman was suppose to represent the Queen of Spain (I had to ask a student to explain to me who the girl symbolized…it was apparently a stupid question because the student thought it was rather obvious). Next, and this part of the acto literally caught me off guard, the stereo speakers started booming filling the courtyard with the sounds of drums and tambourines…and then came the procession (man, I wish I had my camera on me…but unfortunately I had left it at my house). A girl wearing a gold bra entered, just like Madonna…and not the “Madonna” who mothered Jesus…the other Madonna who rocked-out hard during the 80’s era. The girl had gold glitter covering her nearly naked body, and a long gold skirt with slits all the way up, topped off with a gold headdress. Now keep in mind this girl is 15 years old, she is standing in front of all of her classmates and teachers…nearly naked and very gold. Need less to say, this outfit beat out the girl dressed as Wonder Woman. But this is the least of it, because directly behind the “Golden Goddess” was a boy wearing an adult diaper holding a stick with feathers tied to the end. The students marched all around the court and finally ascended the stage to give an explanation of what their costumes represented. I guessed that golden girl represented the 80’s decade and I thought that diaper boy represented adults who have urinary track problems …however, I was wrong). The girl was supposed to represent the sun goddess and the boy was supposed to represent a Native American! Finally, as this whole scene was unraveling, the rain was pouring all around the students! This was unfortunate for the student clad in the adult diaper; because, the lining in the diaper started to expand as it got wetter and wetter from the rain! Thank goodness the scene was short, because the students walked off the stage after a 5 minute dialogue (all except for diaper boy who had to waddle off stage because his drawers had soaked up so much water). That was my day, and I can hardly believe it happened. Finally, to top it off, the day the students were celebrating is called Dia de la Hispanidad (very similar to Columbus Day). However, the students were celebrating it on the wrong day…it was the 11th of October and Dia de la Hispanidad is officially on the 12th of October. Therefore, they canceled my class to celebrate a holiday 1 day early…argh!Hit that pinata with all your might!! This is the birthday girl...who turned 5!

A teacher that I do not work with walked up to me and introduced themselves, however after giving me their name, they failed to include what subject they taught. We were talking and they asked my opinion on English grammar compared to Spanish grammar. The teacher asked me, “Do you think that the grammar is similar or different.” I responded, that I thought the two were different. For some reason this turned into a rather heated conversation and the teacher tried to convince me that that grammar was in fact identical. Well, unbeknownst to me, I was talking with the English teacher, who has been teaching English for 23 years, and adamantly believes that there is no difference between English and Spanish grammar “they are identical.” I tried to salvage the conversation by asking if the teacher would like to practice their English skills with me, but she didn’t feel comfortable talking with me in English!! Yikes, I think I insulted her but it was unintentional. Lesson learned; always ask the question “what is your occupation” before starting any kind of debate. A very popular trend in the Nicaraguan classrooms is to use whiteout on all errors made on paper (even if it is not an assignment the students are going to turn into the teacher, they still use whiteout to fix their mistakes). Now a simple solution would be to use pencils instead of pens, but everyone seems to prefer pens over pencils. Early on in their lives, students are trained to use whiteout on their mistakes at a young age and therefore this trend extends into adulthood. This leads me to my story. I went over to my counterpart’s house to get a list of 10 names. I simply needed 10 student names…nothing complicated…I thought the visit should only take 5 minutes at most…right? Oh how wrong I was, 2 hours later I finally walked out of her houses with the names. What happened? Whiteout happened! Basically the problem was that each student had 5 names (lets do the math: 5 x 10 = 50 names…and don’t forget there are some tricky spellings). The teacher would start writing a name, and then inevitably make a minor spelling mistake. She would immediately reach for the whiteout to correct her error, however; if there were too many whiteout mistakes she would throwaway that paper and start anew. This paper was not going to be turned into anyone; I was simply going to transcribe the names into an email, and the teacher new this as well. Yet, it still took 2 hours to get the 10 names, which were printed perfectly (with only 1 whiteout mistake). Lesson learned, leave lots of time for whiteout! Alright, this is another example of class being needlessly canceled. I traveled 2 hours out with a backpack stuffed full of teaching materials. I arrived at the school, and I was told that class was canceled because the usual classroom was being occupied by a guest lecturer. I proceeded to glace around the school, and I noticed 5 totally empty classrooms. I asked why I couldn’t give class in one of the empty rooms…well, to my astonishment I couldn’t…and therefore the class commenced outside in the courtyard, where we were surrounded by noisy kids playing kickball, volleyball and just throwing stuff randomly. It was a tough class to get through, especially when I was approached by Mr. Hip-hop. This 18 year old male student approached me in the middle of my class, while the students were working together in their groups. He was not in my class but he is a current 5th year student at the school. He said that he just want to introduce himself…yeah right! Here’s the scene, I am sitting underneath a tree, and he struts up with his cell phone carefully concealed in his front shirt pocket playing a really inappropriate 30 second hip-hop song clip (with lyrics like “I see you grinding up on the dance floor”). After he asked me 2 “opening” questions (what’s my name and where am I from) he got to the point, and asked me if I had a boyfriend and if I would like to get a soda. Thank goodness I have a made-up boyfriend, who is just fabulous, and saved me again from making an awkward situation even more unbearable. Oh yes, as we were talking he continued to push the replay button on his phone so that the 30 second sound clip would replay over and over again. Anyway, I told him “si, yo tengo un novio” (I have a boyfriend)…and all of a sudden he said, “ok, but where does he live, and are you going to bring him to the December festival?” I was not prepared for these questions, this guy was crafty, and so I said that my “boyfriend lives far away and that he would not be coming to the December festival.” This was all that the boy wanted to hear, he smiled and said “good” and proceeded to switch off the inappropriate rap song and walk away…calling “adios.” Yikes! What have I done? I think I just added fuel to the fire! The candy went flying every which way and the kids got down and dirty...

I attended a piñata party last weekend, which was planned out perfectly. In fact, I have noticed a trend in Nicaragua, and that is that all of the piñata parties I have attended have been executed with amazing efficiency. Here is what goes on during a piñata: First, guests arrive at the party and drop off a birthday present. Next, the seats are pre-arranged around the piñata and kids are organized into groups. The kids strike at the piñata, meanwhile food is being served to all the seated guests. Eventually, the piñata bursts open and candy goes flying everywhere (watch out because the kids will kill for candy). Finally, the birthday song is sung, and the cake is cut and passed out to the guests. Now, the party is officially over and everyone leaves. The gifts are opened later. That’s it!! The kids are well dressed and well behaved…it is unlike any kid-party I have ever attended…because it’s actually fun, and it’s all about the timing!

¿Qué Paso?: Weather update: Octubre is the rainy month. What does this mean for me? Well, my clothes are in a constant state of molding and my chances of contracting an unknown foot disease from stepping in puddles has just increased 10 fold! My radio is currently tuned to: Daddy Yankee, my students just can’t get enough of this guy! They just love his music and therefore I must learn to love his music too. Interesting things that have happened on the bus: People like to touch my hair…I feel like a doll or dog because they will pet my head! Oh well! Interesting question I’ve been asked: “Is your mom as pale as you are? Your family must go through a lot of sunscreen.” An observation I’ve made: People here pump gas and don’t bother to turn off their car while gas is flowing into their vehicle. Dangerous?…perhaps. On the plus side, it is a speedier exit from the gas station (no timely hassling with the ignition turning the car on and off). However, isn’t there a possibility the car could blow up? Recent purchase: I bought raw chicken in the market (from the meat seller) and noticed that they also were selling big cloves of garlic. So I also asked the vendor to include a few cloves of garlic, which he proceeded to throw into the same bag as my uncooked, very raw, chicken meat. My reaction: “OH NO…cross contamination….not salmonella poisoning!!” The idea of cross contamination is non-existent in Nicaragua. But being an American germo-phobe I freaked! I decided to save the garlic by throwing it into a soup (I don’t waste ANYTHING)…I just boiled away the salmonella poising! Close, but no cigar: I almost bought “street shrimp,” which raw shrimp sold door to door. But I had a last minute change of mind, as I considered the high probability that the shrimp has not been refrigerated for at least 5 hours…while the vendor is walking the shrimp through the streets with the sweltering sun beating down on the scrumptious crustaceans. I suppose I have avoided a minor case of food poisoning but I have to ask myself was it worth it? Recipe update: I will be posting a new recipe in 2 weeks, as my cooking class was canceled this past week and was rescheduled for 15 Octubre. The machismo is starting to wear on me a bit. It gets to be a bit annoying when every time I walk out of my house I am hissed at or catcalled. I try to avoid large groups of men sitting together on street corners, but sometimes this is impossible and I must walk on by the group. I try to ignore most of it but here is a recap of what usually happens when I put on my “I cannot hear you” face: 1) First I hear the “hiss” (which I proceed to ignore…and I continue walking) 2) Next a clicking sound emits from their mouths (I still don’t pay any attention) 3) Of course, the men must yell out something obscene at me in Spanish 4) If they still don’t get my attention, they resort to yelling out something obscene in English 5) Still no reaction from me…then sometimes they finally resort to talking to me face to face…using actual words and sentences!!! Amazing how using sentences instead of clicking and hissing at someone can initiate an actual conversation! Yesterday, I had a visitor. It was the wife of one of my counterparts and she was hand delivering a note that was addressed to me, which was written by her husband, my counterpart. First of all, my counterpart lives 1 block from my house. Secondly, my counterpart also has my telephone number. Thirdly, I had a meeting with my counterpart the previous night. This being said, he sent his wife (on a bike) to deliver a handwritten note! The note read as follows (no translating needed, because he wrote it to me in English): Hi Brie, I hope you are right I need that you are the teacher today I know you can, Today I’m gonna go to Leon and I want you bring an activity and develop it with student as a class. I need that you know much more to the students, and today is your day. I own you a present. Teaching alone doesn’t scare me, actually I quite enjoy it, but I am here to work with the teachers. Luckily, I had already prepared for the class and I proceeded to give the students a mini-test in order to better assess their skills. I gave some simple directions at the beginning of class: 1) No talking to your friends 2) No cheating, eyes on your own paper 3) No calculators allowed 4) If you don’t understand a question just skip it 5) This is not a graded test and you have as much time to complete it as you need

Here is a brief sampling of the questions I asked on this test/questionnaire: 1) How old are you? 2) Do you have a job? If so, what do you do? 3) What do you like to do during your free time? 4) What does the word “business” mean to you? 5) What is 20% of 18? 6) What are your expectations for the coming year? This test consisted of a mix of “get to know you questions” and a few basic questions about the subject of business. The result of this test session was rampant cheating!! Yes, even for the questions like “how old are you” and “do you have a job” the students had to look off of one another’s papers. One student didn’t answer those questions at all, and when I approached him about it he said he was going to answer later (which he eventually did, after looking off another student’s paper). No one in the class got the percentage question correct, because they all copied 1 student’s answer, which happened to be incorrect (20% of 18=1.11??). I do not want to insult the class’s abilities or intelligence, because I believe they are all capable and clever. It’s the culture of collective cheating that has to be stopped! Thank goodness they didn’t copy the same “name” or “age” on every paper!! Never the less, the outcome of the test was positive overall; I can now see how many responsibilities these kids have outside of class. Since this school is rather rural, all the students live on a farm. Therefore, they all have farm work, which can be tiring and occupy a lot of time. I also learned that most of my students range from 15 to 22; however, they are all in the same grade and the same class. To finish off the class, and leave the students in a good mood, we played a game. In fact, they loved the game so much that instead of going out to recess they stayed in the class to play a few more rounds. Overall, the questionnaire accomplished 2 objectives, I now know my students skills and their personal interests. For my birthday, I received a lot of food gifts from my community, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I cannot say it enough, Nicaraguans are very generous people! However, the strangest food gift I received happened to still be alive. Yikes!! I went over to a counterpart’s home to chat and they told me they had a gift (regalo) for me. They asked my permission to go get the gift, and of course I said “sure.” They were gone for about 10 minutes in the backyard (I later realized they were attempting to “catch” my gift during this time period). Of course, my curiosity grew as the time elapsed and finally they came back with a LIVE chicken!! Instantaneously, my mouth drop opened and my eyes widened. My counterpart said, “Brie, I remember you told me that you liked chicken soup, you know I have a very good memory when it comes to these things.” True, I did tell all of my counterparts I liked chicken soup (I also said I liked beef and pig soup…and I just hope no one gives me a live cow or pig). My counterpart preceded to hand me the chicken, smiling proudly, I still stood in front of him with my mouth agape and thinking to myself: what I’m I going to do with this poor chicken? My counter partner then asked me, “You do know how to kill it, right?” I came back with a resounding, “No!?” And he said, “It’s easy, just have your neighbor help you!” So I walked home with the chicken bundled in my arms, and on the way home I was stopped by every person I walked past because they were all curious: Did the gringa buy this chicken? Is she going to eat the chicken? Does she know what a chicken is? I was graciously informed where to buy feed, how much to feed the chicken and most importantly I was told that if I didn’t tie my chicken up it would run away (which secretly I hoped it would do…save your own life chicken…run free into the wild). For a moment, I thought I would “Set my chicken free,” but then I changed my mind. I haven’t eaten chicken in over a month…and I do enjoy chicken…savory and tender…my mouth is watering now as I type this description. So, this Saturday I am having my neighbor kill my chicken and make chicken soup for everyone. I did consider keeping the poor chicken as a pet but I was then informed that 1) the dog at my house would eat the chicken and 2) This type of chicken is really rico (tasty). Therefore I can only say one thing, Buen provecho! This is a picture of my chicken (before she was turned into soup). Don´t worry I don´t have an after picture!

Quick chicken update, I was just informed that my chicken is a little too small to eat and therefore I must go to the “chicken exchange” to swap her for a bigger bird. Also, I had a minor misunderstanding with one of my neighbors this afternoon. I thought they were asking me “what I like to eat”…and I responded, “chicken.” They adamantly refused this answer and shook their heads “no,” which left me awkwardly gawking and repeating, “what’s the problem with chicken?” Well, it turns out they were really asking me “what does your chicken like to eat.” The proper response to this question would have been rice or corn…imagine their astonishment when I told them I feed my chicken, chicken…Que horrible!

Bienvenido a San Juan Del Sur: For my birthday I spent a wonderful day at the beach. Clear blue water, sunny skies and a peaceful atmosphere (what more can a birthday girl ask for?)¿Qué Paso?: My radio is currently tuned to: Radio Romantico, this station consists of classic American tunes dubbed in Spanish…it always puts a smile on my face to hear “Take My Breath Away” sung in Spanish! Sign Sighting: Crammed in the back of a routa (local bus) I was able to catch a glimpse of the following shop sign, which read: ¨We Make Shoes, Tacos, and Orthopedic Shoe Inserts.¨ Where else can you eat a fresh taco while having shoes and orthopedic-wear made? Regalos (gifts) that I have received this week: Squash, pig meat, gallo pinto, and shredded chicken Interesting question I’ve been asked: Why don’t I have more names? (apparently a first, last and middle name are not enough…most people here have 5 official names and countless nicknames) Minor Misunderstanding: Someone asked me, “Quire un carmelo (would you like a candy)” To my dismay, the candy in question was really a medicinal cough drop. So apparently, cough drops are also considered candy…I learn something new everyday! Recent purchase: A plant cleverly called “Sandía (watermelon),” because the leaves look like the rind of a watermelon. I purchased the plant in Estelí, at a little restaurant called La Casita, which I highly recommend to anyone looking for fresh and healthy food. They serve wheat bread, Swiss cheese, brie cheese, tea, coffee, homemade yogurt and homemade granola. They also sell a variety of plants and seeds. My meal cost 30 cords (or $1.66) and my potted plant also cost 30 cords, what a deal! The sunset at San Juan Del Sur

News flash, I just had a birthday and I am now 23…man, do I feel old. The good news about growing older in Nicaragua is that I am still considered a “youth.” In fact, I will be considered a “youth” up till age 30 or 33ish. My birthday was a lot of fun; I went to teach at my local school and was serenaded with the most bizarre (but wonderful) birthday song I’ve ever heard. The song included lots of clapping, a fast tempo and then a slower tempo, some yelling and then some singing, and to boot it lasted around 7 minutes. Good thing I didn’t have a cake with candles burning, because the candles would have burnt out long before I had a chance to blow them out (7 minutes later). During the song, I was seated in the middle of the room (not by choice, this was where the students placed me). It was a bit uncomfortable to sit in a chair and smile around the room for what seemed like a ridiculously long time, but the song was a wonderful gesture. I ended my day with a dinner of rice and shredded chicken, altogether it was a happy day! I have recently been hassled by a 20 year old chavalo, whom I will call “Juan Doe”…don’t worry this is not his real name…I am trying to protect his identity. He drives a bus route up North and wants me to come visit him (he’ll even drive me on the big yellow bus for free). He has offered to take me to dinner, to the movies, and to las fiestas. Need less to say, I am not interested. I try to convey this feeling as kindly as possible but it is difficult when the guy is following me everywhere around town on his bicycle. I went into the internet café for 1 hour, and the guy waited outside until I was done. Then he biked (in slow motion) right next to me as I was walking home. In fact, I was surprised that the bike didn’t just tip over, because of the slow pace, but he managed to keep his balance (simply amazing). So, Juan Doe also wants to buy me a cell phone in hopes that he can reach me exclusively. I don’t want to lead this guy on, and I don’t believe I am, because I continue to turn down all of his offers/gestures. But when will he leave me alone?! Obviously, “no” is just not quite getting through to him, and that’s when a brilliant idea popped into my head. Feign ignorance, and tell him that in fact I am married and when he originally asked the question “Usted tiene un novio (do you have a boyfriend),” I misinterpreted it as meaning do I own a “novillo (a young bull),” which obviously I do not, and therefore would answer a definitive “no” to this question. Then I can add, “Oh, but I do have a novio, whoops, I’m still learning Spanish…sorry for the mix-up.” My problem will be solved! “No, I don’t own a young bull but, oh ya, I just remembered I have a boyfriend!” Central Cathedral in Rivas

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this already in a previous blog, but it’s hot here! After reiterating the obvious, let me get to my point, I have had this occur several times on bus trips, and it absolutely horrifies me: I board a bus, chances are I am taking a minimum 1 hour ride, and strangely the windows of the bus are all rolled up. WHY, WHY, WHY? It’s hot, there is no need to ever roll up the windows, unless rain is pouring in through them, and even then it better be raining really hard to warrant a “window roll-up.” However, I have been on several very unfortunate bus rides where the windows remain rolled up for the entire ride. The reason behind this logic: Women don’t want their hair to be messed up by the wind. My counter-argument: Dripping sweat, to the point where it appears that a person has just stepped out of a pool or a shower, is just gross. It is preferable to have a bad hair day verses a smelly sweaty day. However, this logic clearly does not carry through to others on the bus, because they proceed to roll their windows up. I also feel that heat exhaustion is a likely side effect, due to the lack of free flowing air through the bus. I have yet to find a solution to this conundrum. Yes, I have asked the conductor if I can roll down my individual window…and the answer is NO (because the women around me protest). So this is my next idea: maybe I will have someone ship me my authentic “Sea World handheld fan that shoots out water from the mouth of Shamu the whale.” Perfect, I’ll see how this approach goes over with the people sitting around me…I feel they will finally see the light and allow me to open the window rather than get splashed with whale water mist from my fan. Whenever I meet a new person, which is every single day, the first few questions they always ask are: are you married, do you have kids, how old are you, and what are you doing here???? I always answer truthfully, however I have been contemplating spicing up my life a little and making a few things up (namely, creating a spouse (Harry) and kids (Hermione and Ron). What, I just got finished reading the final Harry Potter (thanks mom for shipping that out) and those are the names that happen to be on my mind…hopefully no one with notice, maybe I should me more conspicuous? Anyway, the truth has gotten me absolutely nowhere, because once I say the magic words “I’m single,” people start trying to fix me up with their hermano, tio, amigo, cousin, second cousin, …. Basically, they feel sorry for me, and think that I should be dating one of their relatives immediately to alleviate my loneliness. I always try to politely refuse these numerous offers, but it is just an awkward situation. Therefore, I am going to invent a family. My husband, Harry, lives in the United States. He is about 6’ 4” and plays football; he will be visiting me very soon and is also the jealous type (this addition will help to prevent the local guys from hassling me). It’s that simple, all that I need is a ring, which I will purchase for 20 cords at a local market! I haven’t put this plan into action, yet, but I am very tempted!The U.S. might have Pizza Hut but in Nicaragua we have the Pizza Hot!

The front part of my house serves as my living room, kitchen, dinning room, and occasionally my nap area (thanks to the addition of a hamaca). It is a multipurpose area, and often I open up my front door and windows to let the air flow through the house. However, lately as I’ve gotten to know more of the neighborhood chavalos I have found that opening up my door and windows inadvertently creates the “Brie Exhibit.” Come marvel at the gringa, she cooks, cleans, studies, reads…a very rare species indeed! The children gather outside of my door (usually a group of 5 to 6) and they just stare. Of course, I approach them and ask them questions (how are you, what’s new etc. etc.) but after a while they would rather watch me in my natural domestic habitat. Maybe to entertain the kids I should start making some fun animal noises in my “cage” (but this wouldn’t bode well for the “American” image…so maybe I will resist). Yesterday, a young girl (age 9) asked what I was going to do with the small bolsa (bag) of huevos (eggs) I had just purchased. I responded “I am going to eat them.” Her face lit up and she said, “Really, when do you eat eggs?” I told her I eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner! Then she asked what other Nicaraguan foods I liked (when I responded that I like everything, I realized this answer was just not sufficient. She wanted the exact names of comidas (foods)…so I started naming off everything…pollo, huevos, gallo pinto (the mention of this typical dish always elicits a laugh from whomever I’m talking with…still no clue why), sopa de cerdo, sopa de pollo, nacatamal….and the list goes on! Apparently, there is a big fiesta in December (go figure) and my dance card is already full. My teachers have already planned for me to visit their rural towns and participate in the fiestas. They have proceeded to show me pictures of last year’s festival and the festival from 3 years prior (the both looked the same to me). They are also prepping me for the festival by telling me all the things that go on during the month of December. The excitement exudes from their faces, and it’s rubbing off on me too…now I just have to wait a few months! However, Deciembre will be here before I know it! Another recipe…the corn tortilla is extremely popular and sells for 1 cord/tortilla in the market place and all around town. Dish name: Tortilla de Maiz When do you eat it: Morning, noon and night!!! Prep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 5 minutes/tortilla Ingredients: - 2 tazas Harina de maiz (2 cups corn flour) - Sal (pinch of salt) - Bicarbonate de sodio (1/4 tsp. baking soda) - ½ taza agua (1/2 cup water) - Aceite (2 tbsp. vegetable oil) Directions: 1) In a small bowl mix all dry ingredients: corn flour, salt, and baking soda. 2) Slowly add water in water to form a ball of dough. Be careful not to add too much water. 3) Meanwhile, heat oil in frying pan over low heat. 4) Make 3 inch balls of dough (masa). Flatten the balls into a round flat tortilla shape approximately ¼ inch thick (mas o menos). The dough is sticky, so it is recommend that the dough is flattened on the surface of a large plastic zip-lock bag. 5) Put uncooked tortilla onto heated frying pan. The dough should bubble up a little while it’s cooking. Don’t forget to flip and cook both sides evenly until browned.

This is the dirt road I walk down to reach one of my more rural schools...tranquilo!

2 second updates (aka ¿Qué Paso?): Days in oscura (total darkness): 0…my lights have been fixed

Days without water at night: 0 (alright!)

Roof leaks: hopefully 0…once it rains really hard I will know for sure, but the chavalos just fixed my roof …again

Gripe/bacterial infection/parasite/general maladies: Zip, zilch, zero

Interesting news: As if school isn’t canceled enough, apparently El Dia de Trabajo (the day honoring workers)…all school and work is canceled

Boyfriend update: His name is Marco, he lives down the street from me…HAHA jk…in truth, he is a little 5 year old boy who calls himself my “novio” (boyfriend)

Cuts caused by barbed wire: current count, 3 ...I cut myself again while putting up the laundry

Easy bake oven…Peace Corp style! So I feel like I should receive some type of Girl Scout badge (preferably a pink badge with a hand stitched picture of cookies with steam evaporating off of them) for the oven project I just successfully completed. I was missing wheat bread, and baked goodies…therefore I decided to build a Dutch Oven using a big pot, 1 tuna can, and 1 small cake pan. Operation “oven” not only works but actually makes tasty goodies too! I baked oatmeal cookies for all of my counterparts using this contraption. Who knows what I will be baking next…but skies the limit. Here is my oven in all its glory...by the way that´s what banana bread looks like when baked in a pot on a stove!

What is a nacatamal? Answer, a little slice of heaven rolled up into a banana peel. But in reality, I was not exactly sure what was in a nacatamal (even though I have eaten them numerous times). Therefore, I started an investigation to find out the ingredients that make up this dinner and/or breakfast food (yup, I have eaten it for breakfast!). This is what I came up with: A nacatamal is a popular Nicaraguan food sold on the bus or in the local pueblo. It usually contains beef, rice, onion, tomato, potato, maiz, and is served piping hot rolled up in a banana leaf. The consistency of the nacatamal is comparable to the consistency of stew (it’s a bit soupy). How does one go about eating this culinary delight? Not quite sure. Usually, when I buy a nacataml I don’t have any silverware (because chances are I am on a bus going 40kph (approximately 25 mph) through mountain, river and volcano territory. So I resort to using my hands (extremely messy). I have become a master of the gobble and scoop method of eating. Did I mention I have also gotten pretty sick after eating a nacatamal?? However, I am not so quick as to equate this sickness with the nacatamal itself, but rather with the fact that I was eating with my hands (I will be the first to admit…kinda gross…but gotta do what you gotta do…and sometimes that involves eating a nacataml with un-sanitized hands on a rollercoaster of a bus ride). Yesterday, I woke up to discover a large majority of my shoes and clothes had molded. Fun stuff. What kills mold? I decided bleach (cloro) would do the trick. Now I am left with a lot of white, splotchy clothing that smells of cloro but at least nothing is moldy. I am told that in the hot season (March-July) it doesn’t rain at all and therefore mold isn’t a problem. I hate to say that I am looking forward to the heat but I really hate mold, so give me the sun! I thought it might be fun to post a few recipes of common/popular Nicaraguan foods, so that those in the States can share in a cross-culture experience without ever leaving the comfort of the kitchen! Here is the first recipe in a series of 5: Dish name: Gallo Pinto Serves 5 When do you eat it? Morning, noon and night!!! Prep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 35 minutes Ingredients: - 1 bolsa arroz (approximately 1lb. of cooked rice) - frijoles cociendos de 10 cords (approx. 4 cups cooked red beans; drained) - 1 cebolla (1 medium sized onion) - 3 chiltomas (3 small green or red peppers; or 1 big green pepper) - 1 taza aceite (1 cup vegtable oil) Directions: 1) Finely dice cebolla (onion) and chiltomas (pepper). Rinse white rice under clean tap water. Pour ½ taza aceite (1/2 cup oil) into a large pot. First, fry rice with cebolla and chiltomas. Next, add water to rice, cover pot, and allow rice to steam cook for approximately 20 to 30 minutes. 2) Meanwhile, put a ½ taza of aceite (1/2 cup oil) into a frying pan and deep fry the already cooked frijoles. Once rice is finished cooking, add in fried beans. Serve gallo pinto with corn tortilla and crema (cream). **For a healthier version of Gallo Pinto, omit the oil/frying stages of rice and beans. I haven’t been doing a lot of teaching lately due to fiestas. However, I will share an episode that occurred during the last class I taught, which seems like 10 weeks ago (in reality it was 2 days ago but class has been canceled nearly every other day)…The kids piled into the room, noisy as usual, and a bit restless. The class lecture finally got underway and then it happened…the girls started to put on their make-up in class and the boys brought out their cologne to trade amongst one another. CRASH… SPATTER… What is that smell?? A boy dropped a huge bottle of cologne and the bottle shattered into a million pieces quickly engulfing the room with the scent of P.Diddy (not sure if this is exactly what P.Diddy smells like…and if it is what he smells like, I would not be surprised if people kept a 20 foot radius from him…needless to say his perfume brand reeks of suave). While this scene was occurring, another boy in the class was singing his favorite reggaetone hits in un voz más alto (loudly). Finally, a girl in the front row wrapped her bandana completely around her face to avoid the fumes vaporizing from the floor. Now how was I supposed to focus the class after this chaotic episode? Given the fact that there was 20 minutes left of the class, it was impossible to settle everyone back down. The boy who dropped his cologne was forced to mop it up and class was dismissed. Lesson learned: if chavalos want to smell like P. Diddy, please do it outside of class time and preferably away from my nariz (nose)! Watch out for the manholes…they’ll get ya every time! Alright, I made a whirlwind trip stopping by in Managua on my way to visit my old host family. Having been away from the city for 7 weeks I forgot my bearings and almost fell into a 10 foot deep manhole. Argh! In my small town there aren’t any manholes to worry about (thank goodness). But Managua seems to be plagued with uncovered manholes on every street. I saw a recent newscast (thanks, canal diez…channel 10) of a man who had fallen into one of these horrible traps and gotten stuck. Of course, as luck would have it, it started to rain and the man’s life was quickly put into jeopardy. No worries, he was saved and pulled out of the manhole not a minute too soon. However, a word of advice would be to always pay attention to the ground and avoid manholes at all costs! My host family mom and me...posing in her living room.

I am now the proud owner of a hamaca (hammock, see picture below). It is in my living room. I love it! In fact I am sitting in my hamaca, right now, typing this blog. Earlier today I ate lunch in my hamaca. Ayer (yesterday), I said forget sleeping in a bed…it’s all about sleeping in the hamaca! What a wonderful invention…so cool, comfortable (my gosh this is beginning to sound like an infomercial…and for only $6.99 you too can own your very own hamaca, genuine cotton, comes in an assortment of colors, free shipping…call now, phone operators are standing by!) Ok, so some Nicaraguans do have hamacas in their living room or outside in their backyard (it’s not just me, the weird gringa). I am culturally adopting and to do so correctly I must have a hamaca in my living room. A few days ago I hitched a ride to a small school an hour away. I jumped in the front seat of the car to discover…a wooden seat that used to be part of a rocking chair. The seat was now being used to cover the usual fabric upholstered car seat. This person had taken the wooden seatback and placed it in their car, sans rocking chair gliders, to make the seat more comfortable. Now, I was skeptical at first. How could a hard wooden seat be more comfortable than the cushy fabric upholstery? But guess what, after an hour car ride my posture had improved (no more slumping down in my seat) and I felt revitalized. So I would like to make a suggestion to all car manufacturers…ditch the fabric cushioned seats and opt for a hard wooden seats instead!

Van, Deenah and Brie (Small Business Volunteers Nica 44) having a blast in Leon!

Quick Updates:

Multi-Tools utilized: 6 tools used (46 more to go)

Dog and Rooster: The dog has been released from his tree…the rooster still remains tied up (for the record, I didn’t have anything to do with the dog’s release)

Days in oscura (total darkness)**: 18 and counting

Days without water at night: 0 (woo hoo)

Injuries due to oscura: 3 bruises total. I have collided with a chair, the frig, and a gas tank

Count Chocula and Squeakers (the bat and mouse that occupy my house): Bat is dead (RIP) but Squeakers still comes to visit me

Dog bites received: 0; Close encounters 57 and counting

Gripe/bacterial infection/parasite/general maladies: Right now I am in perfect health…but if I eat shady looking bus food again (which I will!!) who knows what I will come down with…I am hoping for a parasite (JOKING).**I read using small candles that I have stuck in empty tuna cans (make-shift candle holder…necessity is the mother of invention). I have not burned anything down…yet. However, I have had a few “close encounters” and have learned to turn the pages of my book a little further away from the open flame of the candle. Moreover, I have learned to breathe lightly in an effort to prevent candlelight flickering. Yet, I have learned not to breathe too lightly as to cause lightheadedness, dizziness and fatigue (all common side effects of not breathing)!The beach...what a view!

A lot of clothing worn in Nicaragua is second hand U.S. clothing. As a result, the t-shirts have American idioms. Clearly, this is a Spanish speaking country and some people cannot read or speak English. Therefore, when these people purchase used U.S. clothing they cannot read the t-shirt phrases that are written in English. The result is a new section of my blog I call “T-shirt Irony”: “Kiss Me I’m a Beta Sigma Phi”—This t-shirt was worn by a rather overweight, middle aged woman “New Mom: Proud mother of twins” –This shirt was worn by a woman who appeared to be in her mid to late 70’s Going to the beach in Nicaragua is a bit different than going to the beach in the states. Instead of taking cloths off, it is required to put more on! The best bathing suit is a pair of jeans and t-shirt. Simply roll the jeans a bit and wade ankle deep into the water. Of course, never go swimming in the water because it is peligroso (dangerous)! However, there are several beaches that tend to be touristier and therefore it is just fine to wear a bikini and actually swim in the water. Nevertheless, it is always important to bring appropriate beach wear (jeans) just in case the beach has a lot of Nicaraguans, because then it is time to culturally adopt and cover up…this isn’t Baywatch! Finally, popular items sold at the beach are tiny animals made of seashells. Nicaraguans love these little knickknacks, and they make wonderful gifts. Local transportation, only 3 cordobas (or 16 cents to go anywhere in the city):

I was recently invited to work with a local group consisting of 7 community members. The group has a list of community improvement projects that they would like to start. Hopefully, I can lend some support and organize the group into action. There seems to be lots of talking and little action. Also, group meetings are often canceled due to fiestas. Finally, the group wants me to become a member. I, however, explained to the group that it would be more beneficial to recruit members from the community. The group did not like this suggestion and still hopes that I will join. I believe they also expect me to be a group leader, while I would rather be a facilitator (I am thinking sustainable development). There was a really big fiesta this past weekend in my town. Candied apples, cotton candy, transvestites (yep…men dressed in make-up and woman’s clothing selling food), fried food, a Farris Wheel and a live band. It had all the ingredients of a party. The Toña was flowing and people were having a good time. Toña is a Nicaraguan beer brand…there are only 2 options Toña or Victoria both happen to be owned by the same company (theme song for Victoria “Amigos, Amigos”). I am surprised by how dressed up people get for fiestas. The road is covered in dirt, or in some parts cobblestone and personally I find it difficult to walk the street in tennis shoes. But for fiesta time Nicaraguan woman wear their high heals, big earrings, make-up, perfume and sparkly tops or glitter dresses. This feat requites balance that I do not possess; therefore, I left my stilettos at home and went for comfort wearing jeans and a pair of flats…with a sparkle top (oh ya!!). Fiesta time in my town...this is the high school drum team.

Mas fiesta...this is the dance squad

I am going to preface this part of my blog with a bit of background information about myself. I am not an actor nor have I ever been a stand-up comic, impersonator, or ventriloquist. That being said, I have a Nicaraguan counterpart who lives in my town, which I often visit with to practice Spanish. He will always ask me millions of questions about American customs. Most recently he asked me to impersonate different accents such as the New York frenzied inflection, Texas twang, and finally the British brogue. I told him quite simply I couldn’t speak in the different intonations. He didn’t understand this answer. He said, “If they all speak English why can’t you just speak like them... come on Brie just try.” He kept egging me on and got a little impatient with the fact that I was unable to “bust out” these accents on cue. I then turned the table and asked him to speak using a Spaniards accent. He proceed to change the topic…I think he got the point! Here are a few more funny questions I have received from Nicaraguans (including my responses): Are discos (dance clubs) different in the U.S.? My response: Nope, they are pretty similar. On second thought, less reggaetone! Why are all Americans fat? My response: Not all Americans are overweight but unhealthy food and lack of exercise leads to weight problems. What kind of food do Americans eat? My response: We have a mélange (no, I did not actually use this “exact” vocab in Spanish but I still got my main point across…nosotros tenemos comida diferente) of food from different countries. My favorite is Chinese food. Everyone in the U.S. has a maid…right? My response: Nope, a majority of people clean their own home, wash their own dishes, cook their own food and wash their own clothes. (Cultural difference: a lot of people in Nicaragua hire help to cook and launder. In fact, I have seen more maids here in Nicaragua then I have ever encountered in the States). What types of jobs do immigrants to the U.S. have? My response: You have family in the States, what kind of work do they do? (I found this question difficult to answer. Many Nicaraguans have family members abroad. Therefore, I feel Nicaraguans are more apt to answer this question then I am). This reminds me of my marching band days at CU!

A little something I have learned from the T.V. series Seinfeld: the phrase “Serenity Now”. This is my new mantra. A few days ago, I experienced one of the worst bus rides to date. I boarded the big yellow bus at 12 and the departure was scheduled for 12:30. Thirty minutes inside a bus with the sun beating down caused me to sweat profusely. Then the bus finally began to move and the air started circulating. To my horror, someone complained that their hair was being messed up and the bus conductor started shutting all the windows, which created the furnace effect (extremely hot and suffocating). Of course, I was also on the bus with about 60 chavalos (crazy kids) who were throwing paper, candy, gum, and fruit. Meanwhile, around 5 boys were wrestling in the back of the bus. Plus, boys were going around pulling the hair of the girls. The little hellions arrived at their stops one by one and as their numbers dwindled peace was restored. I call this experience my typical Tuesday bus ride (because I relive this scene every signal Tuesday). Throughout the ride, I just keep repeating “Serenity now, serenity now, serenity now.”This past weekend a few of the volunteers (including myself) took a beach day vacation, which I will sum-up in one sentence: A dog took a tinkle winkle on my bag mistaking it for a tree, the waves were so rough I got sand in my ears, small children were selling seashell animals to tourists and for lunch I ate a delicious fish fillet. The parade finished up in la concha (the field). There were lots of fireworks and food was being sold in the stands. The different drum squads had a "drum off" and the crowd cheered like crazy for their favorite group!

Quick update, there is another bat in my house. I have named him Count Chocula (now I have 2 pets: 1 mouse and 1 bat). I am soliciting name suggestions for the mouse (I was thinking of naming him Stewart Little, except my mouse does not know how to drive a car but I am pretty sure he can throw one heck of a fiesta). Count Chocula hasn’t been killed yet, but I think this week may be his last. My host family said they were going to “take care of the problem” this weekend, which makes me believe they have mob connections. It’s kind of like an episode of “The Sopranos,” except they “off” bats instead of gangsters.

This picture was taken in the back of a micro bus. Local transportation is a blast! One can travel anywhere in the country via bus!!! (Left to Right fellow volunteers: Deenah, Van and Me) 5 Simple steps to hitching a ride in Nicaragua, because the bus that was scheduled to pick-up people failed to show-up: Find a truck with a large flatbed, full gas tank and a driver, because it transports more people at a faster rate with limited pushing involved. Never travel alone and only hitch a ride in the rural towns (el campo) with Nicaraguan friends. NEVER hitch a ride in a big city such as Managua (that just spells trouble and robbery).Apparently the sign for hitching a ride is universal…stick out a thumb. Also, the word for hitching a ride is simply “ride”…yo necesito un ride (I need a ride).Wait for the truck to slow (it probably won’t stop completely) start a swift jog along the side of the car and hop in with about 20 to 30 other individuals (if the front seat of the truck is unoccupied, occupy that seat immediately for a slightly more comfortable ride). However, if thigh, calf and quad muscles are feeling a bit flabby and a workout is needed then I recommend standing in the back of the flatbed. This will allow for an optimum workout…equivalent to doing a wall-sit for approximately 1 hour, 300 double lunges with calf lifts or jump roping for approximately 30 minutes straight.To signal to the driver that people have reached their final destination and need to disembark, simply bang the top of the vehicle several times very loudly. Ideally, the driver will slow vehicle for a safe dismount. **Safety Tip: If a person happens to stumble, fall or trip while disembarking from the truck, immediately tuck in head and all appendages…if carrying chickens, food or bags, drop them immediately and go into a roll…I haven’t tried this method…nor have I witnessed it implemented…but I feel it might come in handy to prevent permanent bodily damage. I call it the “tuck and roll” or the “Darn it, I’m falling off the back of a flatbed truck…again” move. “A crab on the beach”

Several of us watched a Nicaraguan arrange this crab with a french-fry and beer in hand. He placed him on a log at the beach and then just stood back to look at his creation. I still am unsure why he did it, but about 2 hours later (the crab still remained) and we decided to take a picture. Have you ever been squished into a large yellow school bus that is over occupied 10 folds, (suggested capacity 65 people; actual capacity 150-200 people)? Usually on public transportation in the U.S. there is a yellow or white line on the floor in the front of the bus that reads “do not cross this line.” It is a safety precaution, and God help the person that crosses the line, because the bus driver will harangue that unfortunate individual for the remainder of their bus ride; thus, evoking feelings of shame and ignorance. Yes, I have tried crossing this “golden” line in the U.S. and I was lectured and given the “evil eye” by the bus driver and fellow passengers. Therefore, I speak from experience and past shame. In Nicaragua, that rule does not apply nor does it exist. Although, the line and the phrase “do not cross this line” still remain painted on the bus floor…oh sweet irony. People cross the line and hang on for dear life outside the door. Meanwhile, I am stuck in between animals, babies, children, and adults somewhere in the middle of the bus…listening to Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”…unable to wipe the sweat from my face (having it slowly drip into my eyes and burn) all because I cannot move my arms or legs (and this is not an exaggeration…it is an everyday experience). And I am so thankful to finally reach my stop that I feel like kissing the dirt! A day at the beach. Sometimes it is nice to cool off at el mar ...the ocean. (Deenah and Me) I have been in oscura (pitch black) for the past 12 days (no lights, candles…nada). Why? Well, the problem isn’t lack of electricity, because my neighbors have the luz, television and music all running (at the same time…simply mocking me). The problem is faulty wiring. Hopefully, it will be fixed within the next week. Meanwhile, I cook in the dark, exercise in the dark, and hangout in the dark by myself (so sad). Last night, I was fumbling around helplessly reaching for random objects and made the mistake of putting Worcestershire sauce (instead of soy sauce) into my Asian Fusion dish…whoops…I still ate it though because I had no other choice! This is a picture of me with ½ of the class (the other ½ was at a marching band competition). There are normally 50 kids in this class. My counterpart is wearing pink and her name is Amanda. I played a rousing game of musical chairs with my students this past Friday (and volleyball during recess). I didn’t win but I did “bust a move,” which had the kids laughing!

Now back to the title of this blog…Ghostbusters. First, I would like to conjure up some memories: I recall reading R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps series (just last year in fact…joking… when I was in elementary school). The books detailed a ghost story or monster story always with an unfortunate ending for the protagonist (sorry to divulge the ending for those who have yet to read this intriguing and suspenseful series). While Goosebumps only details the bloodcurdling side of ghosts, Ghostbusters shows an assortment of Ghost personalities. For example, humans possessed by ghosts, dogs possessed by ghosts, and ghosts made out of slime. For those who have not seen these movies, I suggest reserving copies via Netflix and having a movie marathon to watch a priceless piece of Americana unfold. The Ghostbuster’s sidekick, Slime, is a helpful ghost who assists the team by answering the telephone and as his name suggests sliming unwitting evildoers. Ghosts can also be helpful for everyday household tasks, just look at Casper the friendly Ghost who can cook, clean, and levitate off of the floor. In Nicaragua there are also ghosts, but these ghost’s do not possess the same qualities as the ghosts described above. Most often the ghosts are associated with Dios (god) and el Diablo (the devil). In fact, I listened to about 3 hours worth of ghost encounters yesterday night. I will quickly recap the stories, leaving out many important details essential to character and plot development, nevertheless while encapsulating the gist of the theme: Story 1: Man encounters ghost at 4am in the backyard. Ghost has large eyes of fire and is most likely the devil. Man is supposed to be picking up food from his neighbor, however due to the ghost encounter runs back into the house frightened. Later, the neighbor inquires about the food and man explains strange encounter. All is forgiven. Story 2: Ghost whispers a name into a man’s ear 3 times in a row. Man opens his eyes and sees nothing. Story 3: Apparition appears in front of a man and then disappears. Story 4: Ghost touches the leg of a sleeping man; man opens his eyes and sees nothing. Story 5: A dog has taken the form of the devil and follows the man around the block before disappearing. Story 6: Ghost gives power to a man to heal his sick child instantly. Story 7: Ghost rides around on a horse. The only catch is the ghost has no head (sound familiar…Sleepy Hallow)! Story 8: Man who has one very large foot and one very small foot has incredible difficulty walking upright. Ghost heals the man’s unusually large left foot. The man walks without a wobble! When it rains it pours! This picture was taken 1 week before the Hurricane hit Nicaragua. Typically it rains everyday (it is the rainy season) and it is a strong, chilly rain. This is me at a Nicaraguan open market. This is where I buy my vegetables and meat.

Nicaraguans tend to be very animated people using a lot of hand or facial gestures to communicate various things: cardinal directions, confusion, heights of humans, and heights of animals. For example, in the U.S. when giving directions a person might point their finger towards the direction they are referring. In Nicaragua, a person giving directions “pushes out” their lips in a kissing motion towards the direction they are indicating. Another facial gesture is used when a Nicaraguan needs to demonstrate confusion. They will scrunch their nose. In the U.S. we might shrug our shoulders. The biggest cultural gesture difference that I am still having trouble adjusting to is: the “come over here I need to talk to you” hand gesture. Let me explain, in the U.S. if someone sees one of their friends across the street they might wave and gesture for the friend to come over. In which case the common gesture is to motion a hand in the direction that the other person must come…the hand motion is towards the body (Refer to Exhibit A). In Nicaragua it’s the opposite or what I call the “shoo away” motion (Refer to Exhibit B). That is correct, the people here “shoo” others away when they in fact want the person to come closer. Clearly I call this the “shoo away” motion because in the U.S. when a person does not want someone to come closer they simply shoo them away with their hand. This slight difference of hand motions makes me look like a total idiot, because my first reaction is to walk further away. Therefore, I start backing away from the person that is “shooing” me. However, about 5 seconds later I remember that I’m in Nicaragua, and of course that gesture means to come closer. Therefore, I double back to meet the person. Yet, my U.S. influence makes me think twice about this reaction (because it just feels strange to walk toward someone “shooing”). Yet again the “shooing” motion makes me back off a second time before I FINALLY realize that the person is calling me closer. The result is a very strange back and forth; back and forth dance motion…that makes me appear like I’m going into convulsions. But it’s ok because I’m a gringa!