I want to come home, now.

I don't have a lot of time to write, so I figured I'd just upload some pictures really fast. Róger and I went to Las Peñitas on Saturday. It's a beach only about a half hour bus ride from León. We took Nica transport, which was interesting, to say the least. I enjoyed it, though. The beach was absolutely beautiful. And empty! It was cloudy, so I didn't get to see the sunset unfortunately, but we're going back next week because I liked it so much. I'm going to live there someday and raise brown beach babies. No questions asked. I've been enchanted by the idea of Nicaraguan surfers. They have long wavy hair, beautiful, lean muscles and skin the color of honey. I'm in love.

"To Roosevelt"

A famous poem written by Rubén Darío to President Roosevelt. I´m not sure which one. If you understand Spanish, I would look it up because it's much more powerful in Spanish. Enjoy!

TO ROOSEVELT

The voice that would reach you, Hunter, must speak
in Biblical tones, or in the poetry of Walt Whitman.
You are primitive and modern, simple and complex;
you are one part George Washington and one part Nimrod.
You are the United States,
future invader of our naive America
with its Indian blood, an America
that still prays to Christ and still speaks Spanish.

You are strong, proud model of your race;
you are cultured and able; you oppose Tolstoy.
You are an Alexander-Nebuchadnezzar,
breaking horses and murdering tigers.
(You are a Professor of Energy,
as current lunatics say).

You think that life is a fire,
that progress is an irruption,
that the future is wherever
your bullet strikes.
No.

The United States is grand and powerful.
Whenever it trembles, a profound shudder
runs down the enormous backbone of the Andes.
If it shouts, the sound is like the roar of a lion.
And Hugo said to Grant: "The stars are yours."
(The dawning sun of the Argentine barely shines;
the star of Chile is rising..) A wealthy country,
joining the cult of Mammon to the cult of Hercules;
while Liberty, lighting the path
to easy conquest, raises her torch in New York.

But our own America, which has had poets
since the ancient times of Nezahualcóyolt;
which preserved the footprint of great Bacchus,
and learned the Panic alphabet once,
and consulted the stars; which also knew Atlantic
(whose name comes ringing down to us in Plato)
and has lived, since the earliest moments of its life,
in light, in fire, in fragrance, and in love--
the America of Moctezuma and Atahualpa,
the aromatic America of Columbus,
Catholic America, Spanish America,
the America where noble Cuauthémoc said:
"I am not in a bed of roses"--our America,
trembling with hurricanes, trembling with Love:
O men with Saxon eyes and barbarous souls,
our America lives. And dreams. And loves.
And it is the daughter of the Sun. Be careful.
Long live Spanish America!
A thousand cubs of the Spanish lion are roaming free.
Roosevelt, you must become, by God's own will,
the deadly Rifleman and the dreadful Hunter
before you can clutch us in your iron claws.

And though you have everything, you are lacking one thing:
God!

In the open air...

Adolfo (my teacher) and I went to El Jardín Bontanica today. I´m not sure what I liked better, the garden or the trip to the garden. We traveled like Nicaraguans. I loved it. The garden was far enough that we couldn't have walked to it. It was on the outskirts of town so we hopped on common Nica transportation: essentially the back of a truck covered with a cloth tarp, a metal cage and benches on either side. It was great. The "rules" were scrawled in marker on the inside of the tarp. Not evenly, or anything. At first it looked like vandalism or something because it was just crookedly written on the tarp. It was pretty packed and the truck area was hectic and crazy, with trucks pulling up and old women and families rushing to the emptiest ones.

Everyone on the truck was looking at me oddly. I guess I didn't blend in with my shorts, sunglasses, water bottle and wide eyed look. Oh, and I was the palest person there.  The ride was bumpy and all over the place. People also randomly exited and boarded. There was a set route and destination, but no official stops. Imagine being able to just flag down the city bus whenever you needed a ride. Every turn and speed bump caused everyone to slide down the bench and onto each other. Because of this, I got a faceful of sweaty, old man armpit.

When we finally got of the truck, my vision was clouded with vibrant, healthy green hues and a small hint of mountainside. El campo. Beautiful.
We had to walk about a quarter of a mile down a dusty, unpaved road to get to the garden. The road was open to the sky and sun was relentless. I enjoyed it, being in the open air. It's what I've been dying to do. We joked and laughed as we walked. It was nice. We got stopped by the police, too. At first, I thought maybe we were being hassled for the whole gringo/tourist deal but it turned out they wanted to tell us to watch out and be careful because some boys had been holding people up and robbing them. Came back in one piece, though.

The garden was beautiful. We had a little problem getting in at first because apprently, I reek of gringa and they wanted to charge me extra. The guy asked me my name is Spanish as a test, I think, because Adolfo told them I lived here. I am pretty sure the guy expected me to just look at him funny in response, but, alas, my years of Spanish classes are paying off. I answered promptly and passed, paying Nica price sin gringo tax. I forgot that most of Central and South America has rainforest, so a lot of the portions of the garden were cool because they were like mini rainforests. Probably the closest I'll get to a real one. I got some nice pictures, and, as usual, the sky came out unimaginably blue. I love the natural beauty here. It never ceases to awe me. There are so many types of flora here. It's incredible. Every two feet, there was a new tree, bush or flower to read about. They all have crazy names, too. There sprinklers everywhere. We had fun dodging them.
Great Nica experience today and beautiful scenery. Couldn't have asked for anything more.

                                                        My Spanish teacher, Adolfo.
I've uploaded all my pictures on Flickr, if you're interested: Nica!

The bluest skies in Central America...

Two days ago, after my class, Róger took me on a little tour of León.We went to an art museum and it was interesting, but, you know, and art museum. I love art, don't get me wrong. It just doesn't hold my attention for very long. It was interesting, though, because it featured a lot of old and modern Central American art which isn´t something you get to see very often. I figured it existed, but never really thought of Central America as far as art goes. Literature, yes, which brings me to our next stop: the Rubén Darío museum. Rubén Darío is a very famous poet here in León. There are statues of him everywhere and streets, schools and restaurants  named after him. He was born in Matagalpa, Nicaragua, but spent most of his life in León. He was a raging alcoholic, but his poems are beautiful and powerful, as the story usually goes. The museum is in his old house.

After we spent an hour doing the things Róger wanted to do, we finally got to climb to the top of the cathedral (the picture I posted a few days ago). I had been wanting to do this ever since I'd found out that you could climb to the top. We had to pay to go up, which I figured, but my gosh. Here in Nicaragua, there is this thing called "the gringo tax," which basically means that Nicas are charged less then half as much as gringos for pretty much everything. It's frustrating, to say the least, when Róger pays 15 to 20 cordobas for everything and I pay 40. The extra money was worth it, though. Standing in front of the cathedral, it's just incredible. The architecture commands attention. Standing on top of the cathedral, though, is breath taking. I don't even have the words for it. Everyday, I am amazed but how vividly blue the sky is, but from the cathedral, it's like...you couldn't even imagine a blue like this. The top of the cathedral consists of the immense domes. You can't walk on them because only the little pillars that edged the roof contain iron, and it wouldn't take a lot to fall through. The whole city can be seen from the top, a little plain of red tiled roofs and narrow streets. The first thing I noticed when I made it to the top, though, made me gasp. Beyond the reach of the city, settled in a thin, grey fog, were rolling hills and volcanoes. God, the volcanoes. It's hard to describe, it was just...I couldn't believe that this was the backdrop to the city. It was the kind of thing you see in the movies, wonder where a place like that might exist and then shrug your shoulders because it's seemingly so exotic and distant that there's a very small chance you'll ever see anything like it.

This is my shower. They turn the water on in sections of the town at specific times. Every time I want to take a shower, the water is off, hence, The Bucket. I kind of like it, though. I feel like I´m saving water.

This is dinner on a pretty regular basis. That red package is refried beans. I love the artwork, though. Doesn´t that brown, block of beans look enticing? The yellow package is bologna and the little white package is sour cream. Sour cream and milk come in little baggies. It's not bad, just a little inconvinient.

This is La Catedral de León, one of the oldest cathedrals in all of Central and South America. León has a rich history and plays a very big part in Nicaraguan history. It´s one of the oldest cities in Central America and is considered the intellectual center of Nicaragua, being the home to many classic poets, writers and activists. It was established in 1524 and was the original capital of Nicaragua. León is also well known for being the city in which President (essenatially a dictator) or "el traidor" (the traitor) Anastasio Somoza García was shot and killed in 1956.

Como un Nicaragüense...

Last night, I told Róger that I wanted to eat real Nicaraguan food, like a Nicaraguan. He took us on a long walk through the city and as we got closer to our destination, the streets grew dark and ominous. There were few people walking around and the buildings went from normal to dilapidated and dirty. Róger kept assuring me that it was safe, but I couldn´t help but think that in the states, this was the type of place people took you to die. As we rounded a corner, Róger reached out and pointed to a dark alley way behind an abandoned, tin Coca Cola stand, telling me that that was where the restaurant was. I didn´t protest, but I won´t deny that I was very apprehensive.
We reached the Coca Cola stand, made our way around it and into the alleyway, and in a single moment, everything change. Along with the pale, warm, welcoming light came the rich smell of chicken cooking on the fryer and the sound of laughter and chatter. My reluctance disappeared with the sight of women in brightly colored aprons carrying large bowls of gallo pinto to the handmade wooden tables and chopping heads of cabbage for Nicaraguan style coleslaw. The restraunt was covered by tin roofs and surrounded by tin walls. There were long plastic tables adorned in floral table cloths and tubs of salsa right in the center.
I wanted chicken, but it´s very expensive here, so, instead, we each got a plate of gallo pinto with coleslaw, fried Nica cheese, a torilla and a smal pedazo of carne asada. It was amazing. I don´t like coleslaw, as a general rule. In the U.S. it's drenched in mayonnaise. I´m not sure what they put on it here, but the coleslaw is to die for. You mix it in with your gallo pinto (red beans and rice), take a bite, chew it, swallow, then take a bite of the crisp tortilla. The cheese is...interesting. I decided to try it despite the fact that last time I was in Nicaragua, I found I didn´t like it. Even fried, it was really salty and odd tasting, but they eat this Nicaraguan cheese with everything. The carne asada was so savory and mouthwateringly delicious! It was such a small piecec and it was so good, that everytime I wanted some, I'd take a tiny bite, just so I could make it last throughout the meal.
Our visit to the restaurant was the first time I'd had an experience with street children here in León. I met many on my last trip to Nicaragua, but they were in special organizations that were helping them learn. These boys were actually living in the streets and begging for money. A lot of the street children here are addicted to glue (they sniff it). It starts because it's cheaper than food and it makes the hunger go away, like a lot of other drugs. That's why anyone will tell you not to give them money because they just buy little baby food bottles of glue with it.
The boys came around while we were eating, sticking their dirty, scraped hands out and asking for some change. It was really hard to decline them. It was also really hard because here we were eating our food in front of them while they were starving. Róger didn't finish his food and he offered it to me but I asked him if it was okay for me to give it to one of the little boys instead. One of them had left, so when I spotted the younger one with the oversized shirt and big, brown eyes, I wrapped the rest of the beans, coleslaw and cheese in the tortilla, motioned him over and gave it to him. He took it without a smile or a thank you, but I didn't mind. Atleast he had some food.
It made me really upset, to see that. Especially because I know that it´s really hard to help children like that. Róger says that sometimes when people try to help them, it's impossible because they don´t know anything other than stealing and begging. I also learned last year that it´s really difficult to get the children off glue. A lot of the ones that voluntarily go to detox programs ending up leaving and going back to the streets. It's hard, when all you want to do is scoop these suffering children into your arms and show them that that isn't how life is or should be. Unfortunately, for them, that's all they know. It's like when we went to visit La Chureca last summer. It's the dump that takes up a third of the city of Managua. People live and work on the dump. For most, sifting through the trash is their livelihood. There is a church in the dump, a school on the dump and even a health clinic on the dump. They've made homes and lives for themselves on top of mountains of garbage. When we went, we visited the place where the children stay while their parents work, if they're not in school.They didn´t have water, the day we came. They were happy, though. Happy to play with eachother, color with us, play fútbol with us, climb all over us. I realized, as I sat at the table with a baby girl, Anita la Senorita Bonita, in my lap and a laughing boy, Victor, next to me, that many of these children didn't know anything outside of the dump. As far as they were concerned, this is how the rest of the world lived, and because of that, they had no reason not to be happy. Many of them will probably never know anything outside of La Chureca their whole lives.