Every philosophy has principles upon which it is built.  For Plato, principles were the root source of being or knowledge.  For Aristotle, they were the first cause of being, of becoming, or of being known.  A principle is viewed as something basic—as a fundamentum (Latin) or archē (Greek).  Conveniently, a proposition that is a principle admits no proof nor does it need proof, it can be applied to a broad range of cases; it is a fundamental generality governing our understanding. (1)  

A quick view of history, across any subject area, will produce a profusion of principles.  Various schools of scientific thought put them forth, each religion has a set and of course all the philosophers do it (or did it).  There is Bentham’s principle of utility which holds that the rightness of an action lies in its capacity to conduce to the greatest good of the greatest number.  Aristotle’s principle of causality, claiming that every event has a cause, has been debated and honed for millennia.  Just as bold, but even more ambiguous is the principle of truth…only what is true can be said to be known by someone.
 
Why am I philosophizing?  Well after many changes and much time to reflect (I know, it’s been ages since my last post) I’ve been fathoming what Untourism’s principle could be.  What idea would serve as a touchstone, a foundation.  Since I neither have to furnish proof or admit having any, I can apply a proposition widely and declare it as fundamental to our understanding of the world, right?  

So, after 1 year and 5 months of abandoning my permanent residence and embarking on the Untourist way of life, I will pronounce the principle on which it lays…(drumroll)...U-Turns.  Except, oops, U-Turn isn’t right because that implies going back from whence you came, and that’s not it.  So I guess it’s sharp, awkwardly angled turns in unexpected directions at unplanned times. But of course, that doesn’t sound very philosophical.  And it forgets to take into consideration outlook and point of view during said turns.  A Sartre I never claimed to be. 

So let’s just skip any big proclamations and talk a bit.  What I’ve been thinking about most lately is wonderlust.  You know that feeling you have when you are meeting someone for second or third date?  Someone you really liked on the first date, actually connected with, so as you shower and pick an outfit, you aren’t pure nerves and doubts like the first time, but all anticipation.  As you head to the restaurant, you perceive every single thing in your world just a bit differently, a bit more positively.  If the report you have due or the phone call you owe your mother enters your mind these thoughts lack their usual dread, you think “oh well” and return to the excitement of your pending date.   

It doesn’t take a newly met human to inspire this feeling.  It might be a view of uninterrupted landscape, a series of bright lights, the crank of engine, a fresh snowfall, a gust of birds or peak of sun—any intoxicating moment you are lucky enough be struck by, to take notice of in a way that halts you, maybe alters you even if only for seconds.  Lynda Rutledge describes it as “my own universe's stutter and shift.”  But there is no substitute for wonderlust.  And no answer how to sustain its fleeting presence. (2)  

As I wander through the days of what I like to think of as my new, temporary life, I can’t say I have it all figured out, because I can say there’s no such thing as that.  I can say that a Nicaraguan beach and a Midwest office building are different worlds, but not as far away as one might think.  I can say I am amazed, bewildered, sometimes saddened at the way we humans live our lives.  If what we experience is our sum total, then I guess all we can do is the how.

1 Lifted, shamelessly, from an unnamed document published by the State University of New York Press, Albany at http://www.sunypress.edu/pdf/61262.pdf.

2 To read Lynda's make-you-jealous good essay, go to http://www.creativenonfiction.org/brevity/past%20issues/brev20/rutledge20.htm.

If you only showed up in the summer, when all the flowers are blooming, the pond is cool and full of biting fish...you might just forget the snowbound winters and think central Ohio is a perfect place to live!  At any time, the farm is a great place to recoup, relax and rethink.  Feels good to be here. 

Meanwhile, I have a book out, that YOU can purchase (hint!).  It's actually an anthology in which my piece appears, alongside many other great writings.  It's a beautiful hardbound book about LUCK, something all of us could use a little of.  It makes a perfect gift (hint) and the small, local (NC) publisher would be thrilled to get a bunch of orders (hint) especially if said buyers clicked "special merchant instructions" and noted that their purchase was motivated by Marann Mincey (hint).

In all seriousness, I haven't had a chance to read every page, but I've spent some time looking through my advance copy (how fun!) and it really is a great collection of various writers, quirky sidebars and colorful illustrations...and a great cause (you can learn more about this small press later).  Along the way, I've received much appreciated encouragement from many of you concerning my writing.  Two common questions are, "When can I buy your book?" or "How can I help?"  Well, here is such an opportunity.  

There two easy ways you can purchase:

Click here to order directly from the publisher (hint), learn about the press and the book:  http://www.lorimerpress.com/Luck.html

If you must, must save a bit of money and go through a discount seller, you can also purchase at http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Luck/Avery-Caswell/e/9780982617106

Go ahead and stock up, enjoy for yourself and remember x-mas isn't that far away and this is perfect for all those "what in the heck do I get for them" people.  I look forward to hearing what you think of "Luck: A Collection of Facts, Fiction, Incantation & Verse." 

Thursday is the 15th of July, which marks exactly 3 months from the date of our passport entry stamp and just over 1 year since we sold most everything and took up a nomadic lifestyle.  Causes pause for reflection, which we’ve been doing a lot of—talking, dreaming, reminiscing, scheming—during various excursions to beach towns in search of an Oceanside rental which we were thinking we’d make our next one-month home in Nicaragua. 

We haven’t found Fred’s dream house (though we did see some great ones), but we have found some clarity.  We are aware that our very use of the word “plan” is an oxymoron but have yet to come up with a more succinct alternative: what IS a single word that means the intention to act upon a spontaneous idea for whatever length of time that idea produces a pleasurable result?

Anyway, living in Nicaragua has made us clear that this lifestyle is for us.  We enjoy how the small, daily challenges of living abroad prevent an auto-pilot state of mind.  We love the laid-back atmosphere, the non-consumer attitude, and the overall feeling of safety and freedom.  We’ve experienced how we can live an amazing quality of life for a fraction of the cost of typical U.S. living. 

We’re also clear, that to do so, leisurely, we can’t have any American-style obligations lingering.  Without loose ends such as car ownership, a sprint contract, that one last credit card (none of which a plummeted real estate market have helped) it would be truly easy living down here.

And we haven’t forgotten all the ways life in the states is amazing.  So, we are returning for awhile!  Don’t even ask, because we don’t know where, what, why, how, or for how long, but after a final beach vacation in Las Penitas (of course!) we’ll land on the good old farm in Ohio and figure out some things until our next foreign voyage, keeping in mind that life, in any location, is an adventure. 

Here are some things we do know:

We won’t miss: beans; cold showers; rude bus riders; firecrackers (at all hours of everyday and night); roving trucks with concert speakers blaring advertisements; old, lumpy pillows; scrawny, feral dogs; and trying to express ourselves in Spanish.

We will miss: markets; fruit; our Nica family; the beach; $150/month rent; the lack of crime; year-round warmth; lush countryside; cheap, easy nationwide transportation; the creative re-using of just about everything; 50 cent cab rides; and trying to express ourselves in Spanish.

We are looking forward to: soft, fitted sheets; a frost-free freezer; an espresso maker; water flowing from the faucet anytime we turn it on; consistent power that doesn’t shut-down inexplicably; being able to ask for exactly what it is we are looking for; and, most of all, seeing our family and friends!

Same concept as last post, but I can't resist writing descriptive placards (a museum would do as much, no?)

A Classic Still Life
One of Nicaragua’s best features: fresh fruit and vegetables.  Pictured here are fine specimens of avocado and mango.

Nica Bag
It was a proud day when we acquired this.  Market shopping using the bag of local choice.

Water Jug
The back-up kitchen faucet.

The Bucket Shower
We learned fast.  First priority when the water does decide to come on is fill this bucket for future showers or flushes as our needs may be.

Writing Desk
It’s what it looks like.  The top part of the table meant for a TV (which we declined to have in the apartment) strung across an extra chair makes for my Nica writing desk.

Making Coffee.
1. Fill with water.
2. Throw in grinds.
3. Wait for boil.
4. Watch carefully because it boils over quick and baked coffee is a bitch to clean off the cooktop.
5. Don’t forget a rag before you touch the scorching handle.
6. Pour coffee into glass, slowly, so grinds don’t come with it.
7. Dispose of grinds in the flower bed while coffee cools to less than 3rd degree burn temperature.
8. Add sugar and milk.
9. Ahhh, enjoy a morning coffee.
10.  How Fred misses his espresso maker!

A main staple, and a change from beans!

Alright I can’t help myself, a few words about our PARTY!
It was the night before the 4th of July.  Our existence is typically date and timeless, but our facebook friends had reminded us of the bbq we wouldn’t taste, the fireworks we wouldn’t see, the family gathering we wouldn’t have.  It put us in a nostalgically festive mood, well me anyway.

“Let’s throw a party!” I enthusiastically suggested to Fred shortly after his return from a mini beach vacation in Las Penitas.  We invited the neighbors, Pedro’s family, Maria’s family, expected them to all bring more family, plus some friends…so, we started shopping.  48 hotdogs, four 3-liters of soda, 50 buns, three 12 packs of cookies, a case of beer and a bottle of rum later, we were ready. 
Except we forgot balloons!  And we’ve noticed a fiesta isn’t a fiesta in Nicaragua without balloons.  Besides, I’d had the most inspired idea to host a water balloon contest.  So 20 minutes before our start time, Fred jumped in a moto-taxi, sped to Pali and saved the day with a 100 pack!  When the guests did arrive, we were a bit breathless from our inflating furry, but balloons were everywhere, Romando brought a boom box and the celebration was underway. 

Water balloon tossing is apparently a new concept and was so enjoyed by the kids and adults alike that we had to fill more balloons…and rack our brains for other silly games before the children got completely soaked in their nice party clothes.  We played musical chairs, stomp the balloon, an impromptu version of seated balloon volleyball/keep away that EVERYONE could play at one time (and everyone did) until it degenerated into a frenzy of “pop as many balloons as you can” until their were none left hanging and we had to settle for a round of charades.

Lots of words lately, what can I say, I'm a writer.  Well, here's a reprieve:  Masatepe in photo.

  Porch Sitting

Tree Climbing

  Farm Chillin

 Fresh Cocos

 Siesta Time 

 Hope for Water

 Take in a View

 Free Papaya

It’s true that living in Nicaragua requires some, uhm…adjustments.  But before discussing those, I think it’s appropriate to begin this post with gratitude by highlighting some very stark differences between our version of “local” living and the lives of most locals. 

We are renting a one bedroom, one bath apartment in Masatepe.  The kitchen/dining room has space for a quaint round table and four chairs.  Along one wall are cabinets, a sink, a bit of counter space and a cooktop stove with three burners that is connected by hose to a propane tank that sits underneath said counter.  The free standing frig has a small freezer (though no auto-defrost).  The floors throughout the entire 550 (or so) square feet are tiled.  There are two beds with mattresses and a small bedroom closet.  The toilet flushes, the indoor, tiled shower has a curtain, the front door closes, there are windows, which have screens.  It costs $150 per month.

Our neighbors (Lupe, her daughters Karen and Cristen, and her son Peter) are set up a bit differently.  Their front door is a four foot metal gate that is strung across a fence made of creeper vines that have grown thick among the supporting twine.  You enter into their “open air” living room which holds two chairs and a rectangular card table.  To the right is a very narrow covered hallway.  After ducking under the overhang of the roof, you have stepped into the all purpose room: one chair squeezed in front of a three-tier shelf which holds a nine-inch TV, a few books, the family bible, a walkman, some cassette tapes, a nick-knack or two, a candle…in short, nearly every one of their non-essential possessions.  On the other side of the shelf, abutting it actually, is a single plank of wood supported by cement blocks which holds the cooktop above it and protects the tank below it.  To the left is the door to the one 8 X 10 bedroom.  Both the walls and roof of this tiny portion of house are constructed with solid, corrugated metal sheets.  The “floor” throughout, is packed earth. 

Take the last few steps through the hall and you’ve reached the outdoor portion of their living space, which is centered around a type of sink that is muy popular here in Nicaragua.  It’s large and rectangular, elevated on four legs and made out of cement.  On the left, is a flat surface for setting/storing things.  In the middle is a shallow sink basin with a drain which has a ridged bottom to scrub clothes on (like a washboard).  On the right is a much smaller, deep basin with a water valve.  The idea here is to collect water in the reservoir and dip it out to wash clothes or dishes in the middle section where the grey water can drain.  We have one of these as well, in the communal “laundry” room, but we’ll discuss that later.

This area is well-shaded by trees, so though a clothesline is strung, our neighbors are more likely to hang their clothes to dry upon their fence (yes, atop the plants) for sunlight.  Their yard also holds some plastic chairs, an outdoor shower and the outhouse. 

You can see why I insist on pointing out our obvious advantages.  However, it is also true we have many things in common with our neighbors, and this is where Nicaragua life gets quite interesting, or hilarious, or downright frustrating depending on your mood.

Like running water.  Lupe’s sink and shower are supplied by city water service just as ours is.  Never mind that we have three sinks (one in the kitchen, one in the bathroom, another for laundry), none of us get any water at all from well, officially it’s supposed to be from 1:00-3:00 PM and 8:00 PM – 4:00 AM.  Since it rains each night in torrential downpours, we can’t quite understand the logic behind this rationing and though we’ve asked, no one seems to have an answer much past, “it’s always been that way.”  And we are further confounded by the fact that the water usually shuts off more around 11:00 AM, on some unlucky days, as early as 10:00 AM, which of course is pushing it for Fred and I to have even had our breakfast and showers by then.  Not too mention the days it doesn't bother to come on at all!

One of our first purchases was a big bucket, which everyday as soon as water resumes we diligently refill so we are able to flush, wash dishes, or wash ourselves!  In our one week here, I’ve already had one 4:30 AM washing session.  I woke up for some reason and decided no better time than to get the previous night’s dishes washed since water had cut-off early the night before, just as we were eating dinner which we had rush-prepared in order to make the 8:00 shut down.  We’ve been stubbornly resisting changing our up late, sleep late tendencies, but Nicaragua might break us yet.  Most everyone rises at 5:00 AM (with the sun) and goes to bed at 8:00 (with the cooling rains).  We are beginning to see the logic.

Like electricity.  Lupe has a grand total of one, naked bulb and two outlets, all three connected by wiring that is taped along the walls.  Never mind that we have an overhead light in each room, including the closet and all the wires are inside the wall, all of us have to deal with getting shocked!  Anytime, for instance, I flip a switch and accidently touch the metal screw that secures the light switch cover, I am jolted with electricity.  If the floor is wet around the refrigerator and I touch the outer frame…zap!  Aren’t there proven medical benefits to small doses of shock?  Or am I headed toward a lobotomic state?

Speaking of refrigerators, well, at least we have one, but as much as I poke fun of American’s obsession with bigger and better cold storage, I must admit it does get old having to purchase eggs every other day because there is no place to store a bulk supply.  I guess we are paying for our gringo habits since no one in Nicaragua bothers to refrigerate their eggs at all.  It’s quite illogical, actually, now that I think of it.  We buy them at “room” temperature (at least 85 degrees since it’s not like we are shopping in air conditioning) with no idea as too how long they’ve been sitting there and then bring them home and stick them in the frig.  Talk about habit!  I may have just eliminated one “adjustment.”  After all, I’ve got plenty of cabinet space since there’s really just not much to put in them!  The “big” super-market called Pali (Walmart owned!) stocks about as many items as a really fancy 7-11.

This brings us full circle to perfectly demonstrating “normal” Nicaragua life—filled with as many contradictions as pleasantries, as simple as it is challenging—since we normally just shop at the market. 

We tried to count.  In Masatepe’s open-air market, from the men and woman with the big baskets propped atop crates settled underneath large umbrellas for shade, there are around 40 different things you can buy.  20 of them are fruits.  This leaves a handful of vegetables and beans, rice, tortillas, cheese, oil and vinegar. 

On the way home, we check with the carnicera hoping she has some pork or beef and our last stop is the panadería to buy fresh bread and try to resist (often unsuccessfully) one of the sweet baked creations of the day.  

Advantage:  Daily doses of fresh fruit, warm bread, and healthy vegetables.  Many sunny walks.  Friendly interactions with market vendors.

Disadvantage:  Only having fruit, bread and vegetables to eat.  Many sunny walks.  Requisite human interaction. 

The “stadium” resembles an erector set project abandoned by the short attention span of a child.  Rickety boards criss-cross each other to connect to “support posts” that sway slightly in their grounded holes.  A section of the surrounding barbed wire fence has been rolled back to provide the “entrance” to the travelling rodeo that we are attending with a slew of kids.  Being exorbitantly generous, we laid out the $1 per head for Moises, Armondo, Alias, and Jose and even sprung for the $1.50 adult fee so their oldest sister Ericka could come along.  These are not all the ninos in our Nica family.  You might remember Pedro from Las Penitas.  As if having seven of his own kids isn’t enough, he’s now adopted two gringos. 

We will quickly discover why seating is precariously raised some 10 feet above the stadium’s dirt floor.  As we get settled—drag folding chairs into a shaded spot, check that all four chair legs are hitting wood (not a gaping crack or upraised nail), play musical chairs until the three youngest are satisfied with their view—thirty or so men and boys are not finding seats at all, but climbing down into the ring.  I’ll call this mass of men “bull hecklers” and you’ll soon see why.  In Nicaragua, rodeo is not just a spectator sport.  The bull hecklers are joined by male vendors who advertise their product with loud shouts and peruse for possible customers from the stadium floor.  When someone signals their desire to purchase planitos, helados (ice cream cups), or mani (peanuts), the vendador grabs a rung of the scaffolding (known as structural support in sound construction) hikes himself and his wares up to eye level, and balances on his flip-flops to conduct a transaction through the handrails (and not the A.D.A. approved kind).

Then, the first bull is slotted into the holding pen.  The whole mob (vendors and all) surge to the gate to, well, I don’t know what they crowd in to do.  To get a closer look at the bull? To cheer on the man who is about to hop on said bull?  To feel the danger of standing in front of a gate from which an enraged bull is about to surge?  All I know is that there is a lot of chatter and it takes a considerable amount of time before someone emerges from the mob as rider, easy to spot since he now stands atop the gate and wears a proper pair of riding boots.  Perhaps they are drawing straws.  After all, the Montanas (riders) in the Nicaraguan rodeo are not professionals, they are not even part of the travelling act, they are local guys who once a year try their hand at bull riding. 

The release of the bull is marked first by a brief increase in the volume of the mob’s collective voices before they all stop talking and start running!  As the gate swings open, grown men, growing boys, and vendors laden with shoulder-holstered goods scatter to the edges.  The torro comes kicking and bucking forth and as it approaches any particular side and any bull hecklers who’ve chosen that spot either dive or climb for cover.  The logic of the aforementioned design now becomes obvious.  Here, being “under the bleachers” is even more thrilling than an illicit make-out session.  It’s a life saving hurling of yourself, either under the makeshift fence or up it, to lay or hang in wait of the bull’s departure.  Meanwhile, the unthreatened hecklers are tentatively venturing from all sides to pester the bull by throwing verbal taunts and plastic bottles or waving any scraps of red they’ve managed to come by for the occasion: handkerchiefs, ball caps, t-shirt pieces.  When the torro turns, everyone scrambles.  Repeat.  Eventually the rider falls or tires and signals for the bull to be lassoed in.

The whole process is as undeniably cruel as it is fascinating.  I’m not sure if I continue to watch because I can’t quite believe there are regular people running around in an enclosed space with a huge bull yielding huge horns which has been purposely enraged by the cinching of its huge balls OR if it’s that an archaic grouping of un-evolved cells lodged deep in my brain stem has been activated and is waiting, no rooting for one of these regular people to be impaled on a huge horn of a huge bull whose huge balls have been cinched.  But watch I did, my enlightened self is embarrassed to admit, 12 of these episodes, though by the ninth or tenth one the novelty (or the revulsion) had worn off. 

As it has taken this whole post to share with you two hours of last weekend’s visit to Pedro’s hometown of Masatepe, you might understand why we returned and chose this city as home for at least the next month.  We can think of anyplace better to be an UnTourist!

I should have learned by now not to let the weeks pile up, but I guess procrastination lurks at every latitude. 

Our month in San Juan Del Sur is up.  We've come to think of it like training wheels: getting up and running with our language skills while developing a feel for the country.  Our first thought was to move on, but as we pondered where to go we realized we were perhaps falling into a travelers "norm."  Common questions among travelers are "What other countries have you visited?" and "Where next?"  Now, there are different approaches to everything, and certainly seeing the best of what a variety of countries has is an amazing adventure.  But we came to Central America to experience a new lifestyle and culture and live an easy/laidback life in a great climate.  Which doesn't match packing up and getting on to a new place.  We know some bus routes, can count in Cordobas and have learned some of the language particular to Nicas and besides, there is much more to do to explore this country fully!  So, we've decided to stay in Nicaragua and make the transition from our "starter" town.  Our first stop is to explore some other beach towns, hoping to find a place by the sea whose local economy is not dependant on tourism. 

Now, for the highlight reel, the best of San Juan Del Sur:

1.  Aprendimos mucho espanol.  (Fred can now go to the market alone, bargain for his beans, onions, potatoes and eggs (frijoles, cebollas, papas and huevos) and understand the price when the vendedora gives him the total in cordobas.)

2.  Learning desmoche, a Nica variation of rummy, and winning, when our local teachers insisted on putting money on the game.

3.  Spending several days at Playa Maderas, and having a beautiful, endless beach to ourselves.

4.  Fred winning a holdem tournament (Held monthly at a fancy bar on the beach, 25 players) which when combined with Celina's winnings at a house game paid our month's rent!

5.  Grilling whole fish (though really, it was the process: buying pargo rojo (red snapper) from the pescador, descaling it, oiling and salting it, getting the wood (la lena) lit on the grill, then eating it without choking on a bone.)   

6.  Getting drunk together one lazy, sunny afternoon for no reason at all.

7.  Our tans.

8.  Searching for and finding this little old lady to take in our shorts since we lost another inch after all our climbs up the hill to our casa.

9.  The carnicero: a super friendly, short, fat butcher who never failed to make us laugh and took to calling us amigos after our first three visits in one week.
   

And, of course, a visit from Ken!  Fred's long time friend finally got his passport and his butt to Nicaragua!  The later hours of his last evening in country were spent by the three of us lounging around our outdoor picnic table, unnecessary cocktails in hand, and laughing ourselves to tears recounting the experiences of his visit.  Nicaragua greeted him with rain, lots of it, pouring onto Ken's wisely packed raincoat as we ducked between tents in the oh so crowded market of Jinotepe.  This was intended to be his first cultural experience, leisurely walking through and seeing how business is done in an open air market place.  Instead, it was a drenched sprint, filled with water intensified smells, ankle deep street currents, and blurred glances of piles of fruit, mounds of cheese, sacks of beans, strings of packaged snacks, rows of shoes, ropes of used american clothing, racks of spices, hooks of meat, baskets of vegetables, trays of sweets, tangles of watches, stacks of wood, canisters of oil, bins of toys, displays of bread, and card tables lined with odd assortments of beauty products.

He later laughed that perhaps the rain was a good thing, a balm to soothe his culture shock, though it didn't last for long.  We soon splashed into the bus station and rain was not enough to smother the calls and yells of the bus attendants, shouts that Ken took to mean immanent danger.  See, in Nicaragua, there are no "automated/backlit/electronic" signs that correspond to neatly labeled parking rows and numbered bus routes.  If you think greyhound stations are chaotic, try Jinotepe's autobus terminal.  Instead of signs, there are guys who meander around hollering in a unique, repetitive cadence the destination of the bus they operate.  Of course, not knowing that the city we were headed to was called Rivas, or being able to understand that the guy was indeed saying Rivas, or being prepared for an onslaught of yelling and pointing men, Ken assumed the calls somehow signified "look there's a gringo, get him!"  In our evening of reminiscing, this memory of having such fear, only to realize that in actuality it was just guys trying to HELP him find his bus, brought belly cramps.

Listen for yourself...click here:  rivas.wav (565.90 kb)

We relived a glorious beach day, a Nica karaoke bar, late night pizza, catching rides out the back of jeeps, bargaining for souvenirs, hiking the surrounding hillsides, carousing and bar hopping, and a general great time in a new place with an old friend. 

It's easier for your afternoon to slip away while you watch the play of sunspots and shadows cast by the canopy of trees under which you live than it is to remember there's a town below where other gringos go about activities that were once so familiar to you--sipping cocktails, talking about the playoffs, worrying politics--but now seem more foreign than your Spanish speaking neighbors.  Your skin is darkening under the Nicaraguan sun and if only your tongue and brain would cooperate at a faster rate to produce new sounds, remember the substitutions, conjugate verbs, you, too, could be one of them.  Except for, of course, you never would be.  How could you ever hope to incorporate the nuance, the slang, the generations of bred-down history coursing through their thoughts and words.  Would you, in fact, even want to?

You were once an insider of the culture you naturally belonged to (if birth is a natural indicator).  You left so life could be new and surprising, so that you'd be on the outside looking in with yearning to see how it all works, given again the fresh mind of a child who doesn't already know.  So, perhaps, up here on your hill, a perfect point of observation, it is best to simply see...and wonder.

How’s this for an unplanned, untouristy day: Nicaraguan baseball and hanging out with the local bomberos at the fire station!  We woke up on our last day of Las Penitas, still unsure of where we were headed.  Our thought was to spend a night in Leon, grab a room with free internet and re-group.  But once on the bus, we decided just to keep on going. 

We landed in Masaya, a larger town centered among a bunch of villages known for producing all sorts of woodwork and hand crafts: rocking chairs, tables, hammocks, guitars, wooden vases and bowls and on and on.  Masaya sports a huge “old” market, a maze of stalls nestled behind castle-like walls.  A six year old guide book laying around Sol y Mar described Masaya as a place most tourists opt to do as a day trip from Managua or Grenada since accommodations are sparse and “has little to offer” other than shopping.  Well, it was right on the accommodations part.  We found the one street with a handful of hotels which by US standards would be considered the ghetto based on the number of liquor tiendas, store-front casinos, black-windowed clubs and lingerie shops but may in fact be a ritzy neighborhood from the perspective of having enough disposable income to frequent these types of businesses.  We went door to door until we found a room with wifi and settled in for the evening. 

Over the next morning’s coffee, we met the only two other hotel guests: two firefighters from Holland there to assist the Masaya department.  They set off for a day of training; we set off for a day of exploring.  We had no map, no destination, but did have knowledge of Masaya’s Roberto Clemente Baseball Stadium and I guess our thoughts guided our steps because not only did we end up there, a game was in progress.  Why not?  For $1 you could buy seats in the shade, a buck fifty got you behind home plate, or 50 cents and sunshine for the really tight budget.  We opted for mid-range seats and hoped as gringos we wouldn’t be the only ones who paid for the upgrade.  We needn’t have worried.  There was a fairly decent turn out for a mid-afternoon game: all Nicaraguans, and all sitting in the shade. 

No matter your latitude, baseball is baseball.  Sure, there were a few differences.  The vendors, mostly older women, toted folding stands while carrying their wares on their heads in huge baskets.  Same monotone calling out of their goods, but instead of “popcorn, peanuts, cold beer here” it was “plantanos con queso, gaseoso frio” (fried plantain slices with cheese, cold pop).  However, there was a hamburger guy, one hamerguesa with ketchup, mustard, lettuce, onion, and tomato for 75 cents.  Fred couldn’t resist. 

After the hot game and the even hotter walk back, we were past customary siesta hour so instead took a cool shower (as if there is any other kind) and bought the lounging fireman a beer.  Carlos, the fire department’s IT guy and English translator for the Dutchmen, had joined them and we got to pick the brain of a town insider who doubted our ability to rent a place to live in Masaya.  This was becoming a current theme.  Pedro and Maria are from the very “normal” town of Mesetepe and they had their friends and family asking around about a house for us to rent.  When they called us that morning, they reported our only option would be for Maria to have her daughter move out for a month.  We think they were joking!

Anyway, the guys had to go back to the station to set up the new computers that had arrived in the container from Holland and been cleared by the customs official after the right amount of corodobas had been passed over.  Fred had his eye on their Masaya Bomberos t-shirts as we headed over to check out the new equipment and meet the guys.  It’s one of those things you’d just normally never get to do: hang out at the firehouse all evening.  We talked to the guys (as best we could), met the comandante, and served up a 3 liter of coke for everyone’s refreshment. 

And then we gave up and boarded a bus for San Juan Del Sur.  This “sleepy little fishing town” has been transformed.  It might be hard given the current value of your house, but remember our real estate boom?  Well, it hit one Nicaraguan city as well.  San Juan Del Sur is built around a bay and surrounded by mountains.  For whatever reason, foreign investors and expats got it in their heads that this was the place to be over other Nica spots and raised a condo building, a few subdivisions, in-filled many casas (houses) and opened a wide offering of restaurants, shops and bars.  This provides a still small, but bustling town with a blend of typical Nicaraguan life (a.k.a. public market, carrying your just-off-the-boat bought fish by the tail, and roads that resemble dirt paths) with gringo culture (a.k.a. loud bars, an English bookshop/coffee house and a corner store that sells Pam).  Most important for us: several different options in the way of one month rentals. 

The game has changed from being in an Untourist type of place, to rooting out an Untourist lifestyle in a popular location!  It is hard, at least with my Spanish vocabulary, to determine what share the local residents have in the new economy, but we did manage to find a housing option that is Nicaraguan owned and out of the fray.  Casa Max is built into the side of a hill and overlooks the Pacific Ocean.  Its three rooms (kitchen/dining/living, bedroom, bathroom) are everything we need and the back patio with an open pit grill is a great bonus!  It is cloaked in trees for shade and planted with an abundant array of flowers which supports good hummingbird watching.  From town, our very steep walk takes us through a sizeable Nicaraguan neighborhood so we at least have a chance of making some friends that actually live here.  We already bought room temperature eggs from an old man sitting on his porch next to his hand-written sign “hay huevos” meaning “there are eggs,” cooked up a giant pot of red beans which we paid $1 for and eat with almost every meal and have started drinking the tap water.  (Solid waste is one of Nicaragua’s biggest environmental issues: bottled water arrived in country before scheduled trash pick-up.)  We’ll have to see what other ways we can discover to “go local” while enjoying our peace and privacy for intensive Spanish study, writing, beaching and relaxing. 

More Pictures!  Click here to see our illustrated adventures on Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42679370@N06/sets/72157623972347140/show/with/4569392549/