Honking and Hissing

It may be a cliché, but it's true: this place is a sensory overload. You can more or less choose what you see and taste, but your nose, ears, and skin* are constantly being presented with new stimuli, both pleasant and not.

So: sounds. Two of them I find personally interesting, for very different reasons.

First, honking. Stop signs are rare in this (or, I assume, any) part of the country and traffic lights even less so. Drivers honk when approaching an intersection to let oncoming traffic know that they're coming, and (just as frequently) to advise pedestrians to get out of the way. Taxi drivers pretty much honk at every pedestrian they pass, in hopes that one may actually respond by requesting a ride. What surprises me about it, though, is that the constant honking really doesn't bother me at all**. I think part of it has to do with the fact that it's done differently here. No one leans on the horn; most of the time it's no more than a blip. It's almost like punctuation to the ongoing dialogue of street life. I may even miss it when I'm gone.

On the other hand, there is the hissing. Per local custom, people here don't say "hey" or anything to get someone's attention; it's always "hsst!" I hate it. It drives me nuts, every time. Some sounds just get under my skin, and that is definitely near the top of the list. The worst part of it, of course is that I work with small children all day, and as a rule they always need something, and very few of them are self-aware enough to realize that it is more polite use words to communicate with others, especially when asking a favor. Instead it's always a short hiss, followed (when I look up in irritation) with a smiling child beckoning me*** to restart the computer game he just closed for no reason.

I think the noise is the chief reason I like to get away on weekends. The wilderness here (like pretty much everywhere) is quiet, and that is a good thing.


* Mmmm, the everpresent sticky-humid feeling. On the plus side, you can throw out your moisturizer.

** Whereas in the States, I jump a little bit out of my skin with every horn that goes off.

*** The "beckoning" gesture is rather different here, too: it looks like you're scooping sand toward yourself.

Granada

What strikes me most about Granada--my home for my stay in Nicaragua--is its many faces. For a city of 100,000, it manages to cater to a number of populations who don't really have to interact if they don't want to. The foreign groups of backpackers, luxury tourists, and expatriates have different reasons for being here and (particularly the first two) do not have reason to mingle much. Expatriates (mostly from the U.S., Canada, and--surprisingly--Germany) in particular seem to have formed their own network and keep to themselves for the most part, enjoying the increased value of their savings in a notoriously inexpensive country.

There is also a notable divide between the native poor and middle classes. (Anything of an upper class I haven't much seen--I imagine their society is pretty private as well.) I've been fascinated over the past four weeks by the contrast in manners and attitudes between the impoverished people I work with and the middle class family I've been living with. There isn't much mutual regard--which I suppose is true anywhere--but was (embarrassingly?) a revelation to me, coming in as a person with extraordinary wealth compared to both groups and expecting them to show solidarity against other, more highly developed and arguably exploitative, societies. But even if that were true, that's a national-level argument. I'm supposed to be talking about the local scene, right?

The city itself, without its inhabitants, is...nice. It's walkable (not much more than a half hour from end to end), easy to navigate (but also easy to lose oneself in while exploring), and changes remarkably with the weather and during the day. An old church that looks unimpressive in the rain is rather stately-looking in sunny weather and fantastic to see with a sunset behind it. The main plaza is an open, relaxed area that goes from nearly deserted to thronging in a matter of hours. Parades and celebrations are a constant draw*, especially in this local political season, and I witnessed four funeral processions through town during my first two weeks here. (Each time the casket is carried through the streets in a black, horse-drawn carriage** to the church, followed by a few dozen mourners on foot, none of whom ever appeared to be crying.)

Granada is said to be a conservative city and a city of the arts. With its lakeside location, it's obvious why it's such a draw for so many outsiders. Unfortunately, it's getting to the point that locals are no longer able to affors housing in the center of town. I've seen the barrios on the outskirts, and I've talked to the people there, and I won't make a judgment call about what appears to be the future of the city, but I hope local character remains firmly entrenched.

 
* I was supremely lucky to be here the day that Sor Maria Romero, a nun from Granada, was beatified by the Pope. The festival that day featured marching bands, dance groups, and a float featuring a statue of the good Sister helping a child...attended by three little girls dressed up as angels and a fourth dressed like the nun herself, horn-rimmed glasses and all.

** Yes, it stops traffic, but everything stops traffic here.

Fluorescent lighting

On Nicaragua's aesthetic sudit sheet, there is no shortage of assets: sunsets, volcanoes, churches, people*, green valleys, blue lakes, rocky islands, you name it. However, when it comes to liabilities, number one with a bullet has to be the fluorescent lighting. It is everywhere--bedrooms?!--and it is ugly and every day I fear nightfall** because there is just no avoiding the glare. I understand the premise of energy conservation (those little buggers last forever, God damn them), but it seems like an awful sacrifice. There's so much natural and man-made beauty here...if only there were a better way to see it after dark.

 
* Witness the preponderance of foreigners who end up marrying locals. They are some lookers here, letmetellyou.

** Once again, to be clear--sunsets: beautiful.

800,000

Out of a total national population of 5 million (approximately half of whom are under the age of 15), the number above is how many school-age children are reportedly growing up without any education. People I've talked to say that part of it comes from uneducated fathers (at least those who are around) who believe that if they can get by without schooling, so can their children, and the other part comes from the fact that there aren't enough jobs to go around for all the people who do actually go to school.

The development advocates here definitely have their work cut out for them. Godspeed.

Dollars and Drugs

Yes, it's true, the Almighty Dollar is also king down here in Nicaragua. It's partly due to necessity--the local córdoba is in a slow exchange-rate free-fall and is now equal to six U.S. cents--and partly out of habit, as U.S. intervention in Nicaragua has been a regular occurrence in the nation's history. Many businesses accept dollars, although since prices are so low here, anything cheaper than a night at a hotel will earn you a hefty wad of change from a $10 bill.* Unfortunately, the local beggars are all too aware of this too, and while many ask for the relatively meager sum of one cord, others will stare you down and demand a whole dollar. I have a strict policy against giving money to people on the street (food, sure, but not money), since a dollar can go a long way and the sad truth is that one just can't always trust others to spend responsibly.

That--again unfortunately--is where the second half of the title comes in. Perhaps "drugs" is a misnomer here, but possibly not. Pot is enjoyed surreptitiously--it's illegal here, too--by backpackers and locals alike, but the bigger problem (so far as I can see) is glue. Street children sniff it because it's legal and affordable**, and much like any other chemical escape, it really fucks you up. 

I will freely admit that I am not the most observant person out there, so when I was informed that the program I work with has a policy of kicking out any student who shows signs of being high, I got a little apprehensive. How would I know? Most of these kids are malnourished and mistreated, and are understandably unpredictable; I wasn't sure I'd be able to tell the difference.

My fears were proven unfounded the day and older kid exhaled ashesive fumes directly into my face*** and I hustled him right out the door. It was kind of like playing bouncer, with all the ego inflation of getting to push troublemakers around and none of the fear of getting my nose broken. But I'm still down-to-earth. You can trust me.


* I once had the misfortune to be in a supermarket check-out line behind some guy who tried to pay for a small basket of food with a $100 bill. They practically had to empty the vault. Never underestimate the cluelessness of travelers.

** A small jar, costing C$5 (31 cents), lasts for a few hours. A C$20 ($1.25) pot gives off fumes for a week.

*** Secondhand huff is indeed just as noxious as the pure form. 

(Corrections)

Before everyone jumps up to tell me that you learned in your high-school Spanish classes that c and ch are considered different letters, I am here to report that pedagogy has changed and ch (along with ll and rr) has been dropped from the Spanish alphabet.

But if it makes you feel better, C is for colonialism.

Cheles and Chavalos

Nica slang time!

chele: white or foreign person. Sort of like gringo (which is also used here), but without the negative connotations. As in "Hey, chele, want to buy some bootleg CDs?"

chavalo: guy, dude. Only applied to other Nicaraguans. Use: "Oye, chavalo, dame el numero de tu hermana."

I met a Singaporean girl (a backpacker, but cool nonetheless) on the bus last week, and she mentioned that people here assumed she didn't speak English, much less Spanish. I didn't think to ask her what people here call her, but I'll hazard it's china.

(And because I'm so good to you, here's one last word:
chinelas: flip-flops. Ubiquitous, and very necessary.)

Backpackers

Nicaragua is billed as a "backpackers' paradise," because it's cheap to live here. Backpackers, more or less by definition, love living on the cheap. Unfortunately, this often seems to mean  staying at rat-infested hostels, eating the barest essentials, and sticking together in clumps (which at least allow for group discounts, but doesn't really prompt them to try to meet other people). And it's a shame, because often the second-cheapest option is a lot more interesting.*

There are a few telltale signs that set the backpacker apart from other travelers.

• The backpack, of course.
• "Hippie" or "rasta"-style clothing.
• Sunburn (camping on the beach is hella cheap, yo--and applying sunscreen is a chore). 
• A generally dazed expression and a frequent lack of interest in the particulars of the next destination
• Oddly, they are almost never spotted wearing shoes. Sandals are the watchword of the day.**

On the one hand, it's cool to see so many people who want to explore a place that isn't exactly famous for tourism, and I hope they reflect on the culture and politics*** of the area and how it contrasts with their homes. On the other hand, my experience seems to indicate that it's really just a cheap getaway to them and they're no more enlightened than the average tourist. 

Oh well. Another subculture, another category, another tourist trail.


* It isn't as though they don't have the money to enjoy cultural activities. I hope it's not typical, but I was recently sitting in a water taxi (i.e., a boat) with a group of backpackers talking about their stupid parents who had the nerve to be upset because the backpackers had spent all their money and were asking for more. ("Hey, I can't help it that the rum down here is so good!" one explained.)  

** Which is endlessly fascinating to me, as the Moon Guide they're all carrying, and which I have as well, repeatedly stresses the importance of a modest appearance to Nicaraguans--and it's true. Even in the heat (hot!) of the day, most people on the street are wearing long pants and dress shoes.  
 
*** Another unfortunate incident I witnessed: after a parade marking the 25th anniversary of the Sandinista Revolution, a couple of backpackers picked up a dropped FSLN flag and began waving it around goofily. A local man came up to them, snatched it from their hands, and gave them a good talking-to. Don't know if it sank in. 

Assistance

Many of the public works around Nicaragua are emblazoned with a gracious thank-you to Japan or Sweden or whoever it was that gave them the money to build that bridge or water-tower or church. (The makeshift educational center where I work is filled with material--including six computers--donated by the British Embassy.) In a small town on the coast, I saw one with thanks to the "Republic of China" and a huge Taiwanese flag underneath. Considering the lingering communist sympathies maintained by so much of the country, it's interesting that I haven't seen anything from the PRC.
 
It's also interesting, given the extent of this foreign aid, to finally understand just what "poorest country in the hemisphere" means.