Only in Central America

Only in Central America would a bus be stopped by hooded men on your way to renew your visas on the way to San Cristobal de Las Casas, Mexico. All motorists had to pay a bribe, or they would not be allowed to pass (a board with nails in it blocked the way). However, if you are an American you were lucky---they don't want the bad publicity, and they'll let you go.

Only in Guatemala could 20 policemen be held captive by one armed gunman. It sure is reassuring to realize that you're protectors are that defenseless.

Only in Central America are prisoners transported in the back of pick-up trucks. Just handcuff them and go!

Life is interesting in Central America.

No More Avocados

It will be a long, long time before I am ready to face another avocado.

Honestly, I love guacamole. There is no greater complement to Spicy Black Bean chips than a well prepared guacamole. However, after my latest case of food poisoning, I can't imagine eating anything containing avocados for at least a year.

This was my third case of food poisoning in two years. The other two cases took place in Central America, so they're really a whole different ball game. However, even one case of food poisoning in two years is really one case too many.

The semi experience

I found this draft of a post a few days ago. I wrote it while I was still in Nicaragua, debating whether or not I should take a flight home from the capital.

It´s about time to come home. Two weeks ago I hitched a ride in a semi truck after being stranded on the border to Nicaragua. The semi had to stop for the night due to a very bad stretch of road. Highway robbers were known to leave bodies on the road to force drivers to stop, and they would then be robbed and killed. I slept on part of the bed with the guy in back, and woke up to him brushing the hair off of my forehead. He asked me later, very nervously, if he could kiss me, and I said no. He was so worried that I´d be mad that he had even asked. Needless to say, I took a bus at the next town with bus services. In my defense, the guy was 25 years old, with a three year old son. I had three people (plus countless border guards) who could vouch for him. One was an old lady with a seven year old son who also hitched for about an hour with us from the border (she knew his dad), and the other was a money changer who sees him regularly passing through from Honduras to Costa Rica. I felt completely comfortable with him. On the other hand, I´m not doing that again.

My feelings have been pretty accurate so far this trip, but sometimes surprising. I had a bad feeling about two police officers who started to take the report after my bag was stolen. It was confirmed when they later said that in order to file the report, I would need to go with them down to the police station, in the dark, in their car, and I couldn´t bring any of the family from the States that I had met with me. Needless to say, I didn´t file that report. I just got a bad feeling about it all.

Which makes my feeling that going back to Guatemala would be a mistake a scary one. I just don´t have a good feeling about going back. It doesn´t feel safe, somehow. Do you think I´m being paranoid?

Ultimately, I decided I had to come back. I couldn't risk going back to Guatemala. Things were getting a little too scary for me. All the harassment, close calls, and violence that I tried to push out of my mind were suddenly at the forefront. I had to get out while I still could.

I knew I had been lucky. I was shot at, but they missed. I broke a few minor bones, but they healed (sans X-rays or any "high tech" equipment). I got horribly sick from food poisoning on an island in Nicaragua, but they happened to have the necessary medicine to get me better. I was sexually harassed by cab drivers, passengers on the bus, and people walking down the road, but I was still whole and healthy. I just couldn't risk it anymore.

I bused to the capital two days later, getting one of the last taxis to the airport before the roads were shut down with protestors. National elections had been held the week before, and both sides claimed they had won. Protestors took to the streets. There were police out in riot gear everywhere.

I got out. I just wish I had been able to say a proper goodbye to my host family, who was so great to me. I wish I could have been there for my uncle's wedding, and Sophie's first steps. I miss them every day.

I know I made the right choice.

25 Things You Didn't Know About Me

1) I have a miniature cat who sincerely believes that she is a dog. She sleeps with the dog, eats with the dog, and I will be truly surprised if she doesn't try to bark one day.
2) I once hitch-hiked in a semi in Nicaragua when I got stranded on the border alone late at night (Story to follow).
3) I like mashed potatoes with pickles and steak sauce.
4) I used to sell my plasma during college.
5) I can't whistle or do a cartwheel.
6) I once had a military escort through the streets of Panama City (a military officer took a liking to my friend, and he arranged for a soldier to escort us back to our hostel).
7) I love Juanes and Reik.
8) I desperately want to travel to Asia.
9) I only know ten words in Chinese.
10) I have an English Literature degree.
11) I eat powdered brownie mix plain, because it doesn't cook up right without eggs.
12) I can never shave my legs without getting at least three cuts. In the interest of self-preservation, I only shave my legs for special events and wear pants the rest of the time.
13) My playground of my school when I was in third grade in New Mexico was behind a jail.
14) I can play the handbells.
15) I love "Gilmore Girls" and "The Office."
16) I feel most at home while driving down the road.
17) I spent a month busing down from Guatemala to Panama.
18) I have slept under a mosquito net after finding a tarantula in my backpack at a hostel in Nicaragua.
19) I have lived in two countries, four states, and countless houses. It feels strange not to move every three or four years.
20) I was finally able to leave a crazily conservative Lutheran church that believed that raffles and yoga were sinful. The pastor asked me regularly if I converted any of the Catholics at the school I attended, and his wife wondered if I was becoming a radical feminist (I had a Gender Studies minor).
21) I lived with a Mayan priest and his family in Guatemala.
22) I find Gender and Women's Studies to be a fascinating subject.
23) I use the Diva Cup.
24) I'm trying to find a way to come out to my grandparents. My grandpa is a conservative Lutheran pastor.
25) I am addicted to books, and usually have 25 books checked out from the library.

Central American Medicine: The Case of the Broken Toe

Central American medicine is interesting, to say the least. I have had a broken finger mended at the Red Cross in Xela for $0.75, and gotten prescription painkillers for a mere $3 more. Eyedrops for pinkeye were a mere $4.

Why I decided to go to a private doctor, I'll never know. Maybe it was the confusing directions to the Red Cross in Granada, Nicaragua. Perhaps the signs that optimistically pointed to nowhere that turned my attention elsewhere.

The fact that the receptionist had to translate my Spanish into his and back again should have been a sign. The clear absence of an X-ray machine should have been another. However, I was firm that my hour's wait would yield results.

He asked to see the fractured toe, and then proceeded to yank it left and right, incessantly asking "Does this hurt? And what about this?" He pushed it every conceivable direction. After this painful interrogation, he looked at my crooked, formerly unswollen toe and pronounced it unbroken. Despite the fact that my toe was pointing in the wrong direction, the very fact that I was not screaming in pain was evidence that a break couldn't possibly have occurred.

For this painful, fruitless exam, I was charged $15. A small sum in the United States, but a veritable fortune in Nicaragua. You could buy a hammock for that price, or stay in a nice hostel for two nights (or a not so nice one for four).

At least I got some good blog fodder out of it.

Return from Guatemala

So, I'm back from Guatemala. My posts have been really erratic, which, unfortunately, I can't just blame on being gone. I could try to blame them on a horrible case of food poisoning on the small island of Ometepe on Lake Nicaragua, or the frantic rush to get my few remaining belongings and I through the protests and riots in Managua in time for my flight, but that wouldn't be totally honest. Instead, I'll just chalk it up to the crazy fun of everyday life, and typical procrastination.

Aside from an intestinal worm picked up from some bad juice on Ometepe and some lingering after effects from being shot at, I'm happy and healthy. I'm enjoying the cold, fresh water that can actually be drunk straight from the tap, and the lack of bedbugs and fleas. It's amazing how one case of bedbugs can really mess up a trip! You have to wash all of your clothes, break out the flea powder and bug spray, and avoid the classic cheek kiss used for greeting until you are bedbug and flea free. There is nothing like coming home to your own bed!

I really miss my host family and the baby. They were so incredibly sweet and kind to me. They made sure I always felt comfortable, and included me in all of the family events. I got to learn how to dance Marimba, and the grandma taught me how to wash my clothes by hand and grind rice for tamales. I will be forever grateful to them for keeping me sane and healthy.

It's Good to Be Blond

Sometimes being blond is really entertaining. I was touring the oldest cathedral in Nicaragua today, trying to figure out what the plexiglass on the floor was covering, when a twenty-two year old guy told me it was a tomb. He worked in the church, and lifted the plexiglass so that I could get a look at the indigenous priest´s bones underneath. He told me that I must be an angel come down from Heaven, and offered to let me scale the tower for free to watch him ring the bells at noon (usually it costs 20 cordobas---about a dollar). He asked who he had the honor of meeting (where did he learn these lines?), and told me his name was Enoch. His name was so close to eunuch that I had to choke back a laugh. He was so sweet, though. Of course I didn't scale the tower with him unattended (my friend had left for Managua the day before), but it was a great thing to be offered. I love Nicaragua.

Not An American Road Trip

Today I drank this great drink made of cocoa beans. It was sweet and a little chocolately. This is the advantage of travelling: getting to try all sorts of new foods. It balances out some of the bad parts: bumpy bus rides, food poisoning, and bed bugs. This definitely isn´t an American road trip.

Granada, Nicaragua

I´ve spent my day reading, doing GRE test prep, and exploring Granada. It´s a beautiful city, but there are so many children begging in it! A lady asked me for money on the bus the other day to buy a prescription for her sick baby. She was walking around, showing everyone the prescription. Her baby was most definitely sick. You could tell just by looking at the little girl. There is just so much suffering here. There are so many people just struggling to survive. I always carry a stash of food on me now, to give to street children. I'm not comfortable giving them money, as some buy glue to sniff to take the hunger pangs away, or are forced to give a cut of their proceeds for "protection." Food is harmless.