Napkins

So we are out for trivia with friends from around the world, Holland, Australia, Germany, the States at our favourite Irish pub. There isn't actually trivia because it was mother's day, but we manage to sit outside with three tables pushed together, exchanging idioms and email addresses and stories of where we are from and what we do.

At one point me and Becky leave the table to get ice cream from our favourite heladería just at the end of the street. We have been to that place often enough that the servers are starting to recognize us. Last night was a different crew, probably because we don't usually do ice cream at ten, but there we have it. Becky asks to try a flavor and as usual it is delicious so she proceeds to order. The lady serves her and then offers her napkins. I say, "Becky, take the napkins" so she does, but the lady serving us goes "¿Como se dice?" and I tell her napkins, those are called napkins.

She smiles and then serves me my pistachio-chocolate-almond delight. Asks me "napkins?" and we smile, and we laugh. I say si, gracias and she says you're welcome.

Sometimes people just kill me.

Defying death like it's my day job.

Our hostel room is all quiet and breezy with our fan on at the moment. The back of my calves are shredded by the experience of this morning that has us all needing a little siesta before the Saturday night begins.

We woke up in time to get a pretty decent breakfast as part of our package deal. Of course the sun was bright and hot as anything, one of the hottest mornings we have had yet. From the cafe window we can see the giant orange truck-bus that will take us to our destination. Our guide's name is Anthony, as legitimate a guy as any with his bulging biceps and swinging dreadlocks and just barely accented English. We pile on this large contraption, all 34 of us sitting on benches facing each other for the hour's ride to the base of the volcano. I had to stop making eye contact with all of the locals we passed by so I wouldn't feel like the epitome of gringo. Sometimes I'm weirdly self conscious like that.

There were quite a few Americans, quite a few Canadians, and a handful of Europeans, Scotland, Ireland, Germany, Holland and Iceland. We were all appropriately chatty, exchanging hellos, where are you froms, what brings you to Nicaragua, etc. (side note in this: on my plane ride from Atlanta to Managua, my neighbor was a friendly German man and we got to chatting for a bit. Being all nervous excited about going, it felt in a way very reassuring to meet another person heading to Nica. He was going to a language school in Granada and kept me company throughout our customs line before going separate ways. Hearing all these stories and plans and adventures from all these different people has had a similar effect on me--that being that I continue to feel less and less insane for choosing to volunteer in Nica. I think if I ever have doubts of what I'm doing, all I need to do is find a hostel full of young people from everywhere living out of backpacks and traveling, because as much as it's like okay, we are painfully not from here, we are also in a relatively similar boat. That's what I felt when chatting with all these international gringos gone thrill-seeking.)

The bus ride was bumpy as all heck, somehow maneuvering the soft volcanic sand that had taken over since the main road. Tree branches flying everywhere, the horizon one of forest smelling jungle trees and volcanoes. What a fiery landscape Nicaragua has....it feels very much alive with all of its volcanoes, all of the steamy sulfur vents and strange hot winds that speak of this our vibrant earth. We stop at the park entrance which has this strange pit of at least fifty iguanas all just hanging out. By this point we have been prepped briefly for the 45 minute hike up Cerro Negro, having taken our "before" photos at the park entrance. Three minutes more on the bus and the jungle has stopped, leaving a rocky, ashy, dark landscape. Everyone was all nervous laughter and jokes and to my great delight quite a few people commented on how this is like Mordor. Yes my friends, that is right. I was about to hike into Mordor.

(It is now significantly later in the day, the city covered in rain. All the old buildings look especially magnificent.)

We got tossed our over the shoulder orange cloth bags containing the jumpsuits we would don, picked up our boards and double checked that we definitely had our goggles. And let me just clarify that by boards I mean pieces of plywood with a square of some sort of very slippery plastic that would help us go faster. There was a rope with a handle and a small triangular section for your bottom. And that was pretty much it. Didn't question it really, even though we easily could have constructed this out of scrap materials in our garage back home. Seems legit.

We began our ascent moving through the rocky sections, feeling very much like epic explorers, like fantasy novel characters out on a grand adventure. Or at least, I was feeling that way. I always feel that way about things like this though. I think part of my adoration of hiking and walking and riding and climbing and adventures on your own two feet and on horseback comes from the little Kelly who will forever be reading books in the backyard, there but not there because imagination is such a great reality. I love that it's like I'm walking into Mordor, or traversing magical lands or trekking to find the answers, like all the characters fully realized in their comfortable novel lives. Lives I've visited again and again. And doing things like that in REAL LIFE are all the cooler because it is REAL LIFE. So even though I may not have swords or crossbows or magic or dragons, I'm doing all that is possible for our human condition.

Because there is magic in the way the old lava spill has coated the land, how the ground folds and crunches beneath you feet, the funny trees on the funny hills in the distance, looking forever like a Dr Seus book. And there is magic in the people taking silly pictures, self conscious but not, humming the epic theme songs of Jurassic Park and Indiana Jones and Star Wars (which I supplied for the Americans who were singing the songs when they couldn't remember--nerd for life), all of us silly and spontaneous and in awe of what this landscape is. Spectacular.

This volcano climb was much less grueling than Concepcion, but it was out in the open with no shade of which to speak. Luckily there was a steady breeze and the occasional cloud cover, which made the whole hike quite a joy for all of its tricky footing and steep inclines. It wasn't long before we made it up to the "top"; top being the point from which we'd ride. Before suiting up we walked to the edge of the crater, where Anthony scratched the surface of the dirt with his foot and steam issues out of it, hot as anything from the very active volcano beneath our feet. A WAY COOL WAY TO SPEND YOUR SATURDAY! On top of a volcano, feeling the waves of steamy heat, taking those must-have pictures jumping by the edge. (another side note: best decision to buy my camera--it has this incredible speed in taking pictures so it can entirely capture those midair shots, not to mention underwater....so I literally got the COOLEST picture ever of Becky and our guide Anthony ninja-kicking combat style mid air on the edge of the crater. Gracias mi camera!)

And then it was time.

The orange jumpsuits were overly large and all patched up from previous rides. Anthony demonstrated the basics of boarding, at which point everyone sort of stuttered at the thought of our bums on the very back end of a piece of wood barreling down the side of the volcano...yikes. Braking was tapping your heels, steering was tapping whichever direction you wanted to go, and the general position was lean back, hands vertical on the rope and hold your legs off the ground. Ladies first, of course, because chivalry is "alive and well in Nicaragua"....*suspicious eyes*..... And then somehow I was first of the pack to go. Gulp. Pulled my goggles on down and then after a reminder not to get off till the board stopped, WHOOSH. Down the effing volcano!

I realize that perhaps whoosh sounds a little bit corny, but that's what it sounded like. The wind whistled in my ears, throwing rocks and pebbles in my face, coating me with a layer of grit and dirt and volcano. Hit a huge bump but managed to hang on as the board sped towards the end. At this point it became nearly impossible to keep my legs up so I scratched and shredded at my pants...ouch. But also way awesome. I'm not going to reveal my speed (because there was a man with a speedgun timing each of our runs), but I'll let you guess in the comments. Note that the record speed for Bigfoot Hostel boarders is 91km/h. The record speed today was 80......the slowest speed was 16km/h. I figure I came probably like 16th or so out of 34 boarders. ............ Hahaha sorry that makes it sound like there is some sort of mathematical equation for my speed. There definitely isn't; just know that next time the motto is No Fear instead of Let's Try It. ;)

Being the first one down, I had time to readjust my ears to the silence. Speeding down that volcano was wind-grit-noise-exhilaration, the board grating over the fine rocks. Soon thee other girls started arriving, all of us covered from scalp to shoes in volcano dust, all of us laughing and dirty and loving it, cheering for each orange clad daredevil as they came tumbling or speeding or crawling on down. Nothing like an adrenaline rush careening down a volcano to instantly boost camaraderie levels. All too soon after all the excitement, we loaded back onto that orange truck, sweaty and sticking together, cracking open our victory drinks and enjoying the victory cookie.

And of course our drive back to the hostel is about fifty times bumpier and seven times more cheerful than the ride there, which is to say we were an enormous group of dirty gringos hollering through the jungle. At which point I held on to the side of our transport and just took it all in. Typical me to get all philosophical while everyone else is reliving their experiences through excited jolting stories, but there we have it. The top speed champ who didn't answer questions about himself but asked them of others. The waving hands of the curly-haired American. The goggle dirt line across the back of an Irish man's head. How the Scottish couple swayed with the wild bus ride. How everyone cheered, rolled their eyes at the Americans, laughed. How human all the human peoples are.

We bundled out of the truck back at the hostel and enjoyed our free mojitos for completing the trip. Food shower nap repeat, pretty much for the rest of the night. What a day. What a crazy day.

And what a life. There is a CNN report out that lists volcano surfing on Cerro Negro as number two in the Top 50 things to do before you die. And a reader's digest list puts it at number four for one of the most death-defying travel experiences in the world. Hence why you could say I've defied death today ;)

Keep dreaming magical dreams and keep doing magical things. And as the bathroom walls at this hostel say: "I believe in growing things, in things that have grown and died magnificently."

dftba
-k

Corre corre corre corazón

I have titled this post thusly in due respect for this number one hit pop song here in Nicaragua. We had it blasting in our ears as we rode in one of those bicycle rickshaws to our hostel for this weekend.
I can't say I've ever stayed in a hostel so this is quite interesting. Everyone here is either Australian, Canadian or American, as best as I can tell, though I am sure by the end of the night we will all be much better acquainted. It is almost strange to hear other people speaking English so consistently and without fail. I can't imagine what it will be like when I get back to Canada and I will understand all of what is being said. Honestly at the moment I can't say I enjoy being surrounded by English speakers....an I just weird like that or what? I enjoy the challenge of trying to understand what's going on and trying to piece together poco a poco and participate in my environment with what limited capacity I can.

Our plan for the weekend is volcano boarding on Cerro Negro and then a tour of this university-city with some of the oldest buildings in Nica. And then on Sunday we get to trek back to the nation's capital and back home to Granada in time for one of our staff's son's first birthday! Which should be quite the experience, considering it is a real Nica party and we will be on our own for communication. LOVE IT!

I shall post as the weekend goes and as the wifi allows. Because sometimes you have to push the boundaries of what you know and spend the ride with the wind in your face watching volcanos roll by.

dftba
-k

This is it...

So I have given myself a time limit for this post, in order to take advantage of however much energy and night I have left, in addition to Spanish homework and laundry. The little things. But oh, what a weekend.

We set out for San Juan del Sur on Friday afternoon, on one of the hottest bus rides of my life. Not that it mattered because once the bus tarted flying through the roads, the breeze helped out a bit....also saying anything is the hottest of my life gets a bit redundant because everything is so far. Literally for less than two dollars we travelled like 2 hours to our destination. And oh, what a destination. I posted some sunset pictures earlier, but they can hardly capture the sea breeze and the pacific ocean crash on the sloping shore and the sunset and the quaint beauty of that small town. Which of course we all fell in love with. Here is the story of that love:

We walked along the beach looking for a hotel and landed at the one we'd looked up via interwebs..... It was a little bit removed from the town but okay enough. Enough as in there were beds and air conditioning when the power was on. Otherwise sorta growsy but who's counting. We've yet to do the hostel thing, so we aren't allowed to complain. We headed out for dinner and drinks by like 8pm, and struck gold. This restaurant bar dance floor was two tiered, palm frond roofs right on the beach. (just needed to point out that right now Paradise by Coldplay is playing.... Quite appropriate) Never order me drinks after an afternoon of sweating out my weight in water because I drank those daiquiris like they were nothing. ..........not sure how appropriate that is, but I'm on the other side of the world sort of, so go ahead and judge in your cozy Canadian life if you'd like. ;) Dinner was delightful, made more so by the fact that there was this magnificent lightning storm all around us, illuminating the palm trees and hills and the strange Jesus statue on the ridge top that made everything feel slightly sacred if just because there would be this figure illuminated every so often by cloud to cloud lightning tht rippled through the sky. At one point our power flickered out, and it was just us and the others on this balcony underneath lightning bugs and a million stars in half the sky and a million clouds with lightning bolts on the other half. It was.....surreal.

By 9:30 me and Alicia and Becky were back from walking Alan back to the hotel (cultural do: always move in groups) to hit up the dance floor. Well, we had a second round of drinks (....or fourth?) and watched the silly crowd of Nicaraguans and gringos and hippies move to the music. And then we danced and we cried and we laughed and had a really really really good time take my hand lets have a blast an remember this moment for the rest of our lives (.....bonus points if you knows the song from which that line comes). It seriously was a blast though, I have to say. I hugely enjoyed the crush of people, all the bodies and all the moving and all the breathing, drunk lungs inhale, exhale. The waiters moved through everybody, grabbing a shoulder here and an ass there, just a jolly good time. We met some Canadians, got kissed on the cheek by a Spanish man, danced on by a short Nicaraguan and generally touched by all the people. Which sounds like the creepiest thing but really it isn't, or wasn't. Especially because you could just look out at the lightning and then close your eyes and you are just part of humanity again, low and grounded and gritty and sweaty. So I guess I like dancing, then... I'm not a fan of the people so smashed they could barely stand (many of those) but it was funto see people like one of the Canadians, poor fellow, too awkward to know how to dance in such a situation, unable to just go with flow and do the locomotion. Which makes for much private hilarity.
We returned from this dancing escapade by 1, tired and sweaty but definitely exhilarated from such a great night. Promises of a next time floating in the air. And of course by this point our air conditioner is not working due to a lack of power, so it is quite humid all around. And of course when the a/c does turn back on, it is set to freezing, so the night turns into one of shivers under inadequate blankets. BRING IT ON.

As per my post yesterday, we had breakfast on the beach and then wandered the town. At which point, by a cloudy daylight, we are in love with it. Small and cleaner than Granada, the locals are way less aggressive (and hy aggressive I mean catcalls and whistling) and there are way more tourists but they are the kind of tourists that half-live there, tanned and with the body of surfers. Oh, the surfers. I will just let you imagine that.

We spent the afternoon on the beach, where I pulled in a spectacular sunburn (I wonder how many times I will curse the damn malaria pills for increasing my sensitivity and therefore my usual chances of burn) and played in those rolling, salty pacific waves. Lunch was at sushi-q, a place you'd least expect to find in Nicaragua but lo and behold there it was and holy CARP it was delicious. Back to the hotel. For naps and plans before heading out to another of the popular haunts for dinner. And they gave us free shots, which was cool, and tasted like that banana medicine of childhood, which made for a really strange time. At this point some members of our crew were quite drunk (I'm pointing a mental finger at Alan but shhhh) but all was good. We migrated back to the bar from the night before but the crowd was less, probably more drawn to the beach party going on down the road. We called it a night by 12, revived a girl who passed out in front of us, and finally got our air conditioning right.

This morning me and Alicia headed out early. Gosh I can't even write these words without getting all tight in the throat and prickly eyes from how spectacular the ensuing experience was. By 6:30 we were outside our hotel, and along comes whiz zing this big silver truck with a wonderfully cowboy-hatted woman behind the wheel, Blue. She picked us up and drove us to her ranch where we were to go for our ride.

I honestly can't find words for that experience. Check out their website ranchochilamate.com for an idea of how cool they are, or just google reviews of their place. Oh my lanta.

It is Blue and her partner Jamie (Jeremy) on this beautiful lot in the foothills of the Rivas department of Nicaragua, with a custom designed and built hacienda, by Jamie, who was a construction manager in Vancouver for 25years before picking up to live a dream after his kids grew up. They had these two dogs that came bounding out to greet us, friendly as anything, rivaling the kindness of our ranch hosts. The place was just gorgeous; we got outfitted in our hats and boots and a pair of borrowed jeans before Blue took us around for a photo shoot. And then we went down to meet our horses.

I'll just take a minute to remind you of how lush and growing and green everything currently is in Nicaragua at the moment. So imagine this kind of rainforest-jungle growth and magical trees and howler monkeys swinging from branches above us and the magpie-jay birds and the parakeets and the buzzing cicadas.

My mount was this sturdy little rescue named Bandito, who grew up on the beach but had been subject to ear-twisting and not nice things. He was responsive as heck beneath me and so eager. The horses were all so pretty, Nicaraguan sized for the most part, but healthy. We set out then through the scattered village in the hills, waving hello to children looking out from windows, crossing rivers and pigs and chickens and bridges. Over the hills and valleys and through cattle farms and forests, saying hola, buenas días to the friendliest people with all the time and no money. It was spectacular, passing under monkeys and poison spike fire ant trees and flowers and greenery.

And then we arrived at the beach.

This was the survivor beach where they filmed two seasons back to back or something like that. It is framed by these rocky crags on either side, trees and hermit crabs and driftwood-strewn sand splitting a river from the sea. And bless our luck, you could literally see Costa Rica from where we were. My god. We enjoyed a cold beer under the trees, talking about horse smell and life plans on this semi-famous spot. Blue told us about the Nicaraguan survivor winner who came back to ride. How during the game, the players can't talk to each other unless the cameras are rolling. Which sounds ridiculous, but also way more like a survivor situation- lots of alone time pondering with bouts of frenzied conversation and doing. It seemed strangely poetic, this game show in this country and the silence and the trees. Bandito didn't want the cookie I offered him, but he was literally chomping at the bit once we untied and mounted up.

Oh, my goodness. Could that little caballo ever GALLOP! We raced across the beach, swerving around the men fishing and the family playing on this Sunday morning. We charged across that sand, legs churning and wind blowing, my hat wishing to fly, my heart already doing so. Bandito galloped and galloped and galloped, lathering himself with sweat and panting but loving life, his beautiful ears pricked forward and heart pounding under the saddle. We slashed through the ocean surf, turned tight western circles of excited-horse expectation and literally raced the wind.

There are some feelings that words can capture, and then there are moments like this. As we approached the end of the shore on our third or fourth gallop, I caught my heart in my throat and laughed to myself. Who is so silly as to cry, the crashing shore and the costa horizon and the riding. Something moved me, has moved me for how spectacular that was. It was a gem of happiness and such the perfect moment of everything I could ever want in my life...horse and sea and sky and the ability to go anywhere, feel everything.

The amazing didn't end there either. Once we left the beach, we literally rose through an enchanted forest, with those monkeys and their monkey babies, passing by dangling vines and leafy tendrils and this unbelievably adorable porcupine. I wish I could give all the sad people of the world a face like that porcupine, sweet and innocent and wise and natural, curious of the world and us strange, strange beings. And then we were back on the road through the village, if you could call the stretched out collection of shack homes that, but not just any road. The trees formed that perfect canopy of all dreams, petals falling softly, a little kid standing in the middle of it all with her small dog. This a shout out to you, Anne Marie, and all my film+lit buddies. It was exactly out of three seasons, just different colours.

I'm telling you, there are things in this world that are just the way they need to be, so unbelievable and precious and all the evidence in the world of the way we are, of the hearts that beat and the hearts that feel and excuse all this but I just...yea. I don't know if I can put these feelings onto the interwebs, make them into anything tangible because I don't know if they can be translated. I think they just need to be felt.

And I wish you the very feeling-est of feelings, the very softest of flower petals falling over your wondrous head. There is so much lovely in the world, so much beauty. I never want to forget that, how you live a moment and then it is a memory but it is still there in your heart that makes you human. There is so much lovely to be beckoned, so much to be made of your time here. So many parrots to sing to you, laugh with you, so many friendly dogs and galloping horses and shy kids waving and river stone splashing and lightning struck trees and magic to be made and shared and found, again and again and again, here and there with him and her and you and me.

I have way missed my timeline for finishing this entry. There is always more to be said, even if it is just to say how I can hardly speak of this life. This is it, you know. In all the ways and hows and whys of the this and the it, however you define them.

It is also it because we have reached the point of no return. The normal vacation time of one or two weeks has been coasted on through with Spanish verbs and volcanos. We are now approaching the next phase of our stay here, which is that we aren't leaving. We are also forbidden to speak English, starting tomorrow, so there is that adventure to come. Spanish time it is.....which reminds me of my Spanish work yet to be done.

So, for this week I encourage you to find the magic in your life and in your world. This isn't some crazy lady from the southern hemisphere preaching love and peace. This is me saying that there is a lot of world to be discovered, a lot of life in everything you do. Grace and magic and lovely.

Use your real eyes.

dftba
-k

Diacachimba en San Juan del Sur

Rebels, this one is for you.

What my morning looked like.

Es la verdad

Some photos of the journey so far. I am keenly aware that 14 days ago I was not here, and now I am at the loveliest place on this side of the earth.

I am here

looking out from our balcony window at the very big tree and the branches and the birds that don't stop until the sun goes down and then the bats take over and how beautiful is that and I am sitting here thinking about how we are all affected. How differently each of our voices sounds and how we know what we know and the way mosquito bites itch and how you never feel something until you do and how we are all so blessed to breathe this air and cursed to let it go again and how we attach ourselves to people and places and things and all that matters is the meaning we put behind it and the rituals we create and the sweat that rolls down your face and the little kids in their little kid laughter with their little kid knowing and the whiteboard markets running out of ink and dangling bracelets on thin wrists and wide hips and salsa swiveling on sweltering nights and how much greater we are and how much tiny we have and how there are stars in the night sky that have been there for years and how you cup water in your hand to watch the liquid of it, know you will always be this person, you will always make these choices, you will always find which flower it is that makes the stars beautiful.

I look forward to the sunsets of Sam Juan del Sur this weekend.

dftba
-k