Speed 4: Blind Curves Up ahead with dangerous Sun Glare…it must be passing time! (Staring Keanu Reeves? nope, staring me and 149 Nicas

These are my new curtains...beautiful!

Que Pasa?

Tub of lard: I hadn’t seen one of my counterparts for a while, but yesterday we got together to do some lesson planning for the new school year. The first thing she says to me , “Gordita (translation=fatto) how much do you weigh now?” I laughed it off, don’t worry I take everything with a grain of salt. But she just couldn’t let it go, she kept insisting that I had to of gained weight, which I haven’t, but finally I gave in and just said “como, no” (of course).

Regalos Regalos (aka recent gifts): My neighbor made me curtains for my house; she picked out the fabric herself and sewed them together by hand. Now when the sun shines through my one and only window, my house lights up in an orange glow.

Why won’t that ship just stay sunk?: Titanic the movie AND soundtrack have been playing continuously, non-stop, there must not be a pause button on my neighbor’s DVD player, forget about Jack somebody save me, and who took the time to translate the song “My heart must go on” into Spanish…am I rambling?? I apologize, but after hearing Titanic playing for the umpteenth million time, I think I have finally lost it…

“The money is in the banana stand” - Arrested Development: In Nicaragua, a popular treat is a frozen banana dipped in chocolate. It is called: Chaco Banano. After months of gaining confianza (trust), I now have an in with the neighborhood chaco banano vendor, and I get them for free…delicious, delightful, delectable…I have built this treat up a little too much, it’s no Crème Brule, but it’s as close as I’m going to get.

Band Practice: First of all, I would just like to state that I am a propionate of band practice…because practice makes perfecto. Also, because my parents had to put up with my flute playing for years and years until I mastered my craft (their poor ears). However, I do not support the right to just blow away on any old instrument, without any regard for tone. That being said, my neighbor just got a new trumpet, and he feels it’s his right to just blow the heck out of that thing morning, noon and night. My only sugerencia (suggestion) is that the sound of an instrument should never be mistaken for the sound a dying animal makes. So this is my last plea to the little boy across the street, “Kido, you have tuned the C long enough, and guess what, it’s still flat…maybe you should take up a new hobby (something that doesn’t involve noise).”

I arose at 6am one morning, in anticipation of catching a big Expresso bus to Managua. I am standing on the side of the road peering into oncoming traffic, wishing the cars and buses would all just go a tad bit slower, as my retinas do not have time to register the destination clearly printed on top of each bus passing my way when they are cruising at a casual speed of 100kph. What’s the point of even printing the route on the bus, if one cannot read it unless their name is Superman? So to truncate my effort I flag down almost every bus…only to flag them away with a stern “no” headshake when I realize their final destination lands elsewhere other than Managua. Finally, a bus to Managua arrives and I jump on, only to find out that it is “standing room only” and I still have 2 hours to go…but I’ve learned to take what I can get…and so I board, no use in being picky. I wondered why the bus was called an Expresso, and I found out soon enough. Like a high speed Hollywood car chase scene, I was suddenly staring in my own version of Speed (of course minus the fabulously handsome and always comic Keanu Reeves). Hopefully, the fact that I enjoy a good Keanu Reeves flick doesn’t discredit my own character; judge me not by my movie selection. But I like Keanu, not only for his acting ability (or arguably his lack there of), but simply because he looks good doing whatever he is trying to do…no he’s not a classically trained actor, but if the part calls for someone to deliver a line in a monotonous fashion, then Keanu’s perfect for the part. Alright, enough about my Keanu crush…back to my real life version of Speed. However, if Keanu was on my bus he would of probably uttered the line. ”We can’t drop this bus below 40mph,” undoubtedly in a lifeless tone. The bus I was riding was abiding firmly by this rule; in fact it was going even faster than necessary. Not only did we not drop below 40mph (remember I am riding in a giant yellow school bus) but the big bus also felt the need to pass every car, truck, and big bus in sight. At one point, we were passing another yellow bus and the passengers on that bus were pointing at our bus …yelling…warning us not to pass…because quite clearly there was another micro bus headed our direction in the “passing lane” and we were bound on a collision course. Oh well, we went for it…and by “we” I really mean to say the idiot bus driver that 150 people had trusted their lives to…reckless…yes…exciting…not in the least. I have learned to look the other way and just hope the accelerator kicks in soon. We cleared the other big bus with seconds to spare…and I made it to Managua in remarkable time…and that’s why it’s called an Expresso.

Whenever/wherever (no I’m not talking about the Shakira song) I travel in Nicaragua I always bring along my best friend…Saco (pronounced “sack-o” and which translates directly to mean sack). Saco is compact, reliable, and the perfect accessory for any trip. When I went back to the States for Christmas, Saco came with me…I forgot that in the U.S.A. people don’t use Sacos and therefore my Saco elicited some stares…were they envious of my fashion forward style sense? Just maybe. Saco, used to be a flour bag in a previous life, but now it has been converted into an over the shoulder satchel. I like saco for another reason, it blends in. I haven’t had anything stolen yet (knock on wood). If I stored my belongings in an incongruous sack, I might be setting myself up for theft so instead I opt for the reliable and dependable saco. That way, it doesn’t stick out from the rest of the bus cargo. Also, saco only costs 5 cordobas…cheeeeap! Saco only has one shortcoming…sometimes saco unravels in very inconvenient places. I have overcome this defect by simply doubling up on sacos…problem solved…however it took me one very unpleasant unraveling experience to learn that I should double up. There I was on the streets of Managua caring hoards of books in my saco (yes I readily admit that I packed saco too full…my mistake). Suddenly, I heard a funny crinkle sound (later I realized it was the sound of plastic threads unraveling) and then snap…the handle broke. I was 5 minutes away from the bus stop and so I sucked it up, instead of heading somewhere to buy another saco, I just forged ahead. In my two arms I was carrying a heavy load (this experience also reawakened my weight training routine). I boar the heavy load all the way back to my house (3 hours and 30 minutes away, most of which was on a bus therefore I wasn’t carrying saco in my arms this entire time). Since this experience, I have started weightlifting my gatoraid bottles filled with rocks (approxamility 5lbs. each) and I have purchased another saco!

Once in a while I need to get away from the constant stares and just escape from my town. Everyone means well, but I have little privacy and that can be wearing, at times. When I want to get away, I usually ride my bike out around the farms that surround my town. It’s just an hour circle around town but it’s enough to escape! Yesterday, I put my headphones on and blasted some Justin Timberlake “Sexyback”, and was looking forward to my peaceful ride. I was 10 minutes outside of town when I was approached by several other bike riders…going my way. Not wanting to be rude, I took off my headphones (paused “Sexyback”) and started up a quick casual conversation, meanwhile I was focused on passing this group and riding ahead at a faster pace. I said my hellos and goodbyes, then attempted to ride off fast…but it was to no avail…they all followed me…wanting to participate in my daily ritual called ejercio (exercise). So now, I permanently removed my headphones and was thus bombarded by questions from the group of kids as they struggled to keep pace with me. They continually asked if I was getting tired yet, to which I replied, “Not yet.” They all followed me on my route and then asked when I would be back. The end of this story is that now I have a bicycle exercise group…and I have NO where to escape when the attention becomes too much!

In the past, I have ridden the bus in some pretty uncomfortable positions, but nothing beats the last bus ride I had going to and from my town. I boarded the big bus at half past 4, which meant that we would not be departing for at least another 30 minutes. They only seat available was the “wheel seat,” the one I always try to avoid with a passion. For those who have never ridden on a yellow school bus, the wheel seat, is a dreaded seat because there is absolutely no leg room…why? Because a giant hump takes up all conceivable leg room, thus allowing the bus wheels to turn and the bus to more in a forward motion. I do not object to the idea of the wheel seat, because without it, the bus wouldn’t be going anywhere very quickly, or it would be extremely off balance, like one of those giant monster-truck vehicles that insist on running over other vehicles for the sake of entertainment. As I have yet to attend a monster truck rally, and do not have the need to participate in one, I prefer that the wheel seat stays put. But sometimes, there is not choice and reluctantly I sat in the “wheel seat” right up against the window. Next to me sat a women with a tub of chote on her lap, a big burlap saco filled with stuff (thankfully she didn’t have a live chicken). So there I was smashed up against the window, knees to chest, and my own backpack resting somewhere between my lap and chin. The bus was heating up as well, we still had 30 minutes till takeoff and the body heat combined with the sweltering sun, and the fact that all windows were rolled up, made the bus feel like a sauna. Finally, we rolled forward and I was forced to sit in the fetal position for 1 whole hour, until we finally rolled into my bus depot. As I shakily stood up to depart I realized that both of my feet were asleep along with the entire right side of my body. This made for an awkward exit, as I looked strickenly like the hunchback of Notre dame, hunched over and hobbling. Good news is my body quickly gained feeling again and I have sworn off the “wheel seat” permanently, I would rather stand, and in fact, next time I will stand.

My name has morphed into its own, I have been called Brik, Bris, BRI, La Gringa, Chela, Chica, Muchacha, and now I am most commonly called “La Brie.” I have officially become an object, no longer a person, or a gringa, I am a thing…gladly I am still a noun (I could easily be an adjective, for example my neighbors call each other “fea,” ugly, all in jest). I must admit I have grown rather accustomed to hearing “La Brie” that dare I say I like it? It has a certain ring to it, and like I said I could always be called worse!

After all this time in-country my Spanish has made leaps and bounds…but it’s still not fluent…and I still make mistakes…and most of this mistakes result in embarrassment. This week seems to be that kind of a week, I haven’t fumbled up lately, and therefore it was bound to happen sooner or later (more likely sooner). On to my story, my friend came over to my house and asked me if she could borrow my “grabadora” (CD player). I was unfamiliar with this vocab word, but I was familiar with another vocab word that is very similar: “grapadora” (stapler). Therefore, when she said grabadora, I heard grapadora…and was immediately confused…why did she need a stapler? I told her I didn’t have a stapler, because I don’t, but then she insisted that I did have one. This friendly argument went on for a bit and finally I asked why she even needed the “stapler.” She said she wanted to play music. I asked how she could play music with a stapler. She was no thurooly confused as well. She was about to give up and then she made a final point towards my mini-speaker system (used for playing music). Then it clicked, I ran to my trusty dictionary and looked up “grabadora,” it wisely revealed to my dense mind that a grabadora is a CD player. I lent my friend my CD player. Then the next day, I was on the bus with one of my friends and they referred to the grabadora…once again my mind thought of a stapler, before I was kindly reminded that a grabadora plays music and is not used to bind together paper. I think I finally got it!