A rat ate my homework...

Kayak Jam Poetry: When I signed up for a kayaking tour of the shark infested lake of Nicaragua, I didn’t expect to get a poet as a tour guide. My friend Whitney and I started off the tour with regular small talk and somehow ended up with a tour that involved ridiculously placed prose comparing a woman’s body to various trees, flowers, and rivers. For example, we saw a large old tree, which I would describe using such adjectives as: big, green, and lush. However, our tour guide said, “This ancient tree looks like a woman’s sensual body looking towards the heavenly sky.” The tour was almost 4 hours long, and our guide Mario never ran out of similes.

One of the new 7 wonders of the world: The island of Ometepe


Lord of the dance: Whit and I also went out dancing one night. We were having fun sitting at our table people watching when Whit was approached by a short guy that had had a few too many drinks. He got very close to her right ear and said, “DANCING.” Then he repeated, “DANCING.” Now I am assuming he wanted to ask Whit to dance but instead of saying, “Would you like to dance?” He just kept yelling “DANCING.”

Whitney and I are about to fly through the trees


Climbing the 2nd most active volcano in the world (again): Getting lost in the wild bush for a few hours is never anything to be too worried about, but I always carry an extra snack just in case we’re lost for an exceedingly long period of time. Plus, why ask for directions when you can go around in circles for hours? There is no excitement in arriving at a destination in a timely manner! It seems that every time I climb the Cerro Negro (the 2nd most active volcano en el mundo) we get lost somewhere along the way. It seems almost impossible to get lost since it is just one big massive black hole of sand, but we always manage somehow, someway. This time around 20 of us got into a low riding small pick-up truck (I somehow lucked out in the shotgun seat). The driver started the engine and the kids and I where off towards the cerro. This time around we were going to give an investigative survey (encuesta) concerning the natural wildlife reserve that surrounds the volcano. But after starting up the truck the driver failed to ask any of us for directions and chose his own made-up route. We didn’t realize that he didn’t know where he was going until 2 hours into the ride he stopped the truck and whispered to me, “Where are we?” Well, those are never the words you want to hear when you realize you are surrounded by thick trees and branches and the noon sun is slowly rising higher and higher in the sky. Not surprised by the fact that he was lost, I told him that the cerro was close and now we just had to figure out how to turn the truck around on a one-way narrow road. Since there were 20 kids in the back of the pick-up, they all jumped out to help physically lift the truck off of the ground and turn it around. After this mighty feat, we got back into the truck found the foot of the volcano and parked. However, since the cerro is made up of sand the truck got stuck, and the kids were forced to use their muscles again to heave to truck out. We walked an hour to the nature reserve, I had a poisonous snake placed around my neck, and then we hiked the volcano. What a day!

This video makes me laugh each time I watch it! Pay close attention to the waiter and the random man in the clip, because they seem able to ignore all that is going on around them.


This celebration is called La Gigantona (who is the giant Spanish lady in costume that is seen at the very end of the clip). The short man dancing around is her "native" Nicaraguan husband. She fell in love with him and chose to stay in Nicaragua instead of returning to Spain.

RATS! RATS! RATS!: It’s been a while since I have posted a blog, and I suppose it’s because I have felt a bit uninspired. The things that used to be so new have now become just ordinary occurrences. I have dealt with the fact that there are an abundance of bats, mice and insects in tropical climates, which are things that I don’t normally have to deal with in my home state of Colorado. None of these things have ever really bothered me and I hardy pay notice when they go scurrying across my line of vision. A few nights ago, I was unable to sleep due to a loud noise that seemed to be all around me. I awoke several times throughout the night, and felt like something had crept over my body, but by the time I opened my eyes that “something” was gone in the darkness. I slept restlessly tossing and turning until morning finally arrived. I got up only to hear more noise. Next, I put on a pot of coffee and started to pull out a large plastic bag that I keep all of my school supplies stored in. I dragged the heavy bag along the floor and noticed that I had left it unzipped. Then I saw that the papers inside (including some of my students homework papers that I had stored in the bag) were strewn all over the place with chunks of them missing. I was a bit puzzled because it looked like a large animal had chewed them. What large animal could get into my house? I recalled another volunteer who had had terminates eat his papers and thought maybe I had a termite problem (a big termite problem). A bit perplexed, I continued to drag the bag out into the openness of my house. I reached slowly into the bag with my hand (not thinking) and rummaged around for a particular paper. Then I noticed a funny smell coming from the bag. When a large rat the size of my foot (and I have big feet) hopped out of the bag hit my leg and ran for an exit. I stood up almost immediately shocked and shaken and started yelling. “Oh oh oh oh oh oh,” I uttered as I shook and jumped up and down. My neighbors came running into my house with a broom overhead thinking that I was being attacked. When they shoved open my door they found me hopping and yelling and pointing. They said “What Brie WHAT!!” and I couldn’t reply I just pointed towards the bag on the floor and then towards the door. They were super confused and I was still startled with my heart racing a mile a minute. I finally told them a rat jumped out of the bag, and my neighbor asked if it was still in the bag. “No, it ran out of my house,” I replied. She then proceeded to pick up the bag to bring it outside, but then dropped the it and screamed. It seemed that there were still more rats. Inside the bag, the same bag I had put my hand into just moments before were 15 rat babies. Now my neighbor was also in hysterics, I was still jumping around and another friend came into my house wondering what the heck was going on. When I mentioned the word “rat” she ran right out the door leaving my neighbor and myself alone with the bag full of rat babies. On the verge of tears, we both picked up the bag and brought it outside. She then set fire to the bag and I poured bleach all over my house. I washed EVERYTHING and BLEACHED everything. I was so disgusted! Shortly after the rat incident had occurred, a small gecko ran across my wall, which caused me to scream and jump. Later that night I saw a shadow creeping across my roof, I looked up again and to find the rat mother was back in my house looking for her family. I obviously figured out the reason I couldn’t sleep the previous nights, it was due to the fact that a RAT was running across my bed (with me in it)!

The Infamous Tilanic

Antibiotics are just like candy…or are they? Well, these days, I seem to be inflicted by one mysterious disease after another. And with the swine-flu going around I just hope I steer clear of that virus (so far it hasn’t hit Nicaragua). But lucky for me, I have numerous friends who own pharmacies. Yesterday, I went to hang-out with one of my Nica pharmacy friends. I told her I also wanted to buy some cough drops; instead, she provided me with antibiotics because she said “these work much better.” I accepted the medicine with a smile, but knew that I wasn’t going to take some mystery pills. For fun, I decided to look up the meds online and discovered that they are very effective in curing 2 infirmities: 1) Bronchitis and 2) Syphilis. Now while I am pretty sure that I suffer from neither of those, I wanted to know why she was under the impression that I had syphilis. I jest; she knew I didn’t have syphilis. The fact of the matter is that she had no idea what those antibiotics were actually suppose to cure (she’s not a doctor). I was a bit disturbed that my friend was diagnosing and providing antibiotics to the community. The week before this incident I was also provided with an offer to get a free antibiotic shot. Since when are antibiotics the cure all? However, I still find myself sick so maybe the syphilis killing antibiotic is the way to go…just kidding.

1 of the 2 volcanoes on the Isla de Ometepe


Follow the quaker (and no I don’t mean Quaker…I mean “quack”…like the sound a duck makes): Finding treasured natural beauty can be difficult in a country without trail markers and defined trails. It is always an adventure. First of all, I always hear through the grape vine of a beautiful sight to see, but the trick is getting to that sight. Thus began my trip to the waterfall. I went to find the natural wonder with a friend. We started off on a road, asked for directions to guide us to the huge waterfall (cascada), and we were told it was a 30 minute walk from where we stood. We were also told to seek out the “cow corral.” But, truly, what does a cow corral look like? I pictured it being a barn of sorts with cows in it. And it seemed that every corner we turned laid a house, with a barn, with cows in it. So how does one distinguish between a “cow corral” and just a “cow covering?” I am afraid that I am still not sure what the difference is and therefore cannot answer that question. We found ourselves asking a lot of people for directions to this infamous “cow corral.” Finally, when we found the “corral” it seemed that no one was home. Therefore, we continued down the path until we came to a small stream. We were met by one man on horseback and a second elderly man who was quaking like a duck. Great, I thought to myself, I have attracted yet another crazy person. The man on the horse told us that we had passed the waterfall already and needed to backtrack, but we would never be able to navigate it by ourselves (since there were no trails or signs denoting the location of the waterfall). So the man told us that the “quaker” would be our guide. Well, the quaking man started leading us into a forest, he had is machete out and was hacking away at the vegetation that blocked our path (I silently hoped to myself that was all he planned to whack at). We ascended a large hill and we were getting further and further away from the stream. I began to wonder where this quaker was leading us…if only I spoke duck! Turns out the man (while crazy) was quite articulate and did speak Spanish (although “duck” was clearly his first language). He told us we were headed toward the cascada, but I still doubted his claim. We drew further away and then reached a large cliff. He pointed to the bottom of the cliff, and told us that was where the waterfall was located. How were we going to descend the cliff (as I had left my rope climbing gear behind in the state of Colorado)? Turns out, a thin path wove down the side of the cliff and the man started down the side. If a 65 year old quaking man could descend the hill, well then so could I. I followed and after a short walk a large flowing waterfall emerged in front of me. It was a sight to behold; we thanked the quaker by saying, “Quack Quack” (but with a Spanish accent of course so that he could understand us). He left us and told us to just go straight up the hill again to find our way out.


Granada bell tower


Sticky fingers leads to a “¡Qué barbaridad!” being uttered: Semana Santa is a weeklong bacchanal that in my experience results in:

1.Bolos boarding local busses being either annoying or just passing out cold in a seat, and getting kicked off the bus due to lack of funds (Happy Easter…nobody rides for free).
2.Bad pick pockets trying to steal my Band-Aids
3.Hotels being booked and beaches loaded with people
4.Local transport running slowly and packed full
5.Giant Jesus statues being carried through the streets to the beat of a marching band
6.Firecrackers being shot off at all hours
7.Bells being tolled
8.And ZERO Easter eggs being hidden!

Now let me backtrack a bit. The weeks leading up to Semana Santa were spent planning a trip to the Rio San Juan, which is located in the southern part of Nicaragua bordering Costa Rica and it runs all the way to the Atlantic coast. Since I would have a week off, I decided it would be the perfect time to hop on the boat that heads down the river. In planning the trip, I did not make any reservations because the Rio is remote and it is difficult to contact places to stay. The plan was to hop on the boat, head down river, and see where the journey would go. We headed to Granada, where we would purchase our boat tickets and bought the tickets under the assumption that the boat was going to leave at 3pm that afternoon. This left us with a few hours to kill, and we headed into the city to eat breakfast. After eating we wandered around for a bit, and then thought it best to head back towards the dock. At the dock, we expected to see a lot of people; however, we didn’t see any people and instead I spotted a boat off in the distance, which led me to say, “I wonder where that boat is going.” Turns out, that boat was going to the Rio San Juan and we had missed it, because it left 1 hour early. After stomaching our disappointment, we decided to head to the Isla of Ometepe (an island with 2 volcanoes). We would still take a boat ride to get onto the island and we continued on with our new adventure. Of course, being Semana Santa, transportation and open hotels were hard to come by, but no matter, we continued on! When we got to the Ferry Dock we noticed the Ferries were numbered 1 and 3, which made me wonder, “Where was Ferry #2.” Well, it had sunk (but not very recently). We also spotted a ship called the “Tilanic,” which was supposed to be named the “Titanic;” however, due to a misspelling it was now known as the infamous Tilanic. Luckily, for the Tilanic the lake doesn’t have icecaps, but it is home to the only fresh water shark in the world (but I doubt a shark could sink a ship…unless it was a cousin of Jaws…and in that case, watch out!). We boarded our ferry and arrived at the isla, now where to go? We looked around for an open hotel, found a room and booked it! That night we stayed at the port, and the next morning we boarded an early bus to head to Charco Verde, we hiked around, saw some monkeys, ate some fish and continued to our next stop. The next place we went to on island was the isthmus, after putting our backpacks in our room we jumped into the lake to go for a swim. The following day we ventured to the “Ojo de Agua,” a natural spring (I think I got a parasite from this spring too…don’t drink the water when it is loaded with people). From the “Ojo” we walked back to our hotel took another dip in the lake and booked a taxi to take us back to the port city. The taxi was supposed to arrive at 5:30pm but as is custom, it arrived 1 hour later. We shared the taxi with another couple that were drinking Toña (local beer) like it was water. I just hoped that no one would throw up until the ride had ended. We made it back to the port, and slept soundly that night. The following day was Good Friday, and we knew that transportation would be tough to come by in the entire country. We lucked out and found a bus that took us into Managua; unfortunately, this bus contained thieves who unzipped my backpack in hopes of finding some “goods” only to be let down when they saw that I had no valuables or money in my backpack, only Band-Aids and tampons! I literally caught the thieves red handed and I gave them the evil eye and told them “¡Qué barbaridad!” The thieves awkwardly traded seats after being caught and remained silent for the rest of the ride. We got off in Managua, only to be lied to again, the taxi driver told us we could not get a micro to Leon but he could take us for $50. He wanted to get more taxi fare from us by taking us further. The taxi driver was shady and we got out as soon as possible, waited for about 10 minutes and got a bus to Leon.

A view of the city of Granada

When in a desert is it even possible to pee (orinar) in private?

Locked into a small confined space, it’s lucky I’m not claustrophobic: Lately, I have found myself spending a lot of time in the bathroom. I only wish it was because I had a bacterial infection. In fact, I find myself being unknowingly locked inside bathrooms. It has occurred twice, and luckily people have been nearby enough both times to hear my screams for help. Honestly, one time I didn’t need to scream because I was able to “phone a friend,” like a lifeline on the Millionaire show, to help pry open the door. I have lucked out my whole life and never been locked into a bathroom facility and now karma has come around to get paid in full.

Bzzzzzzz’ness, my bee wax candle kids forge forward: I have some exciting news to report. My school kids from the previous year have decided to continue selling their products (candles). They are currently working on upping the quality of their product, and getting funding to help buy the material they need to mass produce. Therefore, I have been traveling into their town a little more frequently. Two weeks ago, I traveled in to find that my counterpart teacher, who is helping the group too, was suffering from high blood pressure. She had a headache. I told her to take a nap, but that advice wasn’t good enough. Instead she pulls out a long needle, and wants me to inject her with whatever medication was inside the unknown mystery needle. Anyone who knows me, knows that I can’t stand needles (it’s bad enough when I need to get a shot). My counterpart was getting ready for ME to inject her in her thigh; meanwhile, I was trying not to pass out from the sight of the needle. I told her there was no way I could inject her, even through her insistences I refused. She had assumed that because I am “gringa” I went to some kind of shot-injecting class in University. I assured her that was not the case, and that she would be better off taking Tylenol and resting until someone who was properly trained could give her the shot. Instead she opted to walk over to the neighbor’s house to see if they would inject her. I wish this event was an isolated one; however, I find that more often than not many of my Nica neighbors opt to be “injected” vs. having to just swallow a pill. I am the opposite; give me a pill not a shot!

The Cerro Negro volcano!

Jesus Cristo?... Is that you?: I was in the middle of teaching a class, the kids were participating, and ideas were being generated, if fact all was going splendidly. Then I heard an annoying little knock on my classroom door that didn’t surprise me in the least. The knock means that the principal wants to make a “brief” announcement. I smiled and waved her in, because by now I have learned that it is better to just get the announcement over with ASAP. This time around was a little different. She didn’t have to announce anything, she waved to someone else who was standing outside of the classroom, conveniently just out of my view point, to enter into the room. Thus signaled, the Evangelicals entered into the classroom; their arms overflow’ith with bibles. What happened to separation of church and state? While I was trying to teach the kids the concept of “why creativity is essential to use in the highly competitive world of business,” my class was interrupted to preach the good word of Jesus Cristo. This Evangelical group had flown in from the states, however the minister was Nicaraguan, but the bibles were provided by the gringos. The kids (who love getting free stuff) were now talking amongst themselves about the “swag” they were receiving. The church group took up the rest of my class time, and then left.

What’s red and blue and paisley covered all over; hint...It’s not a newspaper: Getting integrated, involves eating local food, adapting local traditions and customs, and apparently buying a red or blue backpack? The backpack I trek to all of my schools was purchased in the states; it is covered in a paisley pattern, super durable and holds a lot of stuff. I have used the same backpack throughout my 2 years in Nicaragua, but one of my students recently brought it to my attention that because of the backpack I utilize, I am not yet “culturally integrated.”

Here’s the conversation we had:
Student: “Prof. do you like Nicaragua?”
Me: “Of course I like it; I wouldn’t be here still if I didn’t like it”
Student: “Well if you like it so much why don’t you have a red or blue backpack?”
Me: “What?”
Student: “Your backpack is very different; all the other teachers have either a blue or red backpack”
Me: “So why do I have to have a blue or red backpack?”
Student: “It’s our culture”
Me: “It’s your culture to have blue and red backpacks?”
Student: “Yes”
Me: “So I should spend money on a new backpack even though this backpack is still useful?”
Student: “Yes”
In conclusion, I will not be buying a new backpack, and have come to terms with the fact that I will never fully be culturally integrated without a blue or red backpack. Such is life!

My student and I were a bit dirty after running down the side of the volcano.

Knock, knock, knock: That’s the sound I heard at my door one morning at around 7:30 a.m. I had been up for several hours doing laundry and prepping for my class, but was still surprised to hear someone yelling at my front door. What could they want? I opened my front door to find someone from the school’s delegation office. He wanted to inform me that there was a very important reunion that I had to attend. I said I could attend, but just need to know when and where this “reunion” was going to be held. It turns out the reunion was going to be held in the capital city of Leon, in 1 1/2 hours. I closed my door, as the realization sunk in that in order to make it to this reunion I had to leave my house in 1 minute to catch a bus into the capital. I grabbed my purse and ran out the front door. 1 hour and 10 minutes later, I found myself at the location of the reunion (20 minutes to spare, not too shabby). I didn’t know what the reunion was going to be about, all I knew was that all of the principals from my town were attending, and that they had invited me to attend. I opened the door to the conference room to find myself staring into the eyes of other confused volunteers. It turns out I wasn’t the only volunteer called in for the imperative reunion. Low and behold there had been a mix-up. The reunion was being put on by Peace Corps (not the local ministry of education, as I had been led to believe). As well, the reunion was not for volunteers it was just for the directors that were interested in working with Environmental projects. Apparently, my local principal had received an invitation to this reunion, saw the name Peace Corps, and thought it was for me to attend (while in fact it was just the opposite, the reunion was for them to attend). Since I had already rushed to get into Leon, I decided I could I could at least go and check my mail.

It's really windy on the top of Cerro Negro, we were lucky we didn't get blown away.

El Cerro Negro, the most active volcano in Nicaragua: Behind my town is the infamous Cerro Negro, it is the most active volcano in Nicaragua and the second youngest volcano in the Americas behind Volcan Paricutin in Mexico. Whenever I talk to people about the cerro they inevitably bring up the infamous “gringo loco” that got the bright idea to ride his bike down the side of 730 meter volcano in order to break a world speed record. The fact that he rode his bike down the side of the volcano doesn’t faze anyone, because we surf and run down the side of the volcano without a blink of an eye. The shocking part of the story (at least as the locals tell it) is that he used a bike worth $5,000 American dollars to bike down, only to crash, break his bike and later succeed breaking the world speed record using a local bike worth, at the most, $50 American dollars. “Amazing,” I always reply. Who knows if the story has any validity to it, but they also always assume I know this gringo (that he must be a friend of mine), because they tend to think all gringos know all the other gringos in the world! We must have some kind of vast gringo network of sorts! Anyway, here’s the Youtube link to a video of the crazy biking gringo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTfu0hjVtzE. I have made the trip to the cerro before, but this time around we decided to head up to the volcano via a giant commercial truck. We all got into the bed of the truck that was raised about 6 feet off of the ground. The truck started up with a roar and departed the town as a whirlwind of dust encompassed the truck and swirled around our bodies and faces. Without warning, the group that was standing on the right side of the truck bed made a squatting move. “Are we exercising?” I wondered. Then I thought, “Maybe we are doing some morning squats to warm up for our hike?” Next, the people on the left side of the truck, including myself, found ourselves practically doing pushups. We ducked down low and quick, and not in an attempt to warm-up for a hike. It turns out, the truck bed was raised just a tad too far off of the ground, because the millions of tree branches that lined the dirt path we were taking to the cerro were crashing into the side of the truck and threatened to hit us all in the head, arms and body. To avoid being thrown off the truck by a branch we were forced to either do a “squat move” or a “push-up move” if the branches were extra low. Thus went our trip to the base of the volcano. It reminded me of Richard Simmons jazzercise video, up down pushup squat…we weren’t sweatin’ to the oldies but we were sweatin’! We reached a peanut field that marked the turnoff for our journey. The field was right along the base of the volcano and this road was covered with sand like volcanic ash. I thought, “Should the truck being turning down this road? Shouldn’t we just walk from this point forward to avoid being stuck?” But no, why walk when we have a truck…it makes no sense! About 1 minute after turning onto the volcanic ash path, our truck got stuck (I would say I told you so, but opted to keep my mouth shut!). The driver continued to rev the engine, spinning the wheels wildly, and digging us deeper and deeper into the sand (someone had obviously never driven in sand before). The group jumped out of the truck and started to gather branches to put under the wheels to help create some traction to get us out of the hole. After about 30 minutes, we dug out and continued on, only to get stuck twice more! Finally we reached the base of the volcano, as the group realized that they shouldn’t have drunk the bags full of “fresco” (fruit juice) before embarking on the hike. As we looked around, we saw a barren desert covered in black volcanic ash. There were a few sparse trees that can be described as twigs sustained by what little life they could suck out of the ash. I heard someone say, “What, no bathrooms?” The answer was an obvious, no. Well, with bladders threatening to explode people went in various directions to “orinar” (aka squat and tingle) in a very open desert like landscape. I had not partaken in the fruit juice for this very reason, and I didn’t have to squat in public! But when in a group of 30 and in a desert, there is no such thing as peeing in private! With bladders emptied we started to ascend the cerro, after a hike of 1 ½ hours, we found ourselves at the summit. We had a picnic and then proceeded to run down the side and back to the truck! We somehow managed to lose 2 people (the pastor and his wife), but they eventually turned up 2 hours later. Everyone boarded the truck again, we did out squat/push-up moves and made it back into town right in time to have lunch!

Papagayo (Parrot) tastes just like chicken

Venture to Ticolandia (known to the layman as Costa Rica): So I crossed over the border, just a hop skip and a 6 hour bus ride away from my home in Nicaragua, and went to the Northern part of Costa Rica! It is the land of milk and honey, land of crocodillos y perezosos (crocodiles and sloths), land of rest and relaxation,land of 1850 Nicaragua/Costa Rica border dispute? Brief history lesson: The land dispute centered on the possible location of a “canal” at the Rio San Juan that is located in Nicaragua, and ownership rights of what in now Guanacaste the Northern part of Costa Rica. The canal would link the Atlantic with the Pacific; of course, ultimately the canal was not located at this site (it is now known as the Panama Canal). However, throughout my vacation, whenever mention of Guanacaste was made (which was frequently) my nica friend reminded the ticos (Costa Ricans) that “era de Nicaragua,” translation “this land was Nicaraguan”…whatever happened in the past, I say, let bygones be bygones and let’s not dwell. I will now start at the beginning. The trip kicked off at about 3:30am because my friend and I were awoken my church bells that refused to cease and desist, they rang from 3:30am till 5:00am (the official hour of our bus departure). We loaded onto a giant “Grey Hound” like bus called the “Nica Expresso.” The bus was packed, but we had our own seats, after a 5 hour ride we came to the frontera (border) between Nicaragua and Costa Rica. It was packed full of backpackers, importers, exporters, and people from every walk of life. We remained on the border for around 2 hours, waiting for all of our passports to be cleared etc. Finally, we were able to get the trip going again and arrived at our final destination, Costa Rica, an hour after crossing the border. In Costa Rica, we took full advantage of the sights and sounds. We went to Palo Verde (which looked like a scene right out of Indian Jones because the river was filled full of giant crocodiles), crossed the continental divide to Volcan Tenorio, walked through a rainforest and saw a sloth, crossed bridges hanging 35 meters off the ground and connected to 300 year old trees, hopped into Santa Cruz to watch bull fights and dance some salsa, sighted U.S. movie stars in the area, relaxed poolside, biked to surrounding beaches, learned that everyone uses the phrase “Pura Vida Mae” (which should never be used in Nicaragua…we are all about the tuani here), zipped upside-down attached to a cable through a canopy that was filled with howler monkeys (note, howler monkeys like to throw objects), and finished off the trip on the beach watching the stars in a moonless sky.

Earthquake threatens to bring down my house: My neighbors recently purchased a new sound system. The system apparently came with sub-woofers, and my neighbors have decided to turn down the treble and opt for more base. Therefore, my house trembles with the extreme base sound that is emitting from their speakers. An added bonus is the fact that they own the songs from the “Kill Bill Soundtrack” (songs that sound like this “RRRRoooooRRRROOOO, more or less a siren effect). As my house is shaking, dishes rattling, floor vibrating, the siren noise makes my heart race and I looked around anxiously waiting to be attacked by sword yielding master ninjas.

What in the world is Papagayo? “a delicious salsa” or “ a parrot”: Hopefully, you picked parrot, because it is most definitely not a salsa. It should not be eaten at all for that matter. However, my mother did not know what Papagayo meant in Spanish (the location we stayed in Costa Rica was called Papagayo), and therefore she proceeded to say that she would like a “salsa de papagayo.” For the record, papagayo tastes just like chicken (just kidding, no papagayos were harmed or eaten during our stay in Costa Rica…but it’s a warning to all to always use a dictionary before blurting out “salsa de…”

One of the many crocodiles we saw in the river



Party in the back of the bus: I took a trip to Estelí, the mountainous cooler part of Nicaragua to help a friend register for college classes. The trip should have been quick, but I have learned to always expect the unexpected. We arrived at the university in Estelí to learn that they were not registering students at the school but instead registration was occurring outside of the town 30 minutes down the road at another office. This meant we had to wait for another bus to come by to bring us to the correct location. After 1 hour or so we arrived at the correct registration location and my friend registered, only to find out that classes started at 7am, and the earliest bus out of our town arrives at 8:30am, in other words 1 hour and 30 minutes too late. Therefore, she will have to arrive a day early, spend the night and then go to school. After registering we had to wait for the next bus to leave to get back to town. We arrived at the bus station 30 minutes early to get seats. After being seated I heard some loud men attempting to sing in the back of the bus, and it turns out they were having a bus party. As the bus departed the station, the guys in back invited my friend and me to join in their party. We sang songs and had a fun time until we arrived at our stop. It’s always an adventure.

Get me on that stage, I’ll dance like a puppet if needed (another year another acto): The school year officially kicked off on the 3rd of February, which meant that I had to go to yet another school assembly, get up on stage and face the hundreds of faces of curious students (at least this year they didn’t make me give a speech, nor did I have to dance on stage). Instead, I sat with a group of my communities leaders on stage as we listened to the director give an opening speech. Next, we heard from our mayor, who made a shout out to Cuba, Venezuela and Bolivia (can we say, awkward). After two hours on stage (and luckily not having to make a speech) we all left and the school year was officially put into swing.

My friend Carla and I in the Rain forest about to cross a giant bridge


Mandate me some meat: One of my Nica friends, is concerned that I am not get my necessary daily protein intake and therefore sends me meat via the bus system. They butcher the animals in their town and grind the meat with all sorts of wonderful seasonings. Ever week, I am the lucky recipient of fresh meat…love it!

Carbon Monoxide looms too close for comfort: It was another typical trip to Chinandega to hang out with some friends, or so I thought. The trip started normally, at least. We ended up going to a baseball game, and spotting a player whose name was “C. Paz” or as we interpreted it “Cuerpo de Paz” (the translation of “peace corps” in Spanish). Whenever C. Paz came up to bat, we gave a roar from the crowd, did the “Ola” or “Wave.” Luckily, he was a pretty good player and brought in a few runs for his team, which I attribute to our overzealous cheering. After the baseball game, we headed to good ol’ “Top Tip” the Nicaraguan fast food equivalent of KFC. We ordered, ate and then left promptly. Our next stop was a dance club. Fast forward to the next day, and we decided to play it low key, and opted to stay in that night and watch a movie. The movie was playing and we were becoming a bit mesmerized as we stared into the glaring T.V.; meanwhile, outside of the apartment a fire truck pulled up to the gas station, and proceeded to make a lot of noise. They were running the engine and exhaust was piling out and filling up the air around the truck. We continued to watch the movie, as we became more and more relaxed and docile. Then one volunteer made an observation that saved our lives, the room we were occupying was filled full of carbon monoxide, due to the fire truck that was still revving it’s engine directly below us on the street. One volunteer got up to close the door, in an effort to prevent the fumes from entering the house. However, this action was moot due to the fact that right next to the door was a giant window that was open and thus omitting the gaseous fumes. Obviously, the volunteer was in a carbon monoxide induced stupor, and couldn’t reason correctly. The rest of us ran for the door to exit the apartment. From a safe, fresh air filled corner, we watched the fire men as they continued to rev the engine (little did they know they almost killed us…dare I say ironic). We waited for the truck to depart, and noticed that sparks were flying underneath (needless to say, this truck would not pass an emissions test if its life depended on it). After the sparks flew, the truck stalled and the fire men haled us from across the street to help push the truck…only to get it going again without any need of assistance. It drove away into the night and we returned to the apartment, fortunate that we had not gone to bed early that night, because we most surly would have been poisoned in our sleep.

Going nuts: peanut addiction leads to rehab and community service

Is there something in your eye, or are you giving me a “winkie eye”? Trapped in the back of a bus with my friend I was spotted by a skinny 15 year old boy at the front of the bus. I had never met this boy before in my life, and out of nowhere he started winking at me. Seeing as how we were separated by about 50 people, he could not speak to me but proceeded to mouth words at me in Spanish. Then he gave the universal sign for “call me”. Keep in mind this KID was 15, but bold. He then started to blow kisses at me…this was getting to be too much. I tried to ignore it as long as possible but then I had to end the nonsense. I pretended to catch a “kiss” and then proceeded to throw it out the window…problem solved.

Mail = Happy: For those who feel the need to send mix CDs, burned DVDs or other random stuff, send them via U.S. regular mail (regular mail is the cheapest and fastest). The addition of “Pastora” to my name (translation shepherdess) is to help keep honest people honest. Why did I pick the title shepherdess? Because I clearly couldn’t be a monja (nun), which would require a costume and probably result in eternal damnation! Also, it doesn’t hurt to throw on some crosses next to the phrase “Dios te bendiga” (God bless you) anywhere on the package. My address is as follows:

Pastora Brie Johnson
AP 216
León Nicaragua
Central America

I’ll give you a topic…“Cuidado con el ángel” is neither cuidando (careful) nor about an ángel (angel)…discuss!: There is a telenovela (soap opera) that plays on TV called “Cuidado con el ángel” the main character is named Marichuy. Now I would like to give a plot summary that should explain why I should never watch soap operas. They have an affect similar to that of the siren’s call, I am both lured in and mystified, and when it’s too late to turn around I see them for what they truly are, an ugly mess.

Here’s the plot, and keep in mind that I am summing up 3 months of episodes: Marichuy likes a guy, guy has a wife, his wife goes crazy and turns into a “ho” (not the garden variety but the street version), guy falls in love with Marichuy and marries her because he thinks his wife has died, crazy wife returns, Marichuy finds out she is pregnant, Marichuy gives birth and doesn’t tell her husband, guy now has 2 wives one crazy wife and Marichuy who just gave birth to his child, Marichuy goes blind, a maid who has multiple personality disorder enters into the story and peruses the man who already has 2 wives, multiple personality maid ends up cured and only has 1 personality, old wife is still crazy but goes through electrical shock therapy…and who knows what next weeks episode has in store, I know I will be watching.

My student and I at her 15th birthday party

“Killer Clowns From Outer space”: I will venture to guess that not many people have seen this wonderful adaptation of clowns that come to earth on a mission to kill people. It has been acclaimed as a “Horror film classic, one that must be watched not once but again and again, if this movie isn’t saved on your TiVO it should be.” It is often shown on late night cable TV (around 3am) so for all the insomniacs, this film might be your only option. Alas, I did see this film, it was an utter and complete ridiculous waste of my time, and if I had a “do over” I would chose not to watch the movie. However, life doesn’t just handout “I saw a bad movie do overs” and therefore what was done is done. It has been many years since I last saw this film; still, the clown images are forever engraved on my mind, which leads me to the déjà vu that occurred yesterday. A real life clown came to my neighbor’s house, and he looked like he had just stepped off of the movie set of “Killer Clowns From Outerspace 2: Birthday Surprise.” I will set the scene: The music playing was a never ending CD of translated Barney, the big purple dinosaur, and friends singing Spanish lyrics in squirrely high pitched voices accompanied by the ever so cheerful accordion and xylophone. Here’s a sample of the lyrics I was subjected too:

Barney es un dinosaurio
que vive en nuestra mente
y cuando se hace grande
es realmente sorprendente!!!

El le brinda su amistad
a grandes y pequeños
después de la escuela
juegan todos muy contentos!!!

Barney nos enseña
muchos juegos divertidos,
el ABC y el 123
también son tus amigos!!!

Barney viene a jugar
cuando lo necesitas,
el también te ayudara
si crees en fantasías!!!

Basically, hearing this song made me grateful I was born in the 80’s, “pre-Barney,” and instead with Fraggle Rock. Who knows what irreconcilable damage has been done to children born in the “Barney-era,” but I suggest a study be done to find out. In the yard a piñata of Chica Fresa (strawberry shortcake) was hanging surrounded by 40 adults and small children sitting in plastic chairs. Everyone was waiting in anticipation for the party to begin, the music had been playing for around 15 minutes and kids were getting ready to hit the piñata. I was standing and taking pictures. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted something colorfully scary…the payaso (the clown). He came in dancing like a clown on crack and the cries of small children could be heard far and wide. His brightly painted face revealed nothing of a diabolic side, but when he smiled something sinister lurked. He hopped around clapping and singing to the Barney music. Oh the horror. At this point, I knew it was too late to escape the party and so I gritted my teeth and stayed. The party started at 4pm and my clown nightmare did not end until after darkness had encroached around 6:30 pm. Dinner had been severed, ice cream was handed out and dripping from the faces of children, prizes were given and the piñata had spilled candy all over the yard. Overall, (aside for the clown) it was a successful party. Next, my Nica friend and I spotted the birthday cake, we were both in shock and tongue tied but she was able to utter one word, “CHOOKEY.” Who is Chookey? Obviously, Chookey is Spanish for Chucky (remember that doll that comes to life and kills people). The cake was suppose to depict a smiley Chica Fresa, but instead chica fresa appeared a little worse for wear and looked more like the horror story killer doll Chucky. I ate my slice of Chucky in peace, because the party clown had long since departed (or perhaps took a space ship back home?), and I went to sleep that night, making sure to keep one eye open just in case the clown should reappear in my nightmares.

Two of my former students at the birthday party bash

Drop the beat: One of my former students just turned 15 yesterday and she celebrated in grand style with one heck of a birthday party. The party was supposed to start at 4pm but in Nica time that means at least 6pm, and then I added an extra 30 minutes for good measure. I arrived at 6:30, just in time to see the choreographed popping of the champagne cork ceremony. Another one of my 15 year old students was trying to remove the cork, while over the loud speakers an adult was yelling, “Calmly, watch the eyes, calmly…watch your EYES…EYES…EYES.” The problem was that they believed he was opening a bottle of champagne, but in fact it was just wine (I knew because I had gotten a glimpse of the bottle earlier and it clearly stated “Vino”). Whoever was in charge of buying the champagne had dropped the ball and picked up a nice bottle of chardonnay by mistake. The cork therefore never “popped” but instead was picked out of the bottle piece by piece. The wine was served to about 30 adolescent boys (who were in for a surprise). It was clear that none of them had tried wine before and they were all about to give a toast to the b-day girl and then take a sip. On the count of 3 they raised their glasses and took a sip; thus, forcing their faces into awkward puckers and looks of disgust. However, to their dismay their toast was far from over. The b-day girl would now proceed to circle around all the boys and with each pass they had to take another sip of the wine they held in their hands. Pass one, pucker faces, pass two, winced eyes with averted nose, pass three, they faked it. Finally the toast was over and the party could get under way.

“I liking. ..I liking”: That’s what I hear every other day when I pass by a pool hall that happens to sit on the corner directly across from one of my favorite “pulperias” (corner store). Only men are inside the pool hall and they are all intoxicated. For some reason they feel the need to yell at me in slurred English. Normally, I ignore their jaunts, but the other day I was irritated and decided to respond back. I spoke in Spanish/English and replied, “I liking…doesn’t mean ANYTHING in English and that they should stop yelling nonsensical English phrases and stick to Spanish!” They all nodded and seemed to be in agreement.

A group of my students at the party table

I came down with “gripe” (a mild cold) a few weeks back: Everyone told me that I had contracted gripe due to A) the change in climate, because December is the coolest month in Nicaragua which translates into a low 80 degrees Fahrenheit OR B) the dust that had been stirred up in the air due to the recent peanut harvest. Anyway, I went to the market to load up on some food and I wanted to buy a piña (pineapple). My voice was a bit hoarse due to my cold and therefore I was noticeably sick. Well, my market friends asked me what I wanted a piña for, and I told them that of course I planned on eating it. That answer just didn’t fly. They responded, “Brik, no no no you can’t eat piña with a cold.” I replied, “But I want to eat piña.” They sold me the piña against their better judgment but not without numerous warnings as to how I was going to jeopardize my recovery. Later that night my students came over to my house to chill, and they noticed I was drinking ice water. I received that same solemn warning that I had at the market. “Brigs, you are going to just make your gripe worse.” Once again their warning went ignored. To end my day, another one of my friends came over and he had brought with him a pint of chocolate ice cream (he didn’t know I had a cold). The moment he heard me speak, he insisted that I not eat the ice cream and gave it to my neighbors instead. I did recover from my gripe, but I am still irritated about the ice cream.

Charlie Brown brings the peanuts: It was a normal Monday night; I had just finished dinner and was getting ready to relax with a book. Then the inevitable knock on my front door. Four of my favorite chavalos (kiddos) stood at my door with their smiley faces; one kid was on horseback and the other three on bikes. They said, “Bris do you want peanuts.” “Peanuts?” I replied. “Yes, we just harvested 3 sacos (sacs) of peanuts, do you want some.” “Well, how much do they cost?” I wondered. Turns out they only cost 1 cord/pound or the equivalent of 5 cents/pound. So I told the kids I would buy 3 pounds, which sounded like quite a lot but I figured I could make peanut butter. The kids took off for their house and returned 10 minutes later with 1 saco (or the equivalent of 30 pounds of peanuts). “Wow, that’s a lot of peanuts,” I thought. The kids then revealed that they had no way of measuring only 3 pounds of peanuts, and therefore my only option was to buy 30 pounds. In my mind I went over all the things I could make with peanuts…peanut butter, peanut butter cookies, peanut sauce, more peanut sauce, some kind of peanut jelly, peanut bread, peanut stir fry, peanut soup, peanut juice…as the food options wore thin, I began to think I was better off not buying all 30 pounds. Then again the economist in me said that $1.50 for 30 pounds was a pretty good deal. I then imagined myself sitting in a room with a group of strangers having to admit that “Hi my name is Brie, and I’m addicted to peanuts. My addiction is rather recent, and after consuming 30 pounds of peanuts, I went off my rocker, broke into a peanut field and was found by a farmer eating raw peanuts at 3am. After, being sentenced to rehab and community service I find myself in group therapy having to admit that I am addicted to a protein enriched nut, I went nuts for nuts.” While the economist said buy the peanuts, the realist in me said hold out until the kids find a measuring scale, because no one should consume 30 pounds of peanuts. So I told the kids I still only wanted to buy 3 pounds, they were fine with that as they rode off back to the fields.