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My plane lands tomorrow, July 25th, around 5 pm.  For the second and not the last time this year, my world pulls a 180 and I say goodbye to everyone I've lived and worked with.  That's alot of goodbyes for one year.  I have one final TWI and a 'Final Thoughts' sort of post, but I'm going to wait until I arrive home to post them, so be sure to check back Saturday and Sunday to hear the dramatic conclusion.


This post has to be quick so I can finish up my work today, but to hold you over until Saturday, here is a preview.  Two years ago I studied abroad in London and Italy for the summer, and it was my first time living over seas for more than a week or two.  Between programs, I stopped in an internet cafe to write about the conclusion of our London program.  I recently found what I wrote, it was saved in my email 'drafts' section. I thought it would be a good prologue to my final thoughts on Nicaragua.

Jon and I are sitting in the internet cafe, our entire lives in suitcases next to us waiting to leave for Brussels and for the past hour I've been writing paragraph after paragraph on my afterthoughts, what I learned, and what I gained from the program, every time starting over because it doesn't really begin to cover what the program was about, so I give up.  Go live in another country for a month (I know some of you have) and you still won't have an idea of what this was like, but at least you will know why I can't describe it.  If you're in college, finish reading this article, find your study abroad office and your financial aid office, and tell them you want to go to another country.  It's easier to work out than you think, and there may not be another time you get an experience like this, ever.  Forget about summer jobs, you can work next summer.  Your friends will still be there when you get back, or bring them with you. In fact, bring me with you.

London down, Italy to go.
-Vince

There you have it, a preview of Vince after he studies abroad.


The last TWI will be up Saturday, and my final thoughts should be up Sunday.

Adios,
Chente

As I wrap up my time in Nicaragua, and the fact that soon I won't be living here really sets in, I started thinking about here and there. To give you an idea of the difference, here are 5 Things I Miss From The States:


1. Constant Caffeine Access: This seems unintuitive since I'm living in a major coffee producing economy, but the coffee just isn't there. maybe it has to do with my inability to locate it, maybe it has to do with the fact that college towns cater to caffeine addicts like me with several coffee shops open to obscene hours. I want coffee on demand and I don't have it... yet

2. Food Variety: I eat the same thing ever day (Gallo Pinto, or fried beans and rice), because that's what they do here. Sometimes they ask me "what's a typical (breakfast, lunch or dinner) in the states?" and they look for me to say: I eat pancakes for breakfast. Every day. Because 'typical' meals exist here, as in they often eat the same thing.

3. Ease of Communication: It takes a strong constant mental effort to communicate. It's a consistent mental load that never goes away; I'm imagining a huge weight being lifted from my shoulders as I get back to the states, and my brain letting out a big sigh for one less thing to think about. I'll walk up to the cashier and open my mouth, and exactly what I want will quickly fly out without me even thinking about it, and into his or her ear and he or she will know exactly what it is. And I will smile.

4. Hot Water: I've found it pretty easy to accommodate myself to lack of modern conveniences (although I have it easy living in a big city, compared to the other students living in the countryside). After awhile we humans just come to accept what we're used to... except for cold showers. I'm not a morning person, and a sudden douse of cold water is a rude awakening.

5. Beer. We Americans know beer. There are two beers here, there is no choice between light, dark, ale, lager, draught, bottle, there's just beer #1 and beer #2. Both are mediocre-at-best lagers, both made by the same company. It's like having nothing but Bud heavy and MGD in the states, in every bar and restaurant ever. Think about it... it's a nightmare. Some places have imported beer, but the only ones I've seen are Heineken, Corona, and... only once... MGD. None of which I would call representative of the quality of beer elsewhere (read: I hate Corona).


And of course, this list wouldn't be complete without 5 Thins I Will Miss From Nicaagua:

1. Gallo pinto: Okay I said I don't like the variety, but Gallo Pinto is delicious and an icon of Nicaragua. It's also probably not great for you (if you eat it twice a day) so I won't miss it that much... however I look forward to the day, 5, maybe 6, maybe 20 months later when I finally cook it or eat it and a flood of Nicaraguan memories and images resurface.

2. Mexican Nuns: The two Mexican nuns living down the road are two of the nicest people I have ever met, and I'll miss them. See the hot sauce articles.

3. Speaking Spanish: I know, I know... this is a contradiction from #4 above, but in reality I want to speak two languages with the ease that I am able to speak one, and being here is the best way to do it. It will be infinitely harder and my progress infinitely slower learning Spanish in the states.

4. Sense of Reality.This is the big one. This is the moral of the ethos program; the reason we came; how we're supposed to feel after we return. After living here, the built environment in (parts of) the states seems surreal. In contrast, it is very apparent here how people interact with the world and its resources. In the US, water is hot, garbage disappears, lights turn on, food appears in the fridge, all by... magic; without thought, without consequence. Here, the flaws and kinks in the system remind you where and how all that stuff gets there. In Nicaragua power goes out, house wiring fails, garbage is very visible in the streets because of the lack of a well placed disposal system and in the campo garbage has to be burned. Electricity is expensive. At night, if you have no money, you have no way to see... your world is pitch black by 7. As a result of all this, it's easier to be mindful of one's own interaction with resources. In the US, it's so easy to forget because everything is so effortless; nobody considers where these things come from or go to. I'm not saying it's bad, although maybe it is. It's an inevitable byproduct of development. Its social implications and environmental effects and the corresponding solutions is a whole other discussion that I won't get into here, even though I have opinions :). The point is, when I get home, it'll all feel fake, like I'm being fooled, and like the world is bending over backwards for my convenience even though I don't need it or deserve it. Where does garbage go? Why can we afford to buy a $200 vacuum? Air conditioning on full blast, drive 3 hours in a car for the hell of it, leave the lights on at night... who cares? The plane ride back alone is more than most people we have worked with will ever afford, and why do we deserve it? I know because when I spent a weekend in Disney world, that's exactly how everything felt. I'm guessing after a month or two the poison will have set in and I'll throw away styrofoam lunch trays and take 20 minute hot showers without thinking about it. After that my ETHOS experience will turn into a line on my resume and a story to tell in bars, and the moral lessons will be slowly eroded by the American Dream--having more than everyone else. Time will change a sense of ugliness into complacency and there's nothing I can do... is there? I'd love for somebody to post a comment and tell me how wrong I am. But nobody will. Because all of us ethos students will in one months time drive cars, take hot showers, buy coffee and bananas imported from thousands of miles away because goddamnit we like bananas.

5. On a lighter note... Rum. These people know rum. The same company that makes the only two beers, also makes the only rum. What they lack in selection, they make up in quality. The rum is super cheap, and super good. I never liked rum in the states, but this stuff is wonderful. I'll bring some home for you.


That's all for today,
Chente


P.S. Sorry for the cynicism and sarcastic self-defamation and big words in #4, I've been reading alot of Dave Eggers lately. The good news is I'll fit in just fine at Berkeley.

It is very common here to hear cat calls at groups of women walking down the street, to see sexes fall into common stereotypes of domestic duties, and for people to scoff at a woman’s professional career. I’ve even seen a drive-by pinching from a guy on a motorcycle to an unsuspecting college age girl walking too close to the curb.

Here is another recent example:

I was riding in the back of a pickup truck with a Nicaraguan male acquaintance. It’s significant to note that he was happily married with a 2 year old daughter. We were driving through a reasonably touristed city on a Friday night, and as a result several groups of well dressed white women were walking down the streets, on their way out for the night.

Being in the open bed of a pickup and in plain view of the gaggles of tourists, my Nica companion decided to give a whistle. He then explained to me that girls like being called at; using the Spanish word that roughly translates to ‘cat-call’. He continued the whistles or shouts, as a demonstration for my benefit, asking me to follow along.

While I realized that this is something that often goes on here in Nicaragua, being directly confronted with it I couldn’t oblige. I told him frankly that I don’t believe that any girls ever liked or responded to being cat-called. He assured me that while some girls have ‘bad attitudes’, most ‘normal’ girls liked it.

We ended our conversation, me still in blatant disbelief and disapproval, and we moved on to other topics.

Ten minutes later we picked up two young female hitchhikers (hitchhiking in the back of pickups is very common here), aged 25-30, and my friend then asked them what they thought of cat-calls. Of course, they both responded that it is normal and they don’t mind. My friend then looked at me and smiled.

I guess it’s a cultural thing then, maybe being brought up around it makes it seem more ok, but it undoubtedly makes foreigners feel uncomfortable (okay so not me specifically) But is something like this okay to accept as a cultural difference?

I will say that I’ll be happy to return to the way we do it in the states, and while I’m reluctant to claim ‘our way is the right way’ when it comes to ‘cultural’ differences, on many issues there is definitely a right and wrong side of the line… even though the line itself is sometimes pretty blurry.

Question of the Day:

Machismo: cultural difference or disrespect for women? Post comments!

As the girls left and walked away, my friend yelled – in Spanish, of course – “Bye precious!”

I recently stumbled upon a couple articles that related to some of the things I've talked about before.

First, here is a very interesting article from the New York Times opinion section on bananas (discussed in an earlier post) that makes the surprising claim that they will soon jump to $1/pound. It also makes some interesting insights into the economies behind locally grown and imported fruits. The reason this is important enough to post on a blog that is supposed to be about Nicaragua is that food and where it comes from is more apparent here. You often buy beans, rice, and fruit on the street not far from people who grow them. Apples are rare, because they have to be imported. Why then, are we able to buy bananas cheaper than apples? It is sometimes because fruit companies (and coffee companies and textile companies) can get away with exploiting their workers in countries (like Nicaragua) where there are less rules and regulations in order to produce goods cheaply. This article paints a very informative picture of that situation with one popular fruit.

Yes, We Will Have No Bananas


Next, here are two articles from Brave New Traveler on the topic of the homeless, and whether or not to give them money. This past week, as I was walking home from the store two little boys* asked for the 2nd half of my juice. I refused. Afterwrad I read these two articles. Be sure to read the comments section at the end of the second article, there are some interesting first hand stories.

10 Ways You Can Help Street Children Without Giving Money

The Dilemma With Street Beggars

When it comes down to it though, the reason that I usually don't give simply because it is awkward. It is easier to ignore them and pretend they don't exist than to acknowledge them and pull out your wallet. I'm not saying it's right, I'm saying that I don't have time to evaluate the situation and determine if I believe them, or if it will benefit them more by me giving or refusing, so I panic, and walk away.

Question of the Day
After reading the two articles above, what do you do when confronted by a street beggar, a child with an obvious disability or health problem, or someone who just wants a dollar? Do you believe some and not others? Do you give out of pity? What are your excuses to give or not to give? What will benefit them more?

Vince

*After a long struggle with the first boy, me repeatedly saying no but laughing and talking to the kid the whole time, obviously too friendly to allow him to give up, he finally left. I just couldn't give a stern 'no' because he was kinda cute/funny. Not 20 seconds later a second boy approached, and 'here I go again I thought...' ready for another long battle. Not 10 seconds after the boy approached, looking straight up at me, he ran face first straight into a telephone poll and fell. His friends laughed and he got up and ran away embarrassed. I hated to laugh, but I did... alot.

This is an interesting post on the 'traveling awkwardness' I mentioned in my previous post. Here's a quote.

Try looking for a comfortable, merit-based explanation for why we are in a position to do what we’re doing and you’ll feel pretty stupid. It’s awkward.

If you like traveling, you should read it.

Why do I travel? There's something about the complete lack of expectations and knowing you will be surprised at every turn. Not knowing what's in the food, how to call a taxi, what the hell people are saying, how the government works, what jobs are like, even everyday etiquette is sometimes 180.

The prospect of being completely out of one's element and the continuing realization that there is a whole new world that you know nothing about is, I think, the draw of travel for me.

And the food. I love to cook. While I never really learn any new recipes, I learn different ways to eat and cook food. Did you know you can boil a green banana and then eat it? or that you can fry beans and rice? or that corn tortillas are awesome? it opens up a whole new world of taste combinations, preparation methods, and things that fall into the category of 'edible'. While I would never learn to cook an authentically Nicaraguan dish, because I can't follow instructions in the first place, there will forever be a little bit of Nica influence in my recipe book.

There is one bad part... You can't help but feel out of place, nearly all the time. I always claim to be a student, for some reason I feel like that's the most legitimate excuse. It makes me feel better than if I were a tourist or anything else. This may be more of an internship than studying, but it is still, for me, education. I'm here to learn something. Oh, and for the food.

But you still can't help but think that you're annoying people or offsetting the balance with everything you do. If I get one thing out of this trip, I'm going to be nice to foreigners. It's not always easy. I won't complain when I get the guy at McDonald's who doesn't speak English or when I get stuck with the Indian guy at work who you can't understand. I'll probably do my best to make them feel a little more at home. After all, two generations ago I came from immigrants.

On that note, a recipe for hot sauce:
I live close to a pair of nuns, and while eating lunch there one day they had a Ball jar of tasty (and pretty spicy) hot sauce. Nicaraguan food is notoriously bland, and for those of you that don't know me I have an borderline unhealthy obsession with super spicy food. But because of the scarcity of hot sauce here, and the fact that I already sweat non-stop due to the heat, I hadn't eaten anything spicy in a long time. I was then very excited to find that the nuns were Mexican, not Nicaraguan, and had their very own recipe for delicious hot sauce that they were willing to share. One week later, I found myself in their kitchen on a Friday afternoon ready to learn. You wouldn't think making hot sauce would be hard, just liquefy hot peppers and season to taste, right? But... if you're going to have a recipe for hot sauce, why not get it from a pair of Mexican nuns in Nicaragua? Food always tastes better with a story.

First, take a couple handfuls (about 1/2 cup) of dried chili peppers. Put them in a pan on high heat, with nothing else, and cook until they've blackened a bit, constantly stirring so that you don't smoke up the house with pepper gas. Once they're nice and toasted, remove the peppers and put two small tomatoes in the pan (about a cup's worth) and just let them sit until they have a big black burnt spot. (This part looks really weird because you have a pan with nothing in it but two whole, unpeeled tomatoes...) Flip the tomatoes every few minutes until about half the skin is blackened and most of the rest is a weird, wrinkly burnt orange. Remove the tomatoes, peel them, and put in a blender 1/3 cup water, a few cloves of garlic, the peppers, and the tomatoes. Blend and salt to taste.

This one is pretty basic yet still very tasty, but I'm most excited to experiment. Imagine my excitement when the Nuns told me you can add Peanuts! (Or, more accurately, imagine my excitement the next day when I finally found out that maní means peanut) Not only that, but why add water? You could use red wine, vinegar and oil, tequila and lime juice, mango juice with habs... the possibilities are endless. I can't wait to find a grocery store, a kitchen, and a free Saturday afternoon...

Finally, if you were as enthralled by this recipe for hot sauce as I was, you should read Bill Buford's Heat. It's a book about Mario Batali, Italy, obsessive chefs, and quitting your job (and selling your soul) to be a cook. If you weren't, congratulations - you have a chance at a normal life.