Little Corn Island, Nicaragua – When Time Stands Still

It feels like being transported to another world, where time means nothing – because time stands still here. It’s after sunset. Keli and I are sitting on red plastic chairs under a canopy dimly lit by a single compact florescent bulb. The Caribbean Sea is twenty feet away, and our hut is ten. Nothing is happening here, except for the two women who own the place playing with a girl whose laugh reminds me so much of Zoë. They are speaking Mesquite, a language that runs off their tongues non-stop, as if it had no concept of punctuation. They’re neither pale, nor dark. With Asian-thin eyes, and full lips. I imagine them being the result of a bunch of races swirled together in a magic cauldron – representative of all, and of none.

I notice that the only other sound I hear is the backdrop of waves crashing gently. Like the waves, the women also seem like they have been here forever. There’s an ease and familiarity about the way they move, the way they are. As if their presence here is every bit as natural and integral to this island as the sea waves are.

It took us three days of travel to get here. A seven-hour bus ride from the capital, Managua, a three-hour speed boat ride through the length of the river, a six-hour stomach-turning ferry ride through the wild turbulent waters of the Caribbean Sea, then finally a half-hour speed boat ride from Big Corn Island to this: Little Corn Island.

Our dinner arrives. Spicy grilled whole fish, and gallo pinto (rice and beans) with coconut. I recall the earlier part of our day. Keli and I went diving for the first time today. Yet another world, entirely out of the realm of our daily experiences. Time has no meaning there either, and for similar reasons. This underwater world carries on without us just fine. Our limited 53-minute intrusion didn’t cause so much as a ripple. The fish completely ignored us – nurse sharks and all. Yet the impact that this new world had on us was immeasurable. The beauty, the fluidity, the endless variety of glowing coral reefs and brightly colored tropical fish left us breathless. There is truly no experience on par with traveling to an alien world for the first time – and this sure was one.

It’s 9pm. Dinner is now over, and it’s time for the light to go out. Generators are expensive to run, and electricity is a three-hour-a-day luxury on this still-undeveloped island. The women go to bed, and I feel like I’m the only one on an uninhabited island as I write in my journal by my dim flashlight. This time I’m in a hammock, under a coconut tree, five feet from the sea.

San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua - Drum Circle

It’s been hard to do volunteer work in Central America so far without knowing the language. One day, we had an idea. We wondered what would happen if we just randomly walked into a school and asked if we could drum with the students. This being a trip of exploration, we decided to just go for it.

On a late afternoon, Keli and I walked into the first school we saw. We were led to the Director, and in our almost nonexistent Spanish managed to get an invitation within 15 minutes to come back with our drums the next day! We couldn’t believe how easy it was for two strange looking gringos to be so welcomed. (P.S. As it turns out, I’m technically not a gringo after all! The word “gringo” is only used for US citizens. Egyptians, and even Europeans for that matter, are exempt.)

We only had 1 drum and 2 shakers with us, but we had made some connections in town, so we were able to gather about 15 more percussion instruments, as well as a few water bottles. We had no idea how many students to expect or what age group. We left that up to the Director to decide.

The next day, we returned to the school ringing and rattling. The Director asked if we wanted to be in a classroom or outside on the basketball court. We said outside, which I think sealed our fate. All of a sudden we were faced with the entire student body of middle school kids, probably 300. And they seemed to be prepared for a musical performance, not a participatory drum circle. There was definitely a bit of momentary stage fright that we both experienced, but it quickly passed.

We started by asking for volunteers to join us in the middle. We got only boys at first. After some prodding, 3 reluctant girls joined. We passed out the instruments one by one, demonstrating the sound, and then offering the instrument to whoever wanted it. This exercise was a big hit with the crowd. They had a blast laughing and making comments on who chose which instrument. And before we knew it, we had a jam going that built momentum as each person added their rhythm to the circle. It was electrifying!

For the first half hour, we went through a few percussion games (thanks Beth .. we used some of your ideas!), all of which went over really well. All along though, I was playing the one “real” drum we had, thinking that someone had to keep a steady beat in order for the drum circle to work. But then something led me to experiment with letting go of that, at least for a little bit. I offered my drum to the first taker, and started playing a quiet shaker instead. Oh my God, were we stunned by what manifested! Not only could these kids drum, they rocked the house!

Having been freed from the leaders’ position, we both started moving around the circle, and having playful interactions with the kids as they played. Making music is one of the few things that make language barriers disappear in an instant. And that afternoon, we both felt so good about what we were doing, and the blast we were having. We’re definitely adding drum circles to our repertoire of activities we want to do more of as we travel.

San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua - On the Cusp of Development

We’ve been in Nicaragua for three weeks now, staying in a small beach town in the south called San Juan del Sur. It sits on a cove in the pacific, surrounded by some of the best surf waters around. Within the last handful of years, Americans and Europeans have discovered this place, and started arriving here in droves. The surf, combined with near-perfect weather year round, cheap goods and services, and a relative political stability after many years of fighting – all make for the perfect storm for San Juan becoming a tourist Mecca. With tourism comes the need for development. All these tourists want the conveniences they’re used to back home, from a comfortable bed, to flush toilets, to their choice of cuisines at dinner time. San Juan is catching on rapidly, though not quite there yet. It’s fascinating to be witness to a town on the cusp of development, and be able to document aspects of the transition as it literally unfolds right in front of our eyes. On the positive side, the economy here is thriving, at least relative to most of the rest of Nicaragua. People have jobs, street vendors have a constant supply of customers, and some of the roads are even paved! And then there are the downsides, which show up in unexpected ways. No one here has capital, and borrowing money to start a new project is nowhere as simple as it is in the US. That, combined with a surprisingly consistent lack of business-savvy among Nicas (short for Nicaraguans), results in a glaring class system like I’ve never seen before: all the businesses in town are owned and run by whites, and all the workers are Nicas. Hanging out with the whites almost always includes conversations about the immense business opportunities here, and the ease of making a profit in this nascent marketplace. Class extends beyond ownership too. There are the gringo restaurants, where prices are out of reach for most Nicas. And literally across the street are the “sodas,” which are basically women putting a grill and a table on sidewalk right outside their home, and serving up traditional Nica food. The pace of life is still laid-back here .. that hasn’t changed quite yet. Most of the buildings aren’t too intrusive on the beach front, but some of the new Western-style monsters are starting to creep up. Cars are still way too expensive to own for Nicas, so bikes abound, and traffic is not a problem. But the transition is starting to take place in that area as well, lead by the white minority. A land developer from Texas revamped a 4x4 from the 60s, painted it yellow, and is proud of joy-riding it around town trophy-showoff style. Small businesses can’t afford signs with their business name, so Pepsi and the like do it for them, at quite a price: the top 80% of the sign ends up being a Pepsi ad, and only 20% has the business name in much smaller font. Returnable glass bottles are still in use, but more convenient Western-style plastic packaging is on the rise, with no recycling infrastructure in place. No multi-national chain stores have made it here yet, but a headline in a Nica paper the other day was about Walmart buying 51% controlling stake in the three largest Nicaraguan supermarkets. So as I’m witnessing a country take its first steps towards “development,” I can’t help but ask the obvious questions. Does progress (the Western way) and a traditional, simpler way of life always end up being mutually exclusive? Are there any large scale examples of societies that have found the balance between having abundance in the material world, while also managing not to become enslaved by it? And if so, how did they go about it? Those would be lessons I’d sure like to learn and help spread around. Especially to a Nicaraguan society that appears to me to be headed to the same place that Western societies have all gone – and stayed.

Orosi, Costa Rica - Random Observations

I can write volumes about the food here. The most common meal is pintos, which is mixed beans and rice, with a side of either eggs, chicken, meat, or fish, and can usually be had for $2 or less. It’s quite addictive actually, especially with this “salsa” that is unique to Costa Rica: brown, chili-flavored, with a hint of mustard. We bought a quarter of a gallon of it to use in our own cooking, and we’ve been putting it on everything .. sometimes even just dipping bread in it. There is extremely little in the way of vegetables in the Costa Rican diet. If you get any vegetables at all with your meal, it’s often a jar of intensely pickled cabbage or onions so vinegary that a single sliver is all that a poor-soul gringo can usually handle. One restaurant owner was so generous she added a slice of tomato AND a slice of beet to our plates once. We felt very special. This behavior is more puzzling given that vegetables are actually quite cheap to buy at the store, though they’re often not very fresh. The vegetable truck comes to Orosi once or twice a week, and that’s the day when all the stores show off their fresh vegetables. The abundant green all around comes at an obvious price. It’s been raining here every day for the past week, and the rainy season doesn’t even start until May. It’s not the dreary cold London rain though. Quite the opposite. The temperature here is very comfortable almost all the time. The rain passes through fairly quickly, and is closely followed by clearing skies. Emission controls must be completely non-existent here. Every time a motorcycle passes by, it leaves behind a heavy trail of exhaust that is a somber reminder of what people here are breathing all the time. ATVs, abundant here, are even worse. And forget about buses! Speaking of buses, they’re the one mode of transportation used by most Costa Ricans. Because of gas prices, not very many here can afford cars. Buses, on the other hand, are very cheap and convenient. People in Orosi have a brilliant appreciation of color. The houses are simple, but each is covered with a fresh paint of at least two different colors that makes it distinctive amongst its peers. Even the walking bridge is deep blue with a bright green trim, and was actually being repainted as we walked on it. There is a whole other world in Orosi that is separate from the human world; a world of stray dogs! They’re everywhere, and it’s fascinating to watch their social interactions and hierarchies. Mixed in there are a few people-owned dogs as well, clearly marked with a colorful color, and a far more superior physique. No one keeps their dogs on leeches here, so the people-dogs and the stray dogs mix freely, creating a social scene that mostly ignores the human world .. gangs of thugs in a few cases, but mostly just protecting their turf – very vocally, day and night. Sad to say, but we think we’re ready to move out of this paradise of a town we’ve been living in for the last couple of weeks. Next stop, Nicaragua!

Orosi, Costa Rica – Surrounded by Heaven Itself

I stepped out of the bus at Orosi, and the first thought that came to me was: “Oh my God, I’ve stepped right into a scene straight out of a novel.”

This is what Orosi feels like. A small town in a small valley, surrounded by majestic lush green mountains on all sides. The streets are narrow, and the houses small and tightly packed. The weather is perfect, with a bright sun tempered by light breeze and ever-rolling clouds. The pace of life is slow, and there’s an aura of peace and serenity that seems to saturate the air.

One of the cheapest Spanish schools in Costa Rica is here, Montana Linda. It’s also associated with a hostel that goes by the same name, and this is where you’ll find the handful of foreigners in town hanging out. Other than that, it’s all Ticos (what Costa Ricans call themselves) all the time.

There was a festival in town on the weekend. It didn’t seem like much in the beginning: a couple of vendors setting shop next to a stage in the town center, opposite the main church, and next to a half dozen food vendors. Very small by anyone’s standards. But what the festival lacked in size, it made up for in volume. There was non stop action on that stage from morning till late at night for 3 days straight. Musical acts of all types, and dance companies from all the towns nearby.

Then there was the main event on Sunday: prior to mass, everyone in town lined up the streets with great anticipation. Slowly, the Virgin Mary Wagon appeared on the horizon. It consisted of a small pickup truck, carrying a tall glass enclosure in which a statue of Mary stood proud. Flowers adorned the rest of the truck, and as far to the sides as the narrow streets allowed. As the Wagon approached the church, the church bells rang in frantic rhythmic beat, people started cheering and clapping, and a few rocket-sounding fireworks exploded right in front of the church. The Wagon then backed up to the gate, someone proceeded to unlock the glass enclosure, and Mary was slowly removed and carried into the church to be present for mass in person. Most of the town followed Mary into the church. The streets were empty, except for the few non-believers who spent the time washing their cars instead.

An hour later, mass was over, Mary was carried back into her glass enclosure, and that signaled the beginning of the day-long parade across town. The Mary Wagon upfront, followed by a handful of four-person bands, interspersed with various dance groups, and followed by kids wearing bizarre-looking masks, then four Goth-looking teenagers on stilts.

The other leg of the parade took a different route through town, and consisted of a 4x4 pulling a long wooden wagon loaded with kids. The kids were simply ecstatic to be riding on this wagon through town. They passed the hostel a few times during the day, and every time they would scream and holler louder than the last. Oh .. the simple pleasures of life.

Yesterday, Keli and I drove the van up a dirt road on the side of one of the surrounding mountains, and found the perfect spot to spend the rest of the day and night. It was stunningly beautiful. We were all alone, literally embedded into the side of the mountain, surrounded by coffee plants and banana trees on the slopes on three sides, and with an uninterrupted vista of further slopes and far away lights on the remaining side. The shades of green colors were endless, so rich, and created a three-dimensional panorama so crisp, complex, and beautiful that there wasn’t even a point in trying to capture it by camera. Then the sun started to set .. the green colors started to meld, and our attention turned to the clouds. How the oranges and reds are reflected in so many different shades based on how thick each cloud is, and where it’s positioned relative to the setting sun. Then, as the sun went even deeper into the earth, the clouds reluctantly gave up their fantastic display of colors, and slowly switched to the varying degrees of sliver and grey as the moon replaced the sun being the source of light for those ever-changing sky murals. We drummed, we sang, like there was no one else on earth. It was a beautiful, beautiful night.

We’re staying here till the end of the week, taking a few Spanish lessons while we suck in even more beauty out of this little town. After that, who knows where the wind will take us ..

Santa Elena, Costa Rica - A Breathing Volcano, and a Laidback Way of Life

The Arenal Volcano National Park closes at 8:00pm, but we spontaneously decided to stay the night to watch the sunset rise next to the active volcano the next morning. With no camping gear or heavy clothes, sleeping beneath the majestic volcano became harder as the night progressed. The wind picked up speed, and blew mercilessly all night. It started out as a fairly mild tropical breeze, but then the temperature dropped and the wind grew stronger. It was one of the most exhilarating nights that I’ve had in a long while. We weren’t in any real danger. After all, it IS the tropics, and the temperature only drops so far. And the rewards were well worth it. We had the park completely to ourselves, we heard birds singing throughout the night, and best of all, we were treated to some amazing sounds from the volcano. As the gases are released from the top, the volcano makes some very dramatic sounds. They vary from thud-like sounds, to loud rhythmic breathing .. in and out – as if the volcano were a living creature. And then there was the orange-red lava flowing in streams every now and then. All in all, a night to remember.

Life in Fortuna (the town at the foot of the Arenal Volcano) is slow-paced, even with the bustling tourism. We watched a carpenter very deliberately install a piece of 2x4 wood paneling on a storefront: measuring and re-measuring the piece, cutting it ever so slowly with a hand sow. Then, realizing that he doesn’t have quite enough nails, he hops on his bike, disappears for a good 15-minutes, then comes back cheerfully with the extra nails. We never witnessed the completion of the job, but the setup itself must’ve taken 45-minutes or so. But here’s the part that matters even more: he never stopped smiling, AND the owner of the store was right there, and SHE never stopped smiling either. Those happy faces were all that was needed to tell a story of a culture that, for better or worse, has not yet quite reached the pace of the Western work-life. Right now, I personally feel that is for better .. way better .. way more liberating and ALIVE.

We arrived at Santa Elena yesterday, the gateway to the Monteverde Cloud Forest. Santa Elena is a small touristy town, hilly, and consists of a handful of narrow streets that never saw pavement. This is especially made worse by the fact that it rains here a lot (hasn’t stopped since we arrived, and it’s not even the rainy season yet). Which makes for potholes the size of moon craters, and gravel that is actually more like a soup of varying textures of mud and stone.

People here also seem fairly laid back, though they have caught on to Western pricing more than people in Fortuna have. Accommodations are still cheap, but non-local food, and things like park entrance fees, approach US prices. Well worth it though: there’s lots here for the eco-tourist, from transparent butterflies, to the old-growth Rain Forest, with its exotic birds, waterfalls, and long suspended bridges. I’ve added my first set of pictures at http://hany.com/ca, so check them out.

There’s one conversation that I had today that made me feel good about the equalizing concept of eco-tourism. This American woman was volunteering to be a tour guide at the Butterfly and Insect Museum for 2 months, in exchange for room and board. Of course she is also learning a LOT about native species, and interacting with people from all over the world. What seemed equalizing about this in a global sense is realizing that, yes, people come up from Mexico to the US in search of better jobs because good jobs are hard to find in Mexico. On the other hand, there seems to be an increasing awareness that things like the rain forest, and what it has to teach us, are also of significant value. Enough value, in fact, to draw Westerners to places like Costa Rica to work for almost nothing for months at a time. It is good to observe that the notion of “rich countries” is starting to expand, from one that considered only the developed Western world to be “rich,” to one that considers something like eco-richness in an under-developed country to also be on par.

San Jose, Costa Rica – City Behind Fences

We arrived to San Jose in rush hour. First order of business: find our hostel, which is clearly marked on the map in our guidebook. This simple task proved to be so illusive that it took us three frustrating hours to accomplish! There are no street signs in San Jose. When we stopped and asked about the street we wanted to go to, no one seemed to know. Worse yet, no one could even tell us what street we were on so that we at least get our orientation right. Asking a gas station attendant what street his own gas station was on led to a mini-debate that involved his friend, with no decisive answer to ever come out.

Later that night, while having dinner with a Costa Rican couple, we finally figure out what’s going on. People in San Jose don’t use street names. Instead, they describe locations and directions in terms of landmarks, some of which no longer exist. Street names have little meaning, including one’s own street!

Walking down the streets of San Jose, the most noticeable thing is how all houses – all buildings actually – are fronted with high iron-bar fences. Many have barbed wire on top of that. It’s like walking through a land full of small fortresses, except that immediately behind the fences, one sees all the usual signs of normal city life: a small yard here, a parked car there, a garden with a couple of trees, people hanging out on a porch. It’s as if someone decided to paint an average-size city through the filter of black bars of iron.

Talking to people we met, there is definitely a high degree of concern about crime, but only the non-violent one. Burglaries and thefts seem to happen quite often, but not murders or muggings. There’s a fear for losing one’s possessions, but not a fear for one’s personal safety.

There’s something surreal about being in the middle of rush hour traffic in San Jose. Despite the loud car horns and the many roaring buses, we can distinctly hear birds that are even louder than all traffic noises combined. Not sure what types of birds are so vocal, but their songs add a kind of serenity and peace that is not to be expected in the middle of such a bustling city.

Watch this space!

On February 8, 2006, I fly down to Costa Rica to join my friends on a trip through Central America. We will be riding in a van, visiting local communities, and volunteering on various projects along the way. I intend to blog the entire trip on this website. We're choosing not to plan much in terms of where we go or what we do, so it's hard to predict what we're going to encounter. But it is sure to be a wild adventure .. one that I'd like to narrate as I'm living it. So come back and check here often over the next few months. Exciting times are ahead!