Weekend Adventure in León

One of many churches in León, Nicaragua

After what seemed like an extremely short week of class, mainly due to class cancelations and other projects by my Nica classmates, it was time for another adventure. This time, we went to the city of León. León is about two hours by bus north of Managua and actually used to be the original capital city of Nicaragua. After constant civil war to run the country between León and their arch-rival Granada in the 19th century, Managua was set as the capital as an attempt to resolve the dispute. Today, the rivalry still exists between the two cities, as my host-mother, Mercedes, constantly refers to Granadinos as "las fresas" which literally means strawberry, but the term is used for people who are rich and stuck up. Here's some of the highlights of the trip to León:

A/C on the microbus

Nicaragua is hot. The month of October is supposedly in the heart of the "winter" here, which just means it rains more. There really has been no difference in climate since I got here in July. It's 90 and humid everyday (not quite Florida humid, but it's up there) and ever third day or so it will rain, sometimes for five minutes, others for hours. Nevertheless, it's hot as hell, and having air conditioning is a luxury. My house has no a/c, but you'd be amazed at what shade and a fan can do. None of my classes have a/c, so I will frequent our study abroad office which sometimes gets too cold for Morena, our lovely Nica assistant program director. I will often see her wearing a scarf and a long sleeve shirt at her desk. The buses here, however, NEVER have air conditioning. So when Zoe and I boarded the minibus to León to feel the icy chill of air conditioning blasting from the overhead vents, we knew this was something to cherish. It was raining for most of the trip and not all that necessary for maximum air conditioning, but I left the vent on me, feeling cold on public transportation for the first time.

Holy León

León is a very colonial looking city. It looks much like Granada, with brightly colored painted buildings with old terra-cotta roofing, narrow streets, plazas and murals. What's different however,  is as you go about the city, you'll notice the un-Godly (pun intended) amount of churches and cathedrals they have. Every direction you look, at the end of the street is another well-kept, or not, church of "insert saint" here. The Basilica de la Asunción is the largest cathedral in Central America, and we got to check it out while they were going a Mass. I definitely was getting some looks as I walked around to watch and take pictures. A chele "white guy" in shorts and flip-flops, wearing a Colorado Rockies t-shirt in this beautiful cathedral, taking pictures during mass. You kinda get used to getting stared at here, so it's hard to tell if you are doing something wrong, or they are looking at you cause you're foreign. The churches were all really cool and made it easy to navigate the city cause we could orient ourselves with whichever church we were by.

Trusting locals: a double edged sword

On Saturday, Zoe, Sheena, and I were supposed to climb this volcano nearby at 8am but ended up changing to the 2pm climb cause Sheena couldn't make it from her town she was living in time, so we had some time to kill. The guy who was going to be our guide that afternoon, Anly, suggested that Zoe and I rent bikes and ride to the beach to have something to do before the hike. The beach town, Poneloya, was kind of far from León, but Anly insisted that it was downhill on the way there and that we can take the bus back. We decided to to it and rented bikes for the day for $5. And after now having two bike rental experiences, it is important to keep in mind that you get what you pay for. Initially, the ride was great. It was a slight downhill on a nice paved road as he had said and we rode right through the barrios of the city and into the countryside, passing farmers with machetes and racing a Nica kid also on a bike, but about halfway through the ride, the road started to get a little more hilly. We'd petal up a small hill, only to find at the bottom another hill to climb, only bigger, then another, and another, and another, and another. It started to get really, really hot. I also remembered that I had completely forgot to buy sunscreen since I was so excited for an awesome bike ride to the beach. I am currently writing this blog with maroon arms and face.

 After another long and exhausting hill climb, we finally saw the ocean in the distance, but still had some way to go. Seeing that there were no more hills to climb and being at the top of a huge one, I petaled as hard as I could to make up for lost time. No sooner was I hauling ass down this hill than I rode over a small pile of rocks (pebbles rather) on the side of the road, instantly tearing through my back tire. You get what you pay for. I had to slammed on the screeching brakes as I was quickly loosing traction, got off, and walked on my bike down this hill in the middle of nowhere. Zoe at this point was way ahead of me to see what happened, so I was on my own. The heat was absurd. There's a saying about León here that's like "If hell froze over, Satan would move to León" or something like that. I was drenched head to toe in sweat and my skin on my arms was already pink. This wasn't my first rodeo, however, as a very similar bike-tire-popping-in-the-middle-of-nowhere incident happened while we were in Granada. After about 15 minutes of walking, a guy on a bike with this girlfriend sitting sideways on the frame (a very common sight here actually) passed by and I asked him where I could get my bike fixed. I was in luck. About ten minutes down the road was this guy's bike shop, where for a dollar he patched up my tire and I was back on the road. Zoe had stopped a bit down the road and I caught up and we continued to Poneloya. The beach was only OK. We took the bus back. That bike ride was long. It turns out Poneloya is 20km (12.4 miles) from town. Next time a local suggests something to do, ask a few others to see if it's legit. Or just wear a hat and some sunscreen.

Volcano surfing, anyone?

At the bottom of Volcán Cerro Negro. 

Zoe and I arrived back at the hostel with just enough time to reapply some deodorant and head out to climb Volcán Cerro Negro. Our guide, Anly, who had suggested what he claimed was a very tranquilo "relaxing" bike ride laughed when I told him that it was quite the opposite. We met up with Sheena and got driven out to the volcano. Cerro Negro means black hill, and that's exactly what it was. We drove down a volcanic black road and arrived at the base. I was equipped with a backpack that had everyones padding and suits, and a "sand board", which was a block of wood in the shape of a snowboard with nylon straps for bindings. We headed up the trail for the 45 minute ascent to the top. The terrain was surreal. We were on this black landmass with no plant or animal life surrounded by a sea of green hills and trees. It felt like another world. We walked between these large black boulders and the trail was marked by painted arrows as if to say "this general area is the trail". It also felt like I was in the Lord of the Rings, scaling the rugged Mount Doom of Mordor to throw the One Ring into the volcano to rid the world of darkness. Keep an eye out for Smeagle, he's always ssssneaking. Anly agreed on with me. The complete contrast of the black volcano in green, tropical Nicaragua would get anyone's inner Frodo going (maybe Sam, or Merry, or Pippen. Frodo's kind of a sissy).

As we were nearing the top, it started to smell like exploded firecrackers, that sulfury, gunpowder smell. At the top of the ridge, we could look down into the volcano, which had no lava unfortunately, but had red sand and was steaming a lot. We hiked around to the other side of the ridge where only the volcanic sand was. The view was great. It had started to rain, so we put on out kneepads, elbow pads, gloves and then our protective "suit" which was like a jean ones'ey and it was time to surf down the steep (like really steep) 400m hillside. Anly told me to lean back as much as I could and how to stop. I told him I knew how to snowboard, but this turned out to be way different. Volcanic sand is like thick, heavy powder. To keep from burying my board in the sand, I was leaning to far back on the tail that I was basically sitting on my right foot. Since the bindings were barely holding on to only my toes, carving was out of the question. So it was back to snowboarding at age 8 again: get some speed and then fall on my toe edge. I got some good speed a few times, but trying to stop meant falling completely on my stomach, getting a face full of black volcanic sand. Still, surfing down an active volcano? How often do you get to say that? We all made it down in one piece and headed back into town.

"I think we're in a gay bar..."

After a 12 mile bike ride to the beach, scaling a volcano and then surfing down it all in one day, it was time for some drinks. Zoe and I decided to see what was going on in the city, so we ate at a mexican restaurant (which is NOT like Nicaraguan food, I hadn't had a spicy burrito in months!), and found this bar afterwards right by the hostel. The place was called Guadalajara, or something like that, and there were a bunch of people in it, so we decided to grab a table. We ordered a media "half liter bottle" of Flor de Caña rum and talked and what not. The bar looked cool, there were cool lights everywhere and a mini courtyard in the middle, and they had your typical "latest electro-hits" blasting from a PA speaker. I was watching a group of friends across the bar at a table dancing to the music and taking shots. One of the guys was really getting into the music and dancing up a storm, but I thought nothing of it, a lot of guys here dance like that. I went over to the bathroom and the guy outside the men's room  looked at me and told me there was a line and gave me a smirk. Still thought nothing of it. I was finishing up peeing when the door just opened right up. I quickly zipped the fly and the guy who opened the door laughed and he, his "friend" and another guy all walked in as I was still putting my belt on and walking out the door. "Adiosssssss" one said to me in a rather flirtatious manner, and they didn't even bother to close the door before peeing, nor did they care that they were all in the one person bathroom together...

I stood outside the bathroom with my new state of awareness. We were in a gay bar. How had I not noticed? I looked around. It was so obvious. It was ALL dudes minus Zoe and two other girls who were friends with the guy who was a little too good at dancing. The lights were a little too pretty, and multi colored. I walked past two guys grinding the night away, and was getting looks from everyone. I sat down at the table laughing. "Zoe....I think we're in a gay bar." She looks around. All dudes. The v-necks were just a little deeper, the jeans a little tighter than you'd normally see. I pointed out the two dudes that were dancing but now were making out. We both lost it. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing wrong with gay people, I just never go out thinking about gay bars whatsoever or that I'd randomly walk into one, especially in Nicaragua of all places. We finished our drinks and left, this time I was getting the attention from the guys, not Zoe or other girls here. So that's what it's like, huh? Bike riding adventures, the beach, volcano surfing, then a gay bar to top it all off. Easily going into the list of most interesting days ever.

Three months in

Pineapple banana smoothie in a bag. Delicious.

Wait, it's October!? I cannot believe that I have already been in Managua for three months. The days have been blending together. I am more than halfway done with my semester and realize that I have not yet written about how my classes are going. Well, I'll tell you. I am enrolled in four classes here at UNAN-Managua. One class is taught by Hector, our program director, and only the five of us take that class. It is titled "Poverty, Revolution, and Neoliberalism in Nicaragua" and has probably been the most interesting class here. The other three classes are taken with Nica students and professors. I have the same professor for two of them (Latin American Social Movements, and 20th Century Nicaraguan History), and he is very cool. He'll frequently ask me for my perspective on things and to clarify historical facts about the US, which I like but it means that I have to always be paying attention and make sure I've got my facts down (by the way, when they tell you that you should freshen up on the policies and history of the US when traveling somewhere, make sure you do that. Especially in Latin America, where we've played a huge role in their history. Because you will be quizzed and debated with, and you don't want people to think Americans are ignorant. Don't ruin it for all of us!).

 My other class is a seminar on Central American history, and I despise it. There are about seven of us and it is mainly discussion based. The professor speaks very quietly and mumbles a lot, which makes him very difficult to understand. He is also constantly tearing down the US, which isn't what really bothers me, I don't mind hearing it from a different perspective, but sometimes he just sounds straight up ignorant. Unlike the other professor who will ask me for my opinion from a more neutral perspective, this guy will make me defend the actions of the United States that were clearly wrong. It gets really old. He told me that when I get back to the States to ask my local representative about when the US will stop messing in Latin American affairs. "You got it sir..." He also shows no sympathy to the fact that I am not fluent in Spanish, so if there's something from the reading that I may have not seen, he thinks it's because I don't read and don't do any of the work and will constantly call me out. The students are very nice however and will always help me out if I missed something during class.

What has been fascinating about being here for three months is noticing the huge difference in traveling somewhere and actually living there. When you travel to a different country, you stay in your sort of "bubble" so to speak. Your perspective stays the same. You really never adjust to the local society, customs, even language. You form a sort of barrier between you and the local culture. Everything is foreign and exotic. You are always on the outside looking in. But after a few months of living in a different country, those barriers start to come down. Things become familiar and not all that strange. You know how to get around the city and travel to other ones. It starts to feel more like home. I don't want to say that there aren't things that still surprise me and seem odd or funny (like a family of four on a dirt bike always gives me a good chuckle for example), but there are many things that I have adjusted to since July. Although I am probably missing a ton of things that would have been odd to me at first, here's some that I can name:

• Cold showers
• No A/C, the heat in general
• Stray dogs
• Riding the bus (always a good time)
• Streets with no names ("It's two blocks to the lake (north), one block up!" (up is east))
• Car alarms at all times of day
• Rebecca, the parrot, that lives across the street. "¡Buenas!" "¡Hola amor!" For the first few weeks I thought it was some kid yelling at people as they passed by.
• Riding in pick up trucks
• Loud music
• People with machetes
• Ants and lizards in the house
• Every street light painted red and black (FSLN colors)
• Revolution and political graffiti. Seeing Sandino's picture everywhere
• Drinking out of bags
• Bargaining with cab drivers

What I have not gotten used to here are the clouds. I know that sounds weird, but it's true. These things are MASSIVE and they make the coolest shapes and not to mention ridiculous sunsets, which occur every day if it's not raining. This was one I caught the other day...

I've also found out that all you really need in the world is an internet connection. Anyways, there's still a bunch of places I still want to see and things I want to do (like sand boarding down Volcan Cerro Negro!), so I hope the next few months are equally as cool as the first three.