When in Rome...

Shortly after 4 this morning, I woke up in a cold sweat, jolted from my dreams by a bloodcurdling and inhuman sound. A brutal and unspeakably violent act was being committed just mere yards away, as I lay frightened and motionless beneath my sheets. Screams that pierced the still morning rang out for a few terrifying moments, and then finally all was silent. When at last the terror subsided, I collected my wits and stepped outside to witness the carnage. Before me, two monstrous roosters skittered away from my sandaled feet, licking their wounds from a little pre-dawn joust right outside my bedroom door. As they disappeared back into the tropical undergrowth, I sighed, grabbed my toilet paper, and headed towards the outdoor latrine. Just another morning in Los Rincones.

Los Rincones, which means "The Corners", is a small farming village in the Masaya department of southwestern Nicaragua. I've been living here for about a week now with my host family as I train to become an agriculture volunteer in the Peace Corps. Located just a few kilometers from the town of Masatepe, Los Rincones is a world apart. Here, the sound of cars and trucks on the highway gives way to the mooing of cows, the clucking of hens, and the barking of dogs. Plantain and coconut trees soar overhead, as mangos, avocados, and oranges ripen in the ever-present sunshine. About 800 people call this place home, most of them small-scale farmers. Among them are the members of my host family, which consists of Teresa and Bacilio, their five children Eli, Fatima, Jasmina, Rey, and Luis and two little grandchildren, Luis and David, who are 4 and 5 years old. The family has been wonderfully hospitable to me, taking me into their home, feeding me, and giving me everything they can spare to make me comfortable. The house is small, especially for 10 people, but anyone can see that it is filled with love and support.

In just one week, I've gone from being completely culture-shocked when I was dropped off with little more than a passing introduction to the family, to being just another member of the house, taking part in the daily life of a Nicaraguan farm family. I've had to make some adjustments along the way, but that's part of the fun, and its been interesting to see the parallels between my life in the U.S. and my new life in Central America. A typical weekday usually goes as follows:

4am: Wake up to the ridiculously loud crowing of our undoubtedly evil roosters. In the pre-dawn haze, I can now identify each rooster by its own distinct crow. There's the tall white one with its pitch-perfect COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO, the slightly speckled one that sounds like a 70 year-old woman who's had a life-long affair with Marlboros, and the one with the green feathers that sounds like an annoyed teenager lamenting his parents' lameness. I usually roll over and try to go back to sleep.

5:30am: Wake up for real this time. I slip out my bedroom door which leads right into the yard to use the latrine, brush my teeth and shoot a nasty glare at the roosters. I then grab my soap and towel and head out to use the outdoor shower, a neat little concrete job that just about covers me from the neck down and lets the nearby bulls stare at me while I shampoo my hair. Unlike most houses here, our shower actually has a pump-fed shower head. However, whenever the water decides to disappear, I have to use a bucket to wash myself. I should also mention that the water is Arctic-cold, but as the day's humidity begins growing at first light, nothing feels better than a chilly dawn shower.

7am: Eat breakfast. Breakfast is always hearty and usually consists of some rice, beans, fresh fruit, plantains, coffee, and a glass of fresca, or freshly-squeezed fruit juice. Food here is very hearty and keeps me going all day long, although I do miss nice leafy vegetables.

8am: Go to Spanish class. Also living in Los Rincones with host families are Jonathan, Nessia, and Mary, three other Peace Corps trainees. From the results of our interviews in Granada, we were grouped into the same language skill group and have class most days at Nessia's host family's house with our language teachers Ramon and Gloria. In just one week, I already feel a lot of the Spanish I learned back in the day being dusted off and restored to the front of my head.

12pm: Break for lunch. I walk back towards my house for lunch, past the pulperia (corner store) and the borrachos (drunks) who are already quite hammered before mid-day. One of them, Armando, finds it hilarious to say "Gooooood morning!" regardless of what time it is. I usually respond in an equally obnoxious "Buenooooos Dias!". Lunch is definitely the main meal of the day and my plate is piled high with rice, beans, plantains, cheese and more rice.

1pm: Return to class. Fighting off the inevitable food coma from our gargantuan lunches, we usually have another hour or two of language instruction before starting our technical planning sessions. In the coming weeks, the four of us trainees will be responsible for starting a youth group to help us plant a garden, tree nursery, and compost pile in Los Rincones. We've found that playing frisbee or soccer near the local school draws kids right to us, so I don't think we'll have much trouble finding some kids that want to plant some veggies with some gringos.

5pm: Return home. The pre-dinner hour usually consists of a bit of reading in between being entertained by Luis and David, my little host brothers. They are my best teachers and have all the patience in the world when I ask them the names of different things for the hundredth time. They've also knighted me with my own Nicaraguan nickname, "Sudor", which appropriately enough means "sweat".

6pm: Dinner. Dinner is usually a bit smaller, but almost always contains "gallo pinto" or fried rice and beans, which is the staple of the Nicaraguan kitchen. After dinner, I sit down with most of the family to watch their favorite telenovelas on TV. Watching these Spanish-language soap operas has been doing wonders for my language comprehension, but I'm still confused a little by the plot lines. One of them, "Tomorrow is Forever" has a cast of at least 50 main characters, while another "The Face of Analia" has some sort of cyborg lady cop that moonlights as a stripper. I think even if my Spanish was perfect, I still wouldn't get it.

8:30pm: Bedtime. For the first time since I was little, I find myself regularly going to bed before 9. Its actually kind of nice getting a full night's rest and waking up with the dawn. Once the sun goes down and the telenovelas wrap up, there's really not much to do except read or sleep. And besides, the roosters will be crowing outside my door in just a few hours anyways.

(Internet is not available where I live and is cussedly slow at the internet cafe in Masatepe, but I´ll try to upload some pics in the coming weeks.)

Into the Frying Pan

It's 9 o'clock on a Friday night and I'm struggling to keep drops of sweat from flooding my keyboard. I'm writing from the Hotel Granada in muggy Granada, Nicaragua, one of two beautifully preserved Spanish colonial cities in Nicaragua. While the sun has set hours ago, my shirt is still drenched in humid sweat and the warm breeze coming off of gargantuan Lake Nicaragua provides little respite.

The past few days have been a bit of a blur to day the least. I arrived safely at DC's National Airport on Tuesday morning and shared a taxi to our hotel with Brian, one of the other agriculture volunteers who had just flown in from Connecticut on the same flight. Before the afternoon's orientation sessions began, I killed some hours chatting with the other 44 trainees from both the agriculture and small business development groups sharing names, hometowns, universities, and our vague notions of what we had just gotten ourselves into. The orientation finally began and consisted of about 6 hours of general information regarding our expectations of the Peace Corps, their expectations of us, basic health and safety information, and myriad ice-breakers and get-to-know-each-other activities. When the program wrapped up around 7, myself and a few other volunteers decided to have one more Last Supper in America and gorged ourselves on the barbecued "Five Meat Treat" at Red, Hot, and Blue in Arlington. It was definitely an appropriate final salute to our dear country.

After "sleeping" for a few quick hours, I found myself back in the hotel lobby with the other 44 trainees shortly after 1am, preparing to depart for our 6am flight to Managua. When we arrived at the airport only 30 minutes later, we discovered that the check-in counter would not be open until 4am and spent the next few hours napping, chatting, listening to music, and playing frisbee in the bizarrely empty terminal at Reagan. Finally, the counter opened, we checked our luggage and hopped on our flight to Miami. What was supposed to be nothing more than a quick layover in sunny Florida also turned into a bit of an ordeal, as our plane and flight departure time were changed several times over a 4 hour period. I found myself getting airport cabin-fever, as the ubiquitous Kenny G soundtrack and recycled air-conditioning toyed with my sanity.

Finally, we took off, flying straight over the Florida Keys, soaring high over Fidel's backyard in Cuba, and landing no less than 3 hours later at Augusto Sandino International Airport in Managua. My first introduction to Nicaragua came when I stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal and was slapped in the face with the full brute force of Central American heat and humidity. Since landing 3 days ago, I've had a permanent sheen of sweat on my brow; it's like my forehead is perpetually leaking.

Waiting for us past the baggage claim were the Peace Corps' country director, other PC administrators and several current volunteers in the Ag and Small Business sectors. It was an encouraging sight to see that these volunteers (some of who were extending for a 3rd year) were healthy, happy, had all their limbs, and looked decidedly free of any bizarre tropical diseases. Hopping into a waiting bus, we were given the first of many surprises. Many of us had been under the impression that our arrival orientation would be in Managua. However, we were informed after boarding the bus that we would instead be traveling 90 minutes south, to Granada, the jewel of Spanish Central America.

Our hotel is beautiful, with air-conditioned rooms, hot showers, delicious meals, and even a swimming pool. I'm still trying to figure out of this is some sort of sick joke the Peace Corps is playing on us, luring us in with creature comforts before casting us out into the wilderness.

In three days, we've covered a variety of topics, from more specific health and safety tips, to what our 11-week training will entail, to filling out additional paperwork for visas, to testing into our various language groups. It's been an action-packed few days. Today, especially, has been quite busy. I learned which family I'll be living with for the next 3 months. I specifically requested a large family so that I could have more people to practice my Spanish with, and was assigned to the Calero family in Los Rincones, Nicaragua. The family consists (more or less) of my soon-to-be host parents Teresa and Bacilio and their 5 children and 2 grandchildren. I don't think I'll be at a loss for people to practice my Spanish with. Hopefully they'll be patient as I undoubtedly butcher and maim their beautiful language.

After receiving our host family assignments, the Peace Corps staff told us that another surprise was in store for us. To celebrate the end of orientation, they took us on a boat tour of Las Isletas de Granada, an archipelago of 300 or so small islands off the shore of Lake Nicaragua that contain the mansions of some of Nicaragua's rich and famous, including beer barons, coffee magnates, and former presidents. However, the most famous of all the islands is Isla de los Monos, a tiny uninhabited island that was home to dozens of Capuchin monkeys. The island's residents seemed quite used to humans as they posed for us on shore and then bravely boarded our small boat, snatching peppermints from the hand of our boat pilot.

After returning to land, we had a poolside barbecue (I know, right? Peace Corps is definitely messing with us), before heading out on the town to celebrate the birthday of one of our fellow trainees. First thing tomorrow morning, we pack the truck with our luggage and head down to the Masaya department where we will spend the next 11 weeks living with our host families. I'll be sure to keep you posted!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

72 hours...

In 72 hours I will be on the ground in Managua, Nicaragua, preparing to start the next 27 months as an agriculture volunteer with the Peace Corps. From submitting my application in August, to interviewing in October, to passing my medical clearance in January, to receiving that big blue invitation envelope only six weeks ago, I now understand why many people say that Peace Corps is more of a 3-year commitment; the first year is spent in patient (or more often nail-bitingly impatient) anticipation of actually receiving a country assignment.

With Nicaragua assignment in hand, a plane ticket for May 11th and a living room cluttered with unpacked clothes and random gear, I'm almost ready to start this next chapter. Saying goodbye to DC and to all the friends and memories made over 5 years has definitely been difficult, but my DC "bucket list" now looks solidly checked off. In between the frenzied rush of packing up my DC abode, I've also found time to kayak on the Potomac, catch a show at Ford's Theater, cheer with the Barra Brava at a DC United match, share more than a few rounds with friends, and make final visits to all my favorite museums and galleries in the District. I can also say with certainty that I've eaten enough blue crabs and Old Bay to last me a lifetime and may have singlehandedly depleted the Chesapeake Bay of its resident crustacean for years to come.

Back in New England, I've spent quality time with friends and family in Connecticut, visited old friends in Massachusetts, celebrated my 23rd birthday, caught some live music, and chilled with my brother in Vermont. Its been exhausting tracking you people down! Through all the goodbyes though, I realize how lucky I am to have known so many great people, and I hope those of you that keep up with this blog remember me from time to time, because I won't soon forget you.

Which brings me to this site. For those of you who followed my (mis)adventures in Russia, I tried to upload posts at least once a week. To be completely honest, I have no idea what the internet situation will be like down in Nicaragua, especially considering the rural nature of my work, but I still hope to update this site as often as possible. Whether that means once a week or once a month I can't say, but I'm feeling optimistic. Overall, I hope you will find this site to be an entertaining collection of journal entries, longer essays and articles, photos, videos, drawings, rants, raves, and random musings. Feel free to post comments and leave some love, support, or grammatical criticism (especially once I start hablando español every day). So stay in touch, wish me 'buena suerte' and I'll see you in Managua.