Off to be a Norteño

Well, it's a good thing I was so impressed by the beauty of northern Nicaragua's pine-covered mountains- because that's where I'll be spending the next two years of my life! Two weeks ago, all of the new small business and agriculture trainees received our site assignments, telling us where we would live, work, and call home until July 2012. Some of us are headed northwest, to the scorched plains and volcanoes of Chinandega. Others are moving into the coffee-filled mountains of Matagalpa and Jinotega. Some brave souls will be living in the steamy jungles of Rio San Juan and among the Creole and Miskito communities on the Atlantic coast. However, for me and five other new Ag and Small Business volunteers, we'll be heading waaaay up north, in the shadow of the Honduran border, where we'll be working and living with the hardy Norteños, or northerners, among the soaring green peaks of the Segovia mountains.

Specifically, my site is the rural community of San Nicolas (yes, like Santa Claus), about 12 km from the small town of San Fernando in the department of Nueva Segovia. For those with a map handy, if you follow the road from Ocotal to Jalapa, my site is about halfway between the two cities, about an hour or so from each. (And in case you were wondering, it gives me immense amounts of joy to confirm that people from Jalapa are indeed referred to as Jalapeños.)

A few days after receiving our site assignments, we headed up to Esteli where we met our community counterparts and our individual partners in INTA, the Nicaraguan agricultural

ministry. Maria Esther, who will be my host mother for the first 6 weeks at my permanent site, is the wife of Norberto, one of the leaders of the community of about 400 individuals. Elmer, my INTA counterpart, is a trained agricultural technician, and I will be working with him over the next years to bring improved agricultural techniques and equipment to rural communities in the San Fernando area. In addition to these two resources, I will also have numerous opportunities to work with any of the dozens of other organizations working in northern Nicaragua, as well as design and implement my own projects.

From Esteli, all of the soon-to-be volunteers split up for the first time to visit their new sites with their community counterparts. Maria Esther and I hopped on a crowded, standing-room only bus headed north towards Nueva Segovia. As the bus ate up the familiar miles along the winding

Ocotal-Jalapa road, I looked out at the sharp pointed Ocote pines and the seemingly endless cornfields below them and grew quietly elated that these mountains, fields, and little adobe hamlets will one day be as familiar to me as the Washington Monument and Sleeping Giant already are.

My site visit lasted 4 days, and during that short time, I was introduced to many of the people I will be living and working with for the next 24 months. After a quick bike ride around the fields

and dirt roads with my new host brother Erick, I was handed off to Don Maximo, a quiet cowboy who rocks the most amazing mustache/cowboy hat combo I've ever seen. Together, we must've visited a dozen houses over the course of 4 hours, stopping to platicar (chitchat) in each and downing cup after cup of strong Nica coffee. The people were incredibly kind, hospitable, and open to me living in their community for the next 24 months. For my part, I tried in halting, caffeine-spiked Spanish to tell them a little about myself, learn about their families and

farms, and explain the types of projects I will be looking to develop with them.

After returning from our site visits, we had a final week of Spanish instruction in our training towns as well as our agricultural product fair with our Los Rincones youth group. Though our cinnamon-spiced mango jelly didn't place at all (a hot sauce ended up taking the big prize), it was a great experience to work with the youth in our town, laughing with them, having impromptu dance parties (reggaeton anyone?), playing soccer, and seeing how worthwhile (and profitable) it can be to make products with resources that exist right in their backyards.

Finally, the time came to say goodbye to my host family in Los Rincones. After 11 weeks, metric tons of gallo pinto, gallons of fresh-squeezed juice, countless language mixups, and the serenity that comes from being able to sleep through rooster calls at 4 in the morning, I felt ready to tackle Nicaragua at large, and throw myself into a new community alone. I also realized how much I

was going to miss my host family. No matter where I go, who I meet, and how much my Spanish improves over the next two years, Doña Teresa, Don Bacilio, Elida, Jasmina, Eufemia, Rey, David, and the two Luises will always be my first family in Nicaragua. I've been fortunate enough to have had two host family experiences in two vastly different countries over the past couple years. And the one thing that never ceases to amaze me is how similar people are worldwide, and how in just a few quick months a group of complete strangers, speaking a completely different language, can become friends for life. And I, who came only 3 months ago, slack-jawed with culture shock, can't wait to visit again, to catch up with the latest telenovela gossip from my host sisters and chase lizards across the yard with David and Luisito.

Our last week as Peace Corps Trainees before swearing in as Volunteers came around, and

after packing up and leaving our host families we traveled to Managua, where we were put up in a hotel for the week, and given our final training sessions (all the fine print, like not going on vacation for a month to Europe without telling anyone or running weapons across the border for Colombian drug lords). The big day came around, Friday, August 30th, and as the guys p

ut on their ties (and groomed their matching mustaches) and the girls got all dressed up, it was hard to believe that a few weeks earlier we'd been castrating pigs and vaccinating chickens, and that in just a few days from now we'd be spread all about the rural hinterlands of this country. After several words by Peace Corps staff and some Nicaraguan government representatives, Robert Callaghan, the U.S. Ambassador to Nicaragua, asked us to raise our right hands and swore us in as the newest Volunteers of Peace Corps Nicaragua. To close out the ceremony, a new volunteer from both the Small Business and Agriculture groups were asked to say a few words. I had the honor of being chosen by my fellow aggies to address the Ambassador, the Peace Corps Nica staff, all the new volunteers, and the host families that had come to see us off (including mine!) in a brief recap of training and some words of inspiration for the next two years. Oh, and did I mention it was in Spanish? Public speaking in English is hard enough, but it wen

t well and I think it was well-received. And at least I know my Spanish was fairly comprehensible, because I was asked to give an interview for Nicaraguan television afterwards!

With swearing-in finally over, we spent the weekend in Managua enjoying our last time together for a while, staying out late and eating well before we have to get up with the roosters. I'm headed off to my site tomorrow, and I'll be sure to post an update on my first few weeks in site soon. Wish me luck!

Castrations, Volcanoes, and Mountain Paradises: A Nica Week

Sorry for the lack of updates folks, but the past week and half has been insanely busy with a whole bunch of training fun. Last weekend we left Los Rincones for a couple of days to check out Rancho Ebenezer, a gorgeous self-sufficient farm and agricultural training center outside the small town of Niquinohomo. Over two days we learned everything you could ever want to know about minor farm animals, including chickens, ducks, rabbits, goats, sheep, and of course, pigs. From feeding rabbits, milking goats, creating worm boxes, vaccinating chickens, and realizing how absolutely terrible ducks smell, we truly got our hands dirty as we learned the ins and outs of small-scale animal production. But I have to say the most memorable animal experience I had was with the chanchos, or pigs. Over the course of two days, I helped castrate piglets, inject vaccinations into juvenile and adult pigs, and kicked away over-curious porkers as I cleaned what must've been a metric shit-ton of pig poo from their pens. I've heard that pigs are astonishingly intelligent- hopefully they're not smart enough to remember my face, or else a whole generation of vaccinated and testicle-less pigs will come of age in Rancho Ebenezer with a blind hatred for gringos.

On Sunday of last weekend, our whole group of 44 aggies and small business trainees went to check out the crater of Masaya Volcano. After a quick session at the visitor's center, we piled into trucks and began the climb to the peak, passing boulder-strewn fields and lava-rippled rock formations. Once at the summit, the gaping crater stretched before us, as we peered deep into the bowels of the earth, coughing and spitting from the plumes of sulfuric gas that rose up from the depths. I began to understand why the Spanish conquistadores of the 1500s thought they had found the entrance to Hell. It wasn't a far stretch to imagine a demon flying out of the steaming crater and wreaking terror on the countryside. For this reason, the Spaniards built the Bobadilla Cross, named for the priest that risked life and limb to examine the volcano's crater, on top of the crater's edge. After a quick hike to the cross, we climbed the ridge to the volcano's other large caldera, which has long been dormant and whose sheer edges now teem with lush vegetation. From this vantage point high above the surrounding forests, I was able to see clear across the country I'll call home for the next two years. To the south, massive Mombacho Volcano stood guard over the city of Granada, which was dwarfed by the ocean-like Lake Nicaragua behind it. To the west, laid Nicaragua's central plateau, where Masatepe and our host families had a view to the volcanic peak we now stood on. Off to the east stretched the flat cattle lands of the Chontales and Boaco departments. And to the north sat steamy Managua, sprawled along the shore of its eponymous lake, behind which rose the northern highlands of Matagalpa, Esteli and beyond. As an unabashed geography nerd, I really enjoyed this bird's-eye view over the terrain and topography of Nicaragua and I think it would be a great first day adventure for anyone that's coming to visit me (wink wink).

The next week our group of 21 aggies broke down into three smaller groups for Tech Week, a weeklong stay at a volunteer's site where we'd be getting even more hands-on experience. My group was lucky enough to be assigned to Micah's site way up in Jalapa, Nueva Segovia, just a spit away from the Honduran border. Because of the distance, my group had to split the trip up over two days and was put up in a hotel in Managua for the night. I never thought I'd be so happy to have a hot shower, use a flushing toilet, and watch English-language television. We even ordered Domino's pizza! It was almost perfect, except for the fact that the only thing on TV was the "Butterfly Effect" with Ashton Kutcher.

The next day, after hours of traveling higher and higher through the Nicaraguan highlands, we finally arrived in Jalapa. This part of the country was absolutely beautiful and completely unexpected. Once outside of Managua heading north, the mountains seem to stack higher and higher on top of each other, until every curve of the road brings a vista taken straight out of Jurassic Park. From Ocotal, the biggest city in Nueva Segovia, to Jalapa was 60 km of winding, brick-paved switchbacks that crossed rushing streams on narrow one-way bridges. Further and further we climbed into the rugged heart of the Central American isthmus, where Managua seemed as far away as Minneapolis. The banana trees and palm fronds of the lower altitudes soon disappeared, replaced by the pointy silhouettes of Ocote pines along the high ridgelines. I honestly did a double-take a few times, forgetting that I was in Central America and thinking I had somehow stumbled into the north woods of Maine.

Our week up north was a blur of learning, laughing, and seeing how volunteers actually lived in their sites and how they have helped the people in their communities. Over the course of three days we built an improved oven and stove made of adobe and brick, a drip irrigation system, a water pump, and one of the coolest things I've ever seen, a biodigestor. A biodigestor is quite simply a massive plastic bag, about the size of a pickup truck, that you fill with cow poop and put in a protected place in your backyard. Once the poo stew is a-cookin', methane gas is siphoned out of the bag through a series of pipes right to the kitchen stove, providing an extremely cheap, sustainable, and forest-friendly source of fuel. I was really impressed by the biodigestor concept, and I hope to build as many as I can in my community, especially if I'm in an area that has a surplus of cows and a dearth of firewood. We also talked to numerous local farmers about their techniques for diversifying their crops and how they cope with the floods, droughts, hurricanes, and pests that plague their corner of the country. On our last night, we were even invited to a real ranchero hoe-down in the hillside farmhouse next door. Between the cowboy hats, the local starfruit wine, and the eight to eighty-two year olds gettin' jiggy wit' it, it was a great farewell to the kind people of the Segovias.

After our time in Jalapa was over, we had two more days of training sessions in the rompin', stompin' cowboy town of Esteli. We also had our site fair there, where we learned about the various communities that are available to us and in which we will live and work for twenty-four months. While we were allowed to express our preferences for site assignment, I'm trying not to get my hopes up , to keep an open mind and make the best out of wherever I'm sent. I'll know by Tuesday of next week where I'll be, followed by a weeklong visit to meet my work counterpart and introduce myself to the community. With just four weeks left in training, the time has just flown by. In the blink of an eye I'll be swearing in as a full-fledged volunteer in Managua. Hope all is well with everyone at home, I'll be sure to keep you posted on my site assignment.

Dr. Doolittle Would Be Proud

I knew when I left for Nicaragua just about a month ago that I'd be getting into some weird situations over the next couple of years. Midnight tarantula battles, teeth-clenching bouts of diarrhea in the middle of long bus rides, awkward moments tripping over the language barrier, eyebrow-raising food, unique folks at every turn- these are things I am expecting during my time in Central America. However, I can safely say that not even in my wildest dreams could I have predicted the events that transpired last Sunday night.

It was sometime shortly after 8:30 PM. I was sitting in my room, my thoughts deep in the frigid Yukon goldfields of a Jack London story, enjoying the cool weather brought in by an afternoon thunderstorm. As I prepared to turn in for the night, I heard a deep bellow emanate from the cow pen, which is about 40 yards from the house. Thinking it was just the dogs harassing Fortuna, our orphaned calf, I ignored it and continued getting ready for bed. However, only minutes later I heard the excited shouts and pounding footsteps of my host family outside and I knew that something was definitely up. I ran outside in my sandals to see my host brothers tying an ox down with rope, a piece of wood jammed between its teeth to keep its mouth open, and my host father shining a flashlight deep into the beast's throat.

"What's happening?!" I asked my sister Eli, who was hurriedly tearing the leaves off of a plantain frond. "One of the oxen is choking on an avocado," she replied calmly, "It's having no trouble inhaling, but it can't exhale. So if we don't do something, it's gonna rupture its lungs and die". Staring at the unfolding drama before me, I quietly wondered to myself what the Spanish word for "meat balloon" was. Having finished pulling the leaves off the plantain frond, Eli handed the smooth, 4-foot long stalk to her brother Luis, who began ramming it down the writhing animal's throat like a toilet plunger, in an attempt to dislodge the potentially fatal fruit.

Despite this valiant attempt at animal rescue, the avocado wasn't going anywhere. So we had to resort to one last desperate measure. As I helped hold down the 1,200 pounds of wheezing hamburger, Eli ran into the house and came back with the biggest syringe I've ever seen in my life. She handed it to her older brother, Eddy, who ran the 5 inches of pointed steel right into the ox's rear quarter. Before I could ask him what he had just injected into the poor animal, the ox stood up uneasily, unexpectedly calm, and proceeded to empty the contents of its four stomachs onto the ground, forcefully ejecting the avocado in a spew of half-digested grass and bile, and finishing its performance with a satisfied grunt. The answer to my question was then clear to me; there is such a thing as bovine ipecac to induce vomiting. Despite the revolting scene I had just witnessed, I went to sleep with a smile on my face, knowing that I had helped avoid a potentially horrific situation and that in the humid tropical morning of Nicaragua, a proud yet stupid ox will live to see another day.

In other news, things are going really well with training. We've had numerous technical sessions at nearby farms, where we've learned about everything from how and when to plant different fruits and vegetables, organic composts, fertilizers, pesticides, and fungicides, and the various types of leaf-cutter ants, white flies, bacterias, locusts, viruses, crickets, and moths that can wreak havoc on farm fields.

In one session we practiced different rural commercialization and food preservation activities that we can help farmers with at our volunteer sites. These included cheese-making, soy products, organic soap and shampoo, homemade peanut butter, jellies, jams, marmalades, and other products that can be made with available resources and sold for a little extra family income. Preserving milk as cheese and fruits in jams and jellies will also help families get through the lean times in between harvests. I'll admit that my scratch mozzarella needed a bit more salt, but I'll be damned if anyone criticizes the banana fritters I made.

In another session, we visited a farming cooperative whose main building was decidedly socialist in taste, as the local farmers introduced us to common crop pests beneath large murals of Che Guevara, Augusto Sandino, Daniel Ortega, Carlos Fonseca, and Fidel Castro. I don't know why, but it seems like murals of Fidel Castro follow me everywhere in this world; first my favorite bar in Russia, now a farmhouse in Nicaragua...maybe my path will lead to Cuba someday.

Out in the co-op's coffee and corn fields, we took leaf and soil samples, noting the various critters, both good and bad, that we found cohabiting with the crops. I couldn't help but notice how healthy the soil looked, a deep black earth that would make Nebraska farmers green with envy. But then I looked up from the dirt and over the tops of the corn stalks to the massive Masaya Volcano looming only a few kilometers away. I quickly remembered that this rich soil is due to geological processes that were occurring right beneath my feet. Miles below the farthest reaches of the tree roots and the underground labyrinths of the leaf-cutter ants, the tectonic Cocos Plate is grinding underneath the massive Caribbean Plate, driving liquid magma up towards the surface. The tufts of sulfuric steam that constantly rise high above the volcano's crater testify to the subterranean violence below. If there's a price to pay for such rich land, it must be the daily jitters one gets while living above a seismic hotspot.

With one month down and twenty-six to go, I feel like I'm sliding into life here slowly but surely. Of course, the protective bubble of training still goes on for another 6 weeks and I've yet to actually move into my site where I'll be for the duration of my stay. But still, I'm finding life here definitely to my liking. I hope everyone is doing well at home. I miss you all and I hope you find my posts entertaining, interesting, or at least a worthwhile 15-minute diversion from the work you should be doing. Keep in touch and keep me posted.

Green Acres is the Place to Be

If there's one thing that living in a big city like DC has shown me, it is the lengths that people will go to to avoid the inconvenience and discomfort of nature. Wind, water, heat, cold, and dirt become simply background noise to our daily lives, nuisances deftly avoided by the use of modern technology. We move effortlessly between our sturdy houses, to our heated cars and air-conditioned trains, to our spotless office buildings where recycled air keeps our days at a balmy 67 degrees. In a way, we have mastered Mother Nature, and made our lives as independent from her as possible.

That's not the case in a place like rural Nicaragua. Here, not only does wind, water, soil, and temperature influence life, in a way, it defines life. Nicaragua is marked by two seasons, the parched and dusty summer from October to April, and the drenching winter or wet season which has come full force this past month and will be here to stay until late September. For farmers in Nicaragua, their lives revolve around the planting, growing and harvesting of their crops depending on the season. Water, wind, dirt, heat, and cold are not just facts and figures for the TV weatherman to report, they herald the arrival of planting and harvest times, feasts and famine, and life and death.

To learn more about these age-old rhythms, our training group has started on some longer-term agricultural projects that we will be working on in the coming weeks. As I mentioned before, Ness, Jonathan, Mary, and myself, the four trainees in Los Rincones, have been tasked with forming a youth group to help us create a vegetable garden and tree nursery. The first task was to create a nutrient-rich fertilizer for use in both our garden and nursery. Rather than make a traditional organic compost, which can take up to 6 months to be ready, we have decided to make Bocashi, a type of rapidly-fermenting compost first devised by Japanese agronomists.

Last week, the four of us embarked upon an epic journey to acquire the ingredients needed for our compost. Jonathan and I took a bus past Jinotepe to a rice warehouse in the middle of nowhere, where a baffled foreman stared at us like we had gringo-colored horns coming out of our heads. From him we bought a big sack of dried rice husks that would serve as the base of our compost and provide nitrogen. Next, we went around to our host families' kitchens to get ash from their wood-burning stoves and dug up some nice dark topsoil from their backyards. Our final stop was the local chicken coop where we were gifted with at least 100 pounds of dried chicken turd, whose rich nutrients would help our plants grow strong and tall.

With a big pile of chicken manure, rice husks, ash, and dirt mixed together, we added a solution of water, molasses, and yeast to start the decomposition process. After covering it with a black plastic tarp we began the waiting game to see if our compost would catalyze. Within 24 hours, our chicken poo stew was cookin' away and breaking down into rich fertilizer. Due to the intense chemical reactions of the decomposition, the pile is astonishingly hot to the touch, steaming from underneath the tarp like some kind of demonic, manure-powered cauldron. It's also quite pungent, stinking up half the neighborhood with its good, organic, earthy perfume. I only hope our neighbors will forgive us in a few weeks when we bring them fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, and watermelons from our well-fertilized garden.

The compost should be ready within two weeks, but in the meantime we've begun meeting regularly with our neighborhood youth group who will be helping with our garden and nursery. At the end of July, we'll be taking part in an agricultural fair, showcasing a sustainable farm product that we create with our kids, and competing against the trainees and their youth groups in the other villages. So far we've come up with some good ideas, but have yet to decide between mango jelly, avocado shampoo or coconut candies. I suggested we try to combine all three into an edible coconut, mango, and avocado-flavored shampoo, but my idea was unmercifully shot down by exasperated eye-rolls from Juanita and Orlando.

We have a lot more technical training in the weeks to come and soon we'll be splitting up across the country for a week to visit with other aggie volunteers currently working at their sites. For the first time, I'll get a view of what I'll actually be doing for the next two years. I'll also put my green thumb to the test and see if I can't coax some ripe fruits and veggies out of the ground. Who knows? If I discover a hidden talent for horticulture, you may soon see Dave's Magical Coconut and Avocado-Flavored Shampoo/Jelly/Industrial Cleaner on a store shelf near you.

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.