Not long after we first arrived, we all had a chance
to ride Don Leonel’s horse on several occasions. He would proudly put a saddle
on the small white caballo ( name for male horses, yegua for females) and
gently help hoist one of us up. We would ride in circles, or figure-eights,
around his yard, slaloming in and around various coconut, grapefruit and peach
trees. A few months later, Miriam and others helped nurse the same horse back
to health after he was bitten on the neck by a vampire bat. Since then, the
horse has largely remained idle most days, tied to a tree in the corner of Don
Leonel’s yard with a rope around his neck that always seems just a bit too
tight for our liking. His main period of utility comes during the planting
season in August and September, when he is connected to a plow to cultivate and
prepare the soil for maize. One of the problems with stallions here is that if
you don’t watch them like a hawk, they can go vagando – wandering – looking for
other equally aimless females. The best way to minimize this wanderlust is
castration, a procedure that immediately lessens their lecherousness.
A problem develops though in that horse castration
here can be akin to civil war era medicine, where both the tool and it’s bearer
at times (at times because in the right circumstances and when money is not an
issue, very qualified Veterinarians are present) lack the education and
cleanliness to ensure the job is accomplished in good order. Such may have been
the case with this horse (as usual in Nicaragua it is exceedingly difficult to
actually ascertain the name of any animals so we will call him just “horse”).
We only learned of the operation when we saw horse’s legs covered in blood one
morning. We found out that he indeed had been castrated the day before, and
indications were that he was healing quickly.
Things took a turn for the worse a few days later when
horse stopped eating though, and last Monday, while Miriam was helping Adilsa
categorize books at the elementary library, Adilsa informed her that horse had
died the night before. Aciles and Chepe had been commissioned to dig the grave
– not an easy job in sun-baked volcanic soil- and just like that he was gone.
All that remained was his tree, his rope, some stray poop that hadn’t been
raked, and various mounds of leftover food. He left so quietly, it was almost
like he had never been there. But that’s life here, and people don’t get too
attached to anything. They enjoy things when they are present, yet are ready to
let them go when there time is up. It’s not a bad philosophy.
There are these little fluffy, white pod-like things
that have been floating around El Tololar recently. Some type of seed, now and
again they come drifting past you. If you are lucky, one might even land on
you. Olle has dubbed them “Dreams,” which is actually a pretty great name if
you think about it, and maybe these white floaters are not so different from
our own dreams. They often come flying in and out of our lives, something we
think about from time to time but often neglect because they are hard to grasp.
They can be ethereal, hard to quantify, and even if we could catch them, we
just don’t know how to plant and water the seed that grows inside them. But
what if we made the extra effort to snatch them up out of the air, letting that
cottony, soft, smooth idea tarry in our hand, growing from a seed and gaining
form and definition every day, turning from just a fleeting ambition into a
concrete, achievable, actionable concern. What if…
Just before Christmas, we watched as Carmelo the pig
gave birth to five piglets. Last Monday night, we ate her. We actually consumed
her on several occasions, first in the form of adobado (a delicious pork dish
prepared slightly differently depending on the Central American country you
happen to be in, in Nicaragua with yucca, onions, garlic, peppers, and orange
and lemon juice) then as fresh chicharron (pork rind) and finally asado
(grilled) on a makeshift spit/barbecue we built in our backyard out of bricks
left over from the construction of our house. Carlos and Miriam had hoped we
could be present at slaughter time, but fortunately (were we ever relieved we
already had plans) we needed to go to León that day. Nonetheless, upon
returning we received a blow by blow recap of the way it all went down, Carmelo
first receiving a knock on the head with the butt end of an axe, followed by a
knife to the throat. From there they hung her up to bleed her out, skinned her,
and sold her off piecemeal (head and feet included) to an assortment of
neighbors, most of whom had been previously warned that some serious ham was
coming down the pipeline in short order.
It’s weird to
be talking about animals like this, especially ones you knew and saw on a daily
basis every time you went to the latrine, but that is life here. Pigs are not
pets, but a vital way for a family to make money, and Carmelo provided much
needed funds in her passing. Still, it was a bit tough to engage in a
conversation with neighbors two Sunday’s back when six giant strips of pork
skin were hanging in the background, smiling at us, drying in the sun.
Likewise, it was awkward when our neighbor Miriam came by with the freshly
prepared adobado. She came upon Cully in the kitchen in his boxers after having
just bathed and our Miriam still in the shower, then weaving and dodging her
scantily-clad way back to our room in the midst of Miriam and Carlos’s
elaborate pork presentation and hopeful anticipation of a positive appraisal by
us. Perhaps it was Olle who said it best, that the adobado was second only to
the Pizza Hut in Leon :)
There is a magical place a few hours from our house
called Selva Negra. The words mean “Black Forest” in Spanish, and the founders
and owners of the giant nature reserve are from Germany, arriving in Nicaragua
many years back with the intention of creating a bio-sphere akin to Germany’s
famous forest, albeit in a lot hotter climate with a whole different set of
wildlife. We spent one afternoon there on the way back from our foiled Honduran
border crossing attempt, and it almost felt like we were in a dreamworld. We
sat by a lake sipping unbelievably - grown and roasted on the premises -
delectable coffee (Harlan and Olle sipped delectable cokes), had a scrumptious
meal, and then embarked on a multi-hour hike into the woods.
Selva Negra has a variety of trails, and we chose one
that passed an absolutely beguiling German-architecture inspired church in the
middle of the quiet forest. From there we continued on, deep into the
old-growth forest, listening to a panoply of bird calls and animal noises. We
chose the trail that promised at least the possibility of both monkey and
Quetzal sightings. We missed the monkeys but were tracking a pair of Quetzals,
beautiful red, green, white and blue birds with insanely long tails that are
almost a thing of legend due to their elusiveness. We hunted them for close to
an hour, every so often hearing their unique shrill, in the process being led
onto secondary and tertiary trails deeper into the massive forest. In the end
we were granted only one brief glimpse, a colorfully adorned Quetzal swooshing
overhead then quickly disappearing. But, our circuitous route provided one
bonus experience we’ll likely never forget.
Walking together on the soft, earthy trail, we stopped
to listen for monkeys. All of a sudden, we heard a rustle in the leaves ahead
of us. We froze, and watched as no less than thirty White-nosed Coatis (Pizotes
in Spanish) crossed the trail directly in front of us. Pizotes look kind of
like a raccoon, but with longer snouts and tails, and we were literally transfixed
as the family (or herd, pod, gaggle, whatever word you use for a group of
Coatis) crossed the trail, one after another, not even seeing us as we stood
there like statues. The final Pizote that crossed was almost white in color
(most are grayish-brown) and when the crossing was over, we just stood there,
grinning with glee. We felt that kind of happiness you get only when you’ve
witnessed something downright awe-inspiring in nature, some deep connection
with the wild part of our souls that our house-bound, city-living, connected to
metal and concrete bodies don’t feel very often.
We’ve got a problem with scorpions. We’re not sure if
it is the location of our house, situated at ground zero for regular scorpion
rendezvous or possibly the palm-thatched roof to our patio, providing a dry,
dark place for alacránes (the local name for the ubiquitous Bark Scorpion).
Whatever the reason, we’ve got a problem. In the rainy season (up until
November) we saw them less, maybe once every two weeks. Now, and really in the
last few weeks, the count has skyrocketed. It is not uncommon to have multiple
sightings in a day, and what’s all the more baffling is that our neighbors seem
to be very surprised that we have seen so many. Our problem got real on a
recent Sunday morning when Olle, who normally wakes up first, started crying as
he was trying to put on his clothes. We rushed over to unlock his door, which
we have to lock most nights from the outside because of the powerful,
door-blowing wind. He had definitely been bit or stung by something, a red mark
evident on his chest, but we couldn’t find anything. Only a few minutes later
when Miriam was engaged in a second, more vociferous clothe-shaking session did
we see it, a tiny guy (fortunately), about the width of a nickel, happily
curled up on the sleeve of Olle’s shirt. We killed him with gusto, and if you’d
like, you can check HERE for a picture
of the little fella, along with some other photos from the past few months. Due
to Olle’s toughness and the scorpion’s diminutive size, we made it out with
just a few tears.
Harlan, too, dodged a scorpion-bullet the following
day. He had just arrived at school and was looking for a pencil in the zipper
pocket of his backpack. Thankfully, he looked before he grabbed, as a sizable
scorpion crawled out, clearly confused as to how he had arrived at Rebekah
Rivas Elementary School. The scorpion definitely rued the day, as really the
last place you want your maiden backpack voyage to end is in the midst of a
gaggle of Nicaraguan sixth-grade boys, several of whom were more than happy to
assist Harlan in terminating Scorpio right then and there.
We thought the skinny, brownish, speckled dog who
lives at Adilsas, one we’ve dubbed both Fuera and Humpy on different occasions,
actually was Adilsa’s pet. It turns out, he is in reality our neighbor Miriam’s
dog, although even she doesn’t seem to be aware of this. Even more
disconcerting then humpy’s obvious lack of domicile is the fact that recently
he’s gotten a case of the bite-sies. First he bit Esteban’s niece, then Beto
was nipped on the leg while riding his moto. Most recently Beto’s son Michael,
playing one Saturday morning with Olle and Rachel was bit by humpy, right on the
pompis (butt). Michael, only four-years old, became both the first butt-bite
victim and another patient of Miriam’s, who doctored his behind with loving
kindness, hydrogen peroxide and some band-aids. Biting dogs can be a problem,
though, and while Michael’s rear has healed up nicely, Humpy aka Fuera will
need to be dealt with in the strictest of ways if he keeps this up.
“It’s kind of incredible, we still have water at 9am,”
remarked Miriam one recent Sunday morning. Water has been particularly sparse
around El Tololar over the past two months, and we generally have water from
when we wake up at 5:15 until about 8am or so, when the taps run dry. Weekends
seem to be even worse, with Sunday usually being the driest day of all. We’ve
learned to manage the water scarcity, but recently the big tank that serves
most of El Tololar broke. Generally when that happens, it can be a solid four
days without water. In fact, as of this writing we are on day seven without
water with no agua in sight. We are fortunate living as we do on the Rivas
compound, as they have an electric, well-fed tank of their own that almost
always has water (electricity outages not withstanding). Thus, in a pinch, we
can usually shower, get extra water for washing dishes or clothes, or even for watering
the garden. Most people are not that lucky and when the Big Tank goes on the
fritz, they have to travel back in time. They saddle their horse or yolk their
ox, tie a long rope to a relatively small bucket, and hoist pail after pail of
water up to the surface, often from depths of up to 80 meters. You do that a
few times, and you really begin to appreciate water. A few family’s wells have
dried up long ago, and they have to rely on the kindness of strangers for
water. The Rivas family is incredibly generous and over the course of last
weekend, various bottle-toting neighbors stopped by to fill up.
Going without water has lots of secondary effects that
go beyond not being able to shower, wash your clothes, or that other important
thing...oh yeah, drink. We witnessed this first hand in connection with the
Vivero (Tree Nursery) Project. April is the hottest month in El Tololar, and
most days it breaks 100 degrees, easy. Nascent trees need lots of TLC, and at
least double daily dosages of water. The recent water outage meant Denis, the
man responsible for taking care of the seedlings, was in a bit of a pickle as
his pozo (well) was also dry. His only option was to use nearby pozo and bring
buckets of water by horse cart back to the plants, but he lacked a long enough
rope to haul the water up eighty meters from the aquifer. We happened to be in
León that day, and said we’d bring the rope to Denis in a taxi (Larry the
amazing soccer player’s dad, Paolo, has a taxi and at times we call on him for
a ride).
Like most
voyages in Nicaragua, this one proved to be an adventure. We met Paolo a block
east of La Union supermarket as the road was closed due to construction. He
drove us past Beto’s office where we picked up the eighty-two meters of rope
from Wilmar, who had just procured it. Our goal was to get back as quick as
possible so that Denis and his son Erickson could start hauling water but Paolo
wanted to show us his house, his pig, and his other son. Having taken care of
that errand, we headed straight to Tololar, that is until Paulo’s first wife
and our neighbor, Paula, called asking for a ride so that she and her
co-worker, La Doctora, could attend a funeral, tragically for a young boy who
had been killed in a freak hunting accident the night before. We turned around,
headed back to León, and waited for them at the bust stop. They finally
arrived, and we managed to squeeze all eight of us into the little taxi,
Familia Lundgren plus our friend Leo in the back, Paulo at the helm, and Paula
and La Doctora mooshed in the front, alternating mutual cheek placement for
maximum comfort. Despite our delayed arrival, we handed the rope off to Denis,
hoping it was in time for him to make several thousand seedlings very happy
that afternoon.
Cully had the chance to visit a fascinating gentleman
named Mario at his small finca (farm) last week. Mario was one of the
trailblazers who helped make Cerro Negro - the nearby active volcano that
people surf - a real tourism project. In fact, according to Mario, it was his
son who first attempted to board down the volcano. You can imagine how early
conversations about the prospect of surfing may have gone: “Hey, check out that
hot, narly-looking, active volcano over there! Yes, the one over there that
could erupt any minute. I was thinking, what if we grab some wood planks, throw
some aluminum on the bottom for strength and better glide, and launch over the
wicked-steep side? Really, what could go wrong?” But Mario is about much more
than surfing volcanos, and his own personal history includes a stint fighting
with the Sandinistas some forty years back under the pseudonym La Puma. Now his
farm boasts perhaps a greater variety of animals than any other finca in
Nicaragua. In fact, in Cully’s short time there, he encountered the following types
of fauna:
- one giant
parrot who almost bit his finger off
- two medium
parrots who tried to speak, unsuccessfully
- three small
parakeets, one strangely bald
- one deer
who looked like he needed a friend
- one huge
owl who wouldn’t stop looking at Cully no matter where he went, clearly ready
to tear his head off
- ten
rabbits, five dogs, several iguanas
- two geese,
the male whom feigned attacks on Cully on at least four occasions
- ducks,
chickens, turkeys, and lots of their babies
And a partridge, this one choosing a mango tree over a
pear.
Mario is not only an animal lover but also a
visionary. In addition to he and his wife’s efforts to make Cerro Negro one of
the premier tourist destinations in Nicaragua, he is in the process of building
a huge pool on his property. It really is an ingenious business idea – the only
other public pool we know of is ten miles away in Telica - that has potential,
especially once we get water back! Perhaps what struck Cully most about Mario
was his deep love of humanity. Near the end of their conversation, Mario,
talking about why he is on this earth, said, “We are not here to do things
alone. We are here on earth to address physical, emotional, spiritual and
economic needs of our families and our community. Our community is big, it is
really the whole earth. And we are all brothers and sisters, no matter what our
color or religion.” Maybe we can all learn a thing or two from Mario.
As we approached one year without having our teeth
cleaned, we decided it was finally time to go see the Dentist. First, we made a
series of appointments for the whole family, one right after another. We
arrived on time and in general the cleanings went well. They took twice as long
as the Dentista had said they would, but the experience – and quality of care –
was even better then expected. We were especially excited that she used the
little sucky contraption that suctions up all your drool, saving us from having
to rinse and spit every five minutes. However, closer examination of both adult’s
teeth revealed two cavities for Cully, and the need for a new crown for Miriam.
One week later we were back at her office for round
two. The procedure on Cully’s mouth was largely successful, even though one
filling took a solid 1 ½ hours to complete (what the heck was she doing in
there?). The only negative outcome was that some of the leftover cavity filling
material remained in between a few teeth, making flossing virtually impossible
in some locations. Miriam’s routine went well enough, except that for some
reason she was not permitted to move her jaw or body for close to two hours,
resulting in a quasi lock jaw situation and cramping in her lower extremities,
both which cleared up quickly. The larger issue was that the cap that she went
in for never happened, the Dentist instead choosing to fill the tooth as if it
were a cavity. Hopefully, it will all come out in the wash...
It wasn’t supposed to be that arduous, but with the
thermometer pushing 103 degrees, every step began to feel like it was through
concrete. Actually, our steps were only through dust, but a lot of it and with
every pace, a mini dust bomb of talcum-like powder would go off around your
feet, rising quickly as it stuck to you our your hiking buddy’s legs, arms,
neck and lungs. We had caught the 7am bus out of El Tololar, heading to the
town of San Jancinto. There, our friend and guia (guide) Yader had planned for
us to begin our ascent of Volcano Telica. If you ever want a Nicaraguan hiking
guide, we can highly recommend Yader, who was so conscientous that he engaged
in not one but two separate reconassaince missions prior to our hike, just to
make sure all would go smoothly, which it did...mostly.
Including Yader’s brother Fernando, a budding artist
and also possibly a future guia, our group of six left the hot-spring tourist
town of San Jancinto and headed up, first through fallow, dusty fields of corn
and beans. Along the way - when we could see through the clouds of dust - Yader
introduced us to a variety of Nicaraguan wildlife. We learned that the national
bird, the guardabarranco (translated “the guarder of banks”) always builds its
nest’s in dirt overhangs and banks such as those we were passing, a sly move
except for when its main prey, big snakes, enters and eats it. We passed the
nests of correcoyote wasps, hanging conspicuously in nearby trees and according
to Yader, not dangerous unless provoked, and then very dangerous! We had
multiple glimpses of the relatively rare Alma de Perro (soul of the dog) bird,
as well as parrots, beautifully adorned orioles, and a bizarre, road-runner
looking bird that even Yader had never seen. We stopped for lunch under a giant
mango tree, and witnessed Yader and Fernando do their best Laurel and Hardy
impersonation as they simultaneously tried to set up a hammock
(unsuccessfully), sling-shot shoot iguanas, and dodge a giant hill of ants that
had begun to dive into the pork their mother Myra had freshly grilled that
morning. The hilarious set of events finally ended with Fernando tripping over
the pork and Miriam laughing uncontrollably.
The hike wasn’t all laughs though, and after two
extended stops to beat the heat and consecutive water breaks every five
minutes, we arrived at a huge field, situated on a giant, grassy plain rimmed
with palm trees, just below Telica’s massive crater. We gathered wood for the
night’s fire, and then headed straight up to the crater, and huge billows of
sulfuric gas. The Lundgren family all began to cough as we approached the
crater, but it didn’s seem like a huge deal at first. Miriam and Olle, though,
felt the worst of it and they decided it was best to head down. As they
descended, Miriam’s lungs tightened up even more and it was clear that without
help, things were going to get a bit dicey. It was then that Super Olle
arrived, leaving Miriam and sprinting at full tilt across the volcanic field,
retrieving her inhaler at light speed and returning in time to save the day.
Olle, you are a superhero!
The rest of our trip up Telica was in comparison
non-eventful, except for a few things. First, we encountered a giant, animal,
sniffing and grunting outside our 3-person tent for a good half the night
(later found to be a resident, semi-wild horse). We also had the almost
out-of-body experience of crawling on hands and knees to the actual edge of the
crater, taking turns holding Yader’s hand while we each peered into the red
lava fire and listened to the roaring power of the belly of the earth. During
that experience, Harlan made the astute comment that, “ I hate it when it gets
windy when we are near a crater on an active volcano”, and of course he was
right. Lastly, upon arriving back home the following day, we all agreed that
due to the combination of heat, sweat, and dust, we likely were dirtier than we
had ever been in our lives, and that is not easy to do!
Que Te Vaya Bien!
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