Caracas, Venezuela

Chavez's Contradictions
Insults and Their Consequences
Caracas, Venezuela

Yesterday, while hanging out near the National Assembly, I got into an interesting discussion with some Chavistas. They wanted to know my opinions. I wanted to know theirs.

I did not really learn anything I hadn't already learned or shared in some way or another with you all, but we discussed an interesting question about the cancelled show I mentioned in my last Venezuela politics post. The opposition holds that the show was cancelled because the host was rabidly anti-Chavez.

If the law of Venezuela is that you can't insult elected leaders, why does Chavez get to insult Bush? Where is the line? Is Chavez above the law?

Some would argue that Bush was never really elected, but that's another discussion. What's important is that everyone in politics needs to take a pause and start acting civil. As Katrina vanden Heuvel asks in a recent Nation piece, Don't We Need a New Political Language? Bush is not Hitler. Neither is Chavez.

Bush needs to stop patronizing Venezuela about "freedom of expression" and Chavez needs to stop calling Bush a donkey.

Couch Surfing
for the first time
in Caracas, Venezuela

(Editor's Note: Skip this paragraph if you don't care about tech talk) Some of my friends deride me for being into "services" that require me to give out my email address and sacrifice some of my privacy, ie myspace, flickr, del.icio.us, or suprglu. But I figure that any information I willingly put online is fine. As long as I know at the time of my action that whatever I'm doing will be available to others, I dive headlong into the datastreams. Besides, the benefits of online bookmarks, personal networking (friend of a friend) tools, and media sharing far outweigh what others may consider potential privacy liabilities. All my gmail spam comes from using it as the administrator contact for Drupal.

Non-tech post begins here) Though I've been on the road for four months, until the day before yesterday, I had never officially used couchsurfing to find a place to stay. The link on my blog came in handy in Cuernavaca when our new friend Uncle Pierre saw the link, liked the idea, and offered us his spare room. We ended up staying there for three weeks, sharing meals, sharing broadband net access, and enjoying one anothers company.

(For my stay in Caracas, I contacted all the people who had profiles before I left Panama City. There were about five in the whole city. Three replied. One had moved to Germany, the other was only there on weekends, and Juan Carlos (pictured) replied and said I could stay as long as I wanted.

Though his apartment is on the sprawling edge of the city in the district "Montalban 2," it has afforded me a different perspective on the city and Caracas culture. Montalban is where the more high market people live. They're anti-Chavez. There's Subway and Papa John's in the mini-mall that tries to pass for a public square. The streets are tree lined and the buildings are all seven stories or higher. It reminds me of the huge property development projects of Asia, but this predates them by ten or 15 years. It's not what I would call "comfortable" because it feels so artificial. But it's not uncomfortable either.

Last night when Juan Carlos came home at 11 pm because of a meeting and I didn't have a key, I stayed in the streets with his neighbors listening to a collection of 1970s American pop and drinking "Polar Light" beer. The Venezuelan people are friendly when you get to know them. Otherwise, they feel a bit standoffish.

So, my first impression of couchsurfing? Wow! What a fine tool! I think I'm going to try the service again during my unexpected, all expenses paid trip to San Diego next week. More on that later. Surf on!

First Impressions
of Revolutionary Venezuela
San Antonio, Merida, and Caracas

This is not a country that looks like it's been living under almost ten years of socialist government. Yes, there are government-sponsored advertisements in the subway with quotes from Simon Bolivar about how the United States was destined to bring misery to the rest of the hemisphere, but they're right next to Coca-Cola ads.

Venezuelans are certainly not all behind the revolution, and everyone is more than ready to share their opinions about the course their government is taking.

The concensus among taxi drivers is that "Chavez is crazy." And that "Bush is crazy too."

Most here complain that Chavez has given too much money to other countries. He has paid off millions in on other country's foreign debts and keeps giving money to indigenous groups and opposition parties in other Latin American countries. People here want him to fix the roads, which are about as bad as the roads in Detroit, except that Detroit isn't prone to mudslides. A bridge and a residential district collapsed this week. They haven't decided when they're going to blow the rest up.

Most people agree that "Chavez loves his people." Ask anyone about public works projects and redistributing the wealth and they'll say, "Bo one else has done what Chavez is doing. Did any of the other governments give money where they said they would? No."

Donkey, Donkey, Donkey

Whether the people of Venezuela like it or not, their president, keeps their country in the spotlight. I don't think it's a very good idea for Chavez to keep calling Bush a donkey, but I agree with him, even though Bush is obviously not a Democrat. These kind of antic make me laugh, but are they pushing Bush closer to a hot war? Lucky for the South, America's hands are tied in the Middle East.

Censorship and Corruption

When I ask about censorship, most people say there isn't any, except in regards to news about the government. Everyone knows that corruption here still exists, but the news about corruption is tightened, not cut off. The major daily, El Universal, ran an editorial on the subject today. If censorship exists, it is because people are censoring themselves, or because they insulting government officials, the only major change in media laws since Chavez took power. Chavez encourages more independent media, but the law leaves a lot of room for interpretation about who can and can't talk about whom.

I went to the site of a protest today. My contact was upset over a radio show that was cancelled. It was called "Plomo Parejo," which translated roughly into "lots of bullets" or "plenty of ammunition." The host was an anti-Chavez guy. The opposition is saying censorship, but maybe he just wasn't very good. The protestors never materialized.

A Socialist Revolution in Light Up Shoes

My biggest concern before coming to Venezuela was being sure I had enough Q-Tips. I didn't know what kind of society I would find. So I was surprised to find every consumer good imaginable. Chavez knows he cannot cut out people's Snickers bars without losing power.

In Merida, a touristy city near the Colombian border, I felt like the revolution was invisible. Occasionally, I'd see the twin pine symbol of a cooperative, or pass by a government office, or see a sticker with miniature citizens of the "liberated" Latin American countries bringing down giant Bush cariactures.

Just as I was giving up hope of having any contact with revolutionaries, I got in a "cooperative tourist Land Cruiser" with Susan because they offered good prices and friendlier faces than the taxistas. I learned that, though they, as members of the cooperative, paid for their vehicles themselves, the program had been initiated by the government. They were very excited about the changes in the tourism industry, exchanges in Nicaragua, and the sexual revolution in Venezuela, which they said promises to be "without limits."

In the city, the Chavistas seem crazy. Of course, I haven't really been looking for them. I've mostly just been looking for an apartment. The Chavez keychain and other paraphernalia was an aside.

Seems China's not the only country selling fake brand name goods. Check out the "Samsport" backpack I got in Nicaragua. If we can trust the label, this beauty was made in the good ol' U S of A.

Grad School Plans Set:
Going to the University of California
San Diego

I just sent in my non-refundable $500 deposit, so here it is: Barring the unforeseen, I'm going to return to the return to the States this fall (at the latest) and perch myself in La Jolla at the edge of the desert and the nation. I'll be studying sustainable development with a focus on citizen groups in China. Here's the International Relations and Pacific Studies website.

Bolivarian revolutionary and New York resident Taleigh Smith, as drawn by Susan Fawcett in Managua, Nicaragua.

"You don't deserve to be treated the way I've been treating you anymore."
The Sham Couple Splits
in Merida, Venezuela

After four months of travel and nine border crossings, the blogosphere's most beloved sham union has reached its limits, according Sparticus Hitchings, trusted lawyer of literary giants, Drs. Ooter and Martha McHaggis.

"I traveled to South America to ensure the separation proceedings do not conform to any local, state, or international laws. The union was a sham. The shamvorce is following suit."

The McHaggises, who were in Cucuta, Colombia facilitating a seminar on the Joycisms of Colombian poet Miguel Mendez Camacho, crossed the Venezuelan border to console their personal friends. Answering reporters' questions about the famed traveling pair's most recent personal turbulences, Dr. McHaggis spontaneously thumbed a page of Finnegans Wake at random and answered, "This is what Joyce had to say about the sham couple's split."

"Thus we cannot escape our likes and mislikes, exiles or ambusheers, beggar and neighbour and --- this is where the dime-show advertisers advance the temporal relief plea --- let us be tolderant of antipathies. Nex quovis burro num fit mercaseus? I am not hereby giving my final endorsement to the learned ignorants of the Cusanus philosophism in which old Nicholas pegs it down that the smarter the spin of the top the sounder the span of the buttom (what the worthy old auberginiste ought to have meant was: the more stolidly immobile in space appears to me the bottom which is presented to use in time by the top primomobilisk &c.). And I shall be misunderstord if understood to give an unconditional sinequam to the heroicised furibouts of the Nolanus theory, or, at any rate, of that substrate of apart from hissheory where the Theophil swoors that on principial he was the pointing start of his odiose by comparison and that whiles eggs will fall cheapened all over the walled the Bure will be dear on the Brie."

Added Hitchings "Every time they settled into a colorful latin American hotel room, she'd start rapin' at him, and plunging her stinkfeet in his face. He'd threaten death, and she'd threaten to defecate in his shoes. The time had come."

The shamwife will be taking a couple days' of bedbuses for Ciudad Bolivar, where she will be working at the Botanical Garden on the banks of the river Orinoco. In exchange for room and board, she'll be intentorying and illustrating birds, working in the herbarium and greenhouse, and assisting Venezuelan botanists Wilmer Diaz-Perez and Francisco Delascio Chitty with their expeditions.

Her shamspouse will be off to Caracas to surf couches, grope destiny, and write about the revolution.

The sham couple is expected to reunite in due time to continue their work in progress, A Day as Tramps and Other Days. Future posts to the blog can be expected from both Shamsters.

Arrival in Venezuela!
And border Hotel Recommendations
from Merida

If anyone is passing through San Antonio de Tachira along the Colombian border with Venezuela, they should check out the wacky Hotel Lorena. The propieter is a nice old man and raving Chavez supporter. His wife has decorated the hotel in a way that can't easily be described in print. Suffice it to say the place is surreal. Carrera 6 No. 6-57 Barrio Pueblo Nuevo Phone: (0276) 7713673. Rooms at $10/2 heads.

Although our bus, "La Polvita," broke down twice on the way here, we made it. Now to find that friend's address where our people say they have been sending everything but dark chocolate...

Spider Porn, Sorcery, and Parasitic Castration
A Smithsonian Symposium
in Panama City

As I told one of the "monkey girls" volunteering with Howlers on Barro Colorado Island after the symposium and right before the free dinner today, "Susan and I are like ticks...one simple brush isn't enough. You've got to pull us out by the head."

Hanging out with scientific types all day in the bowels of the Smithsonian "Tupper" site in downtown Panama was most enjoyable.

We heard all about such diverse topics as forms of contact-era slavery amongst "Amerindians;" parasites that castrate certain species of snails, how plants (and economies and species) that sacrifice storage and defense in exchange for fast growth have low survival rates (in other words, "fast growth is inherently incompatible with survival"); and how leaf cutter ants determine which plants to feed to their fungal gardens. But the most thrilling talk of the 15 today had to have been spider sex.

Muscle-Bound Genitalia and Cooing Females

The presenter was a mustached man who had been watching lots of spider sex. He basically wanted to answer the question, "what do female spiders want?" He concentrated on their "stridulation." I felt like we were listening to someone read Joyce as he talked about all the totally foreign spider parts and the males' "muscle-bound genitalia."

You have to understand that a male spider not only inserts, but squeezes as well. The female responds by "stridulating," or wiggling her various parts.

He has two hypotheses about what the female wants when she wiggles:

--H1: positive message "ooh, do that some more."
--H2: negative message "ouch, stop that."

During the video of mating spiders, he kept saying "squeeze, stridulate, relax. Squeeze... stridulate... relax," as the spiders went at it.

Then we listened to the female spider's song. It was not as cool as the hype.

Highlights of the spider copulation stats:

--Average duration of first mating: 27.3+/-12.6 minutes (Go spiders, go!!!!)
--Average duration of second mating: 14.4+/-7.6 minutes
--Rate of male squeezing: 8.8+/-2.2 per minute
--A "winning" male (meaning most fertilized eggs) will squeeze 247+/-54 times during copulation

Best quote of the talk: "A master's student found a species of spider where the female bats the male on the head so he'll give her food. The more she bats him on the head, the more he regurgitates on her so she can eat it."

Scientist's conclusions: "Males who squeeze more get more babies." And: "We must watch those females."

Evading Giant Ticks and the Proper Authorities
At the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute
in Gamboa, and other locals in Panama

The Costa Rica-Panama Border: Our Worst Yet

The border between Costa Rica and Panama was the worst I've ever crossed. Blisteringly hot, a mile of closed roads strewn with rocks and gaukers blocking the sun with cardboard boxes, and half an hour of under-the-table-negotiations about return tickets we did not need (and ended paying the right people $10 to avoid).

Panama

The Atlantic Panamanian countryside during the "winter" (read: dry season) is mostly dry, mountainous pasture land with some standing forests. As Susan said coming out of her veil of grumpy sickness, "I feel misled by my primary education, which seems to teach us that everything below Mexico is all just tropical rainforests." Then she went back to sleep on my lap.

It was her first bout with intestinal trouble of the trip. A pretty good record for four months in Latin America.

Panama City

Our Tica Bus pulled into the National Bus Terminal in Panama City, the largest transport hub of our trip. It's actually a nice place to pull into, except for the exhaust. The only place with more exhaust is Bangkok or the streets of Dhaka.

To the Panamanian Countryside, a Homestay, and the Largest Island in the Canal

Being in Costa Rica and Panama has been a relief from the constant harrassment and paranoia of Managua. Many Costa Ricans look like Susan and me. And Panama feels like a US colony--how I imagine Puerto Rico must feel. (Too bad they didn't get voting rights). We can walk the streets of Panama without standing out.

Our taxi driver took us nice and easy to a bus cooperative in the district of Saca. We stashed our stuff behind the desk, checked our email and got back before dark to board a bus full of commutors.

Our destination: Gamboa, an old army base along the canal. It's also the nearest town and entry point to the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, where we were meeting an old Arbor Vitae friend, Sharon, who is volunteering and conducting research there.

The only hotel in Gamboa is one of those very expensive "eco resorts." As luck would have it, we didn't have to break out the jungle device because a woman offered us lodging in her suburban house. Until authority of the canal was transfered to Panama in 1999, the town had been an army base, and the houses were posh. She had a 17 year old son studying on scholarship in Taiwan. She was a stressed, single mother accountant who wouldn't let her 6 year old daughter play Susan's violin.

We woke early the next day to take the free ferry to the island. By that time, the sham couple was ready for an intermediary.

An Island and Research Center in the Center of the Canal

The island of Barro Colorado (link to an NPR program on the island) was actually formed when the surrounding river valley was dammed to create the Canal. So, for almost the last 100 years, it's been an isolated ecosystem with three kinds of monkeys, lots of birds, attack crocodiles, water heaters, a professional chef, and more ticks than the packing tape would trap.

Take a closer look at the photo on the right to see what precautions visitors take when they head out into the forest.

The packing tape around the ankles is standard. The masking tape on the chest is for "tick bombs," which are little balls of thousands of baby ticks. If you run into one, you pick them off with the tape. The tape around the waste was an experiment. We didn't stick any ticks that day. But the next day I had 20, only 4 of which stuck to the tape.

Pesky Woman and "Missing the Boat"

Even though two thirds of the fees on the island were subsidized by the Smithsonian, your narrator could not afford it. Thus, as it so happened, in our "forest excitement," we "missed' the last ferry back to the mainland and "had to spend the night on Sharon's floor." Oops.

We lucked out and never crossed paths with the bureaucratic office woman again.

That gave us more time to talk to bat researchers, read National Geographic articles, and talk to the chef to get our "missed the boat" story in circulation.

One of the researchers was impressed with Susan's drawings because "[her] people don't look like turkeys, unlike the last illustrator."


Back to the City, and Then Another Continent

The chef happened to be driving his truck back to the city, so he gave us a lift. And found us nice digs ("El Rocio" is a nice place to stay in Panama City, near the central avenue on Calle 36, $6.5/person, hot water, the Simpsons, such luxury we don't deserve...).

Yesterday we got cheap tickets to South America. We leave Thursday (two days from now).

Tomorrow we go play scientist at the Smithsonian center in the City. (Tropical ecology and a free dinner is involved).

Hasta Venezuela!

This is where the sham couple parts ways, except for a possible excursion to the Amazon.

Anything you want whichever one of us finds Chavez first to tell him when we give him a big Bolivarian embrace?

The biggest tree we'd ever seen, at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute on Barro Colorado, the largest island in the Panama Canal. We were visiting Sharon (center) while she conducted research on the site, one of the oldest research centers in the tropics.

Our friend the bass and banjo player from Cahuita, Costa Rica.

State of Emergency:
First Hand Account of "Ice Storm 2006"
Montcalm County, Michigan

It is starting to act a little bit like Spring here. The snow is melting and beginning to get nasty under foot. We had a bad Ice Storm about three weeks ago. We lost our power and the temperature was down to 0 and below part of the time. One day, the temperature never rose out of the single digits. Grandpa got the generator out and we also had the gas heater, out on the enclosed patio so we got along. We did keep warm but barely. We put a lot of clothes on, also. After three days, we finally got electricity back on. We were very thankful. Power crews came in from four other states to help restore energy. The Governor had to call "A State of Emergency" for our Sheridan hospital. They lost power and also their back up generator failed after just so long. The National Guard brought over some big generators and saved the day. Montcalm county was declared a "Disaster Area". We have a lot to be thankful for.

Grandpa has been busy cleaning up the debris. He also had to get a big limb off of the roof of the house. Didn't do any damage to the roof, or at least what he can see now.

Not much other news so will say "bye" for now.

A Man, A Plan, and a Woman:
Crossing the Border into Panama
and talking to Chinese in San Jose, Costa Rica

We're boarding the overnight bus tonight from San Jose to Panama City, then on to Barro Island, somewhere in the Panama Canal. Susan feels icky, and I feel like eating Chinese food.

There's a large Chinese population in San Jose. Not like a Chinatown size or anything, but, after two months and two countries, I finally had my pick of two Chinese-Spanish dictionaries to replace the one that was stolen. I can't describe how nice it feels to have all those characters that I was forgetting back within easy reach when I write my journal.

Sleeping in the Humid Rainforest
On the American Express Forest Reserve
At Earth University, Guapiles, Costa Rica

(NARRATOR'S NOTE: I wanted to publish this a few days ago (Monday, March 13, 2006) but couldn't).

Imperial History of a Grassy, Unsustainable Environment Where Students Learn about Saving the Environment

Earth University is an interesting place. It's where Susan's botany buddy Adam is studying this semester.

The university was founded in 1990 and was paid for almost entirely out of USAID money. (Yes, the same USAID AID that pays opposition parties that attempt coups in Venezuela). Why did Costa Rica get all this money when the US would not pay Nicaragua's reconstruction costs after mining their harbors and funding the Contras? The "good" Latin American countries get money for doing what the Blind Empire demands.

The place is very American. The bureaucracy held us up at the gate for two hours. There are huge expanses of grass ("green zones") cut into what was once forest. There's heavily chlorinated potable water from the air conditioned drinking fountains. But the rice and beans in the cafeteria are totally Central American.

Everyone here studies agronomy and, all in all, the program seems fairly progressive. There is a huge recycling program on campus. Much of the food is grown here under mostly-sustainable methods. There's a banana plantation that grows for Whole Foods. It's not totally organic, because there's a severe fungus that grows on all banana trees in this part of the tropics, so they spray a fungicide about once a week. Still, bananas are a very intensive crop and, commercially speaking, are not sustainable. They make paper out of the leaves and stalks.

A Discovery in the Cow Pasture

On our way to the forest reserve, we got lost for 3 hours. Well, maybe not lost, but divinely guided to the glorious mycological wonders that grow there.

Much Room for Fear (But None) in the Forest

Everyone warned us to "be careful" in the forest. This stems from the toad-kicking mentality of the people here. If an animal is in the path, slice, push, shoot, or otherwise get it out of the way. This mentality feels like some kind of Christian holdover: the American forest--from the conquistadors to the first pilgrims--has always been heathenistic, untamed, unchristianized. People project a lot of fears onto wilderness.

That desire to dominate translated into nicely kept trails and bit of caution on our part. We had no problems, except mosquitoes. We saw one snake. And many monkeys. And many plants.

Early yesterday morning we wandered about the American Express forest reserve. We cut open coconuts and drank the milk. We ate sugar cane and guavas. My companions botanized and botanized some more. Then it was time to make soup on the camp stove.

Nothing like getting out in the countryside to revive the spirits. Now back to the city for me while Susan stays at Earth and sketches gets chased off my meddling guards.

More to come...

Craving Dark Chocolate?
You Won't Find It...
In Latin America

This interchange at a Central American store is telling:

Your Narrator: Do you have any dark chocolate?
Shop Clerk: Snickers?

In the land where chocolate was born, why are beans still grown in the south but processed in the north?

Adventure in El Castillo
What we Learned about Life, Travel, and Purpose While Locked
in a Colonial Fortress
Rio San Juan, Nicaragua

Two days of boats across Central America's largest freshwater lake, and up the Rio San Juan river brought your intrepid pair to El Castillo, a small riverside town accessible only by boat (and probably helicopter).

In the sixteen hundreds, a fortress was constructed by the Spanish to defend against pirates sailing in from the Caribbean. The castle-like structure sits strategically atop a hill in a curve of the river facing natural rapids. Canons were employed.

Horse Riding, Sitting by the River

In the morning, the sham wife went off on a four-hour horseback jaunt through primary rainforest, farming communities, and rivers of stirrup-deep mud. The horse-back riding tour is organized by guide Angel Alfonso Tapia, and is part of the ever-growing ecotourism business in the Rio San Juan.

For $10, Susan learned a dozen medicinal plants, got to try half a dozen
different local fruits, and creep through the rain forest on foot to
see howler monkeys.

Being Locked in a Colonial Fortress

In the afternoon, we entered the fortress through the handicap ramp. While Susan avoided the museum area, I looked in, saw that I had to pay, and scurried. The woman said, "hello! You have buy a ticket!"

"Oh, ok," I said, knowing the museum would be open only another 20 minutes. "What time is it?"

"Not important. You can buy a ticket and come back tomorrow."

Little did we know that she would leave without letting us out.

Atop the structure overlooking a strategic section of the river and listening to the water run over the rocks, we heard the door close and said, "this is probably just what we need. Since we're locked in here, we should talk."

Because both of us were feeling a bit down, we discussed our expectations of the trip, the effect of tropical climates on cement, the psychedelic nature of travel, and the weird sensation that I had dreampt this scene before. The moment of recollection came when Susan asked, "what are all these people doing here? It's not like they're native..."

Getting Out of El Castillo

After I tied a garden hose to the gate and suggesting we rappel down the side of the fort, Susan jumped onto the scaffolding and we exited along the ramp.

Tarpon Fishing, Butterflies

The next day, I watched beautiful creatures throw fishing nets into the river and occasionally catch a fish. The nets are heavy--lined with chains--which means the fishermen are...buff.

Then we went to the butterfly house. The caretaker said she was the only one left of a group of twelve who handled the day to day activities of the house. Then, when I was taking a nap, she tried to kill a snake with a farm tool.

Boats to Costa Rica

Then we took the boat back to edge of Lake Nicaragua and on across the border of Costa Rica. Costa Rica gets more rain, has more money, and is more expensive. Even though Susan thought she was going to throw up on the bus, I think she likes it here too.

Skyping Shanghai
For a Paying Gig(gle)...and other laughs
in San Jose, Costa Rica

Just about everything in and on the way to the capital (San Jose, Costa Rica, our second San Jose) has made me laugh.

Examples: Susan biting me on the bus. Susan spilling juice on on passenger and hitting another with her backpack. (She says she was flustered because she was trying to tell the bus driver not to leave without me while I used the urination station). Even the Chinese meal we had at the Cantonese restaurant was full of giggles. I did not find the Chinese-Spanish dictionary I'm looking to replace from the robbery, but we did find lots of rice and MSG, which means we're on the trail!)

And then, I call a Chinese contact for a story I'm writing on Shanghainese NGOs and she says, "Oh, you're not Chinese! I thought from your email that you were a northern Chinese man, but I can tell now by your accent that you're not! Ha ha ha."

Costa Rica is full of clouds and flowers. The bus drivers are pushy and things are more expensive here, but, as I told a finicky German backpacker today, "it feels good to be in a more developed country for a change."

"Maybe for a little while," he sighed.

Maybe for a little while. At least long enough to use Skype.

Boats!
Across Lake Nicaragua and the San Juan River
to El Castillo, Nicaragua

Vessel of Vehicles, Vomit, and Views

Susan and I bought lower deck tickets for the 16 hour ferry ride across Lake Nicaragua from Granada to San Carlos. As soon as we looked at our $2.50 space, I ran back to the ticket office and upgraded to the $6 upper deck. I'll save you the details of why.

We spent the afternoon dodging water spray on the deck. At night, we cuddled under the stars. In the morning, we watched the sunrise over the eastern coast of Lake Nicaragua.

A River Outpost

From San Carlos, we took a 3 hour river boat down the San Juan River to "El Castillo," a small town near the Costa Rican border. The trip is a bird watcher's dream.

The town itself is a disappointment, but pleasant just what Susan and I needed. It's very quiet. There are remnants of a colonial era fortress and our nice wooden $5 hostel overlooks the river and rapids. It feels like a weird dream. It's a nice place to be, but not what we had in mind. It's time to get to Costa Rica.

Update: I'm not sure why I felt "disappointment," which was a rather poor descriptor. Maybe I thought it would be more developed or the tourist information window more helpful. The people in El Castillo are doing everything they can to make their town clean, eco-friendly, and nice. The kids are organizing the first litter pickup, there are stickers on the boats asking passengers not to throw trash in the river, and people are generally friendly.

I wrote this post in a bad mood and before having visited the fortress. Amazing how ones personal disposition can color the mood of a place and a piece (peace). I'll try to breathe and be more objective in my posts from now on.

Check out our Second El Castillo Write-up ~jjw

After Three Weeks...
Goodbye, Managua!
we're taking a boat to Costa Rica

I was beginning to think we'd never leave the capital.

Managua is not the worst place I've called home. I'd say it's second worst. The award for least pleasant place I've ever "lived" still goes to Dhaka, Bangladesh.

Three things make Managua less than favorable: sprawl, security, and climate.

From personal observation, Managua sprawls to infinity for three reasons: The 1972 earthquake, which leveled much of the city, has left a permanent fear of building any building over one story tall. Second, over the last 25 years, the population has tripled and urbanized. Third, Managua is full of American-style shopping developments like malls, supermarkets and convenience stores. So next door to scrap metal and barbed wire fenced residences, you find sparkling "on the run" Esso convenience stores. Insane.

Dhaka is more crowded, more vertical, and less friendly.

I did not like going out at night in Managua, but walking the streets during the day was no problem. Constant vigilence is the key. Security involves: never getting in a taxi with two men in the front seat, avoiding people with knives and machetes, and whistling. Since I stayed in more upper class neighborhoods, we had police officers hanging out on the streets at all hours. When the coast is clear, they whistle. If someone is trying to attack you, you whistle. I guess the difference between a "panic" whistle and an "all clear" whistle is obvious. Too bad I could do neither.

Dhaka, despite having few police officers, ranks above Managua in terms of safety. I never felt threatened there. I could have been pickpocketed if I wasn't careful, but there were always so many people everywhere that I never felt like I could have been isolated and robbed on the street the way Susan and I were in Managua. Bangladesh also has more mob justice than Nicaragua. And though I never spoke more than a few words of Bangla, people always knew enough English to grasp the main points. Taxi drivers intuitively understood "meetair!!"

The climate of Nicaragua is slightly more hospitable than Dhaka. Six months of dry heat and dust, followed by six months of wet heat and mud. The only reason Managua smelled better than Dhaka is because there were fewer cars per square meter, fewer fires, and more breeze.

The people of Nicaragua are also much more friendly in general than those of Dhaka. The busses actually stop to let people on and off. Maybe being able to speak Spanish is also a factor.

Crossing Lake Nicaragua (Cocibolca) to the Costa Rican Border

Susan and I will board a boat this afternoon from Granada to San Carlos. We should arrive early in the morning tomorrow and cross into Costa Rica soon after.

Venezuela: US Intervention Explained
A Good Article on the History of Recent US Bullying

I get tired of reading about how Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez is, in the words of Condoleezza Rice, a "negative force in the region." This article. from Global Exchange outlines some of the main reasons why the US wants to subvert one of the strongest democracies in the hemisphere.

Check Out: US Intervention in Venezuela.

A Snoot Full O' Dust
And a Stomach Full of Rice and Beans
in the village of Achuapa (Northern Nicaragua)

Getting out of the capital was just what this body needed to feel well. Nothing like boarding a bus with a little rucksack and enjoying typical Nicaraguan fare, which, as one Nica acquaintance put it, varies considerably from meal to meal. For breakfast, Nicaraguans usually enjoy rice with beans. Lunch is often rice and beans. And dinner quite frequently is beans and rice. Not having a supermarket nearby, your narrator has had little choice but to chow down on only these magical fruits...

Cooperative and Village Life, and Nicaragua's First Local Currency?

After the fall of the socialist government in 1990, NGOs ("Non-gov'tal Orgs," "Citizen Organizations," or "Aid Orgs" have filled some of the basic voids here for basic social services like health care and education. Achuapa's farming cooperative, with over 200 members, is one of Nicaragua's largest. Getting to see the operations was one of the goals of this trip. The morning after I arrived, I introduced myself to a man outside the cooperative who just happened to be the director. Despite being busy with a proposal, we talked for a good hour about what they were up to.

The major problem in the village as he sees it is the devastating poverty and unequal wealth distribution. To change this, the coop is opening a brand new beautiful building to dole out micro credit loans so farmers can work their way to independence. Regular Nicaraguan banks require land ownership before they'll loan money. This place is community-based. People only need to show dependability and initiative.

They also offer medical services, training, and technical resources.
One of the more interesting of the director's current projects is a scheme to develop a local currency. He wants to "inject some fluidity into the local economy of Achuapa." To prove this can be done, he pulled out some local printings of Honduran Lempiras. To begin with, they might roll out the plan with 50 trustworthy families and go from there.

I asked whether this would make the local economy more or less vulnerable to recessions or other destabilizing influences. He said less. I am not convinced. I do see the value in protecting local production of rice and other crops as CAFTA (the Central American Free Trade Agreement) rolls in with cheap (subsidized) America agricultural goods, but I also see a risk in too many farmers growing beans and not enough offering other services. When Achuapa has no Walmarts skimming off local profits to send to share holders, do the benefits of creating a currency override the risks?. The director does hope farmers could eventually use their local currency to buy beer, but Nicaraguan micro brew culture is nowhere to be seen. So much for keeping the money local.

To get around legal barriers in creating a local currency, the coop will work with the municipality to create an ordinance. Overall, the village seems to be one of the most progressive and clean I've seen on this trip. City garbage cans line the street and an anti-litter campaign was visible and effective. It will be interesting to see what happens with this currency experiment and the village in general.

In the meantime, The Body Shop will continue to get its supply of sesame seed oil, as production of this mainstay crop begins tomorrow with a small diesel-powered production behind the coop's main office.

*content removed at subject's request* (September 6, 2006)

For stories on local currency efforts in Michigan, check out Passing the Bucks, Creating a Local Currency, and "Bucks" Looking to Boost Local Economy.