Blues in the Jungle

This week I find myself outside Napa Valley in Northern California adjacent to the cliffs of the Pacific Ocean. Not so long ago, a blink in the moment of time, I was on the same coast in a very different country.
I moved into my jungle cabin at La Mariposa between the tiny pueblos of San Juan and La Concepcion after two weeks with my local family. From my bamboo and rock walls I looked out at the banana trees and listened to the monkeys each morning. I would fall asleep under the swaying mesh of a mosquito net while the bats flew through the room and squeaked their presence. Evenings were spent rocking in hammock chairs upstairs on a balcony overlooking gardens while new friends drank cheap rum, listened to great blues and waxed poetic about present experiences and future dreams.
My Spanish lessons momentarily stalled while I explored people, culture and land- never realizing that was part of the lesson too. I learned to let go. I danced every night with anyone that asked me and if no one was asking I grabbed a willing partner and moved to the sounds of Latin spice that made me come alive with ferocity.
I met people from this country that eagerly opened their lives, excited to share their friends and their culture. Ready to laugh and have fun anytime and push a little language lesson into my head over cold beer or orange Fanta in glass bottles. I visited with the family that prepared the maize for the tamales they sold on the street. After a stroll through town I stopped to purchase the finished product and revel at the amazing flavor.
After leaving La Concha I made my way to the Pacific Coast for a stay in San Juan del Sur. Walking along the beach, listening to the raucous waves crash against mighty rocks felt like coming home. The sun set in vibrant hues of orange, red and yellow over a white-capped sea. I spent the week in a quiet hostel where the surfers lounged around downstairs waiting for the next ride and the wind off the Pacific howled me to sleep.
Every morning started off at the local market eatery with a $3 breakfast of coffee, rice and beans with eggs, tortilla and avocado. Each day brought a new adventure. Sometimes it was exploring the rocks surrounding the coves to find a hidden cave. One day was renting a beat up bicycle for a bumpy ride out to a hidden beach to learn to fish and kayak surf the waves. Most days were capped off with (or sometimes begun with) a guava daiquiri on a patio overlooking the beach. One of the most memorable days was an impromptu fishing trip on a small boat where I caught my very first fish. Guided by local Nicaraguan dudes and a friend willing to let me use a fishing rod I trolled for fish in the Pacific. A pod of dolphins found us amusing and surrounded our boat as we followed the birds to the schools of fish swimming hidden below us. When we anchored next to a small rocky island within sight of Costa Rica I caught my first fish with a hand line and felt my world shift around me.
Once again I am changed by my adventure. Very little will ever compare to the romance I associate with listening to blues in the jungle with good people, feeling the tug of a fish at the end of a hand line rocking in the waves of the Pacific or sharing a piece of fruit with a family that just picked it off their tree. But of course I will continue to pursue that which brings such contentment to my soul.

Staying busy

It's amazing how busy a person that has no formal employment and few responsibilities can be.
Since my arrival in Nicaragua I have done so many different things and experienced so much already.
After getting settled in with my family we developed our routine. I get up in the morning and they have breakfast for me before I walk to the school. In the evenings we attempt conversation. During one of these talks they asked when my birthday was. When they discovered it was the day I arrived in Nica they decided to throw me a surprise birthday party. Unfortunately I got sick quickly and was out of commission for a couple days where I laid in bed and they nursed me back to health. When I was finally well the fiesta was on! We walked to another neighborhood to pick up a pinata and candy to fill it with. Back at the house the pinata was strung up and an amazing cake was brought out. On the cake was written Happy Birthday Jasmine in Spanish. A huge crowd of all the neighborhood kids came for the party. Then the music- Latin dance music- and the first little girl was blindfolded, given the baton and prepared to face the pinata. This tiny little four year old swung at the pinata as my friend yanked the rope up and down to tease her. In between swings the little girl would dance and twirl around to the music. Many little kids took turns and then it was my turn. I was blindfolded and then tried to hit it. Everyone yelling "bailar, bailar" or "arriba" to get me to dance or swing the baton up. Finally the bigger kids took a turn and the candy broke free. By tradition I made the first cut of the cake and then it was passed around. Later in the night I was brought back to my feet to attempt some dance lessons. We laughed, danced and acted silly in our house full of women and children. It was the best birthday party a girl could hope for.
My schedule consists of volunteer work at the garden in the mornings where I catch a micro bus to the neighborhood and back to the school for lunch and afternoon lessons. So far my work has included going to the beehives to see the honey (the richest, most floral sweet treat ever), watering plants by hand, raking leaves and burning them, painting signs to post for the children in the daycare. I work with Pedro, a gardener and handyman, who speaks no English and is very patient teaching me Spanish. Pedro tolerates not only my lack of English but my tedious gardening habits. As a city girl that has grown up mostly in apartments and condos I have limited gardening experience. When presented with the rake I shuffled the dirt around and got a few leaves. He showed me the efficient way to rake and I became an expert. There is a beautiful harmony that develops in my head when I work with my hands. The feeling of accomplishment coupled with my mind being free to wander bring a sense of joy.
The other day a couple young fellows wandered in and greeted me in English. Joseph is 18 and studying English. We worked on his homework together. He asked if he could be my friend and I accepted. He is now my sidekick at the garden and helps me with my work. He says surprisingly profound things. He asked me what the purpose of my life was this year. Completely caught me off guard but I thought about it and we had a great conversation. He said something about me being pretty and I tried to fend that off by saying I wasn't. Earnestly he said to me, "why would you say you are not pretty? All the people of the world are pretty". His sidekick, a small guy for 13 years old, carried a slingshot which he used to shoot at the chickens. He let me borrow it to shoot at the trees and fruit.
Last Sunday I got to go horseback riding up the hills for a view of the volcano. We rode through the dusty neighborhoods out to the fields where everything was multiple shades of green, gold and browns. Up on the vista we dismounted and looked out at the volcano and the ground below that was scarred from previous lava flows. It was spectacular.
Spanish lessons are coming along. I understand so much more than I had hoped for but the speaking is coming along slowly. I am a work in progress.
Emotionally I am touched every day. Pedro took me to meet his friends who were sorting mandarins for the market. We tried to visit and laughed more. Before I left I was given two bags of fruit as a gift.
This country grows on me more all the time. The foreign beauty I'm beginning to understand and respect. The people I have come to see as family.

Learning to Adapt in Central America

I have arrived in Nicaragua. People in my home country want to know why I would choose to come here. Isn't Nicaragua a scary, dangerous, third world country? The answer to all of those questions can be complicated.
Since beginning my adventuring I realized knowing only English can be a disadvantage. I also learned traveling around Europe that I still lived and traveled very comfortably. There were almost always people that could communicate in English, a comfortable bed and hot shower, first class transportation options. I might as well have been in the US for all the discomfort I didn't suffer. The next part of my decision making process involved evaluating my cultural interests. I've always been intrigued by Latin culture. While in Montana I began the search for international Spanish language schools. Of course Spain was top of the list but at this point of my unemployment it was too expensive. I researched Central and South American options and accidentally stumbled upon La Mariposa which happened to be in Nicaragua. The reviews of current and past students were outstanding as well as the website explaining their mission. After doing a bit more research I found Nicaragua intriguing for its volcanoes, lakes and turbulent past. I emailed the owner, a British ex-pat named Paulette, and she set me up with a home stay. And here I am...
Yes Nica is a third world country, second poorest in the Western Hemisphere behind Haiti and yet it has a lower crime rate than the USA. I was warned, however, that it wasn't wise to be in the capital, Managua after dark among other places.
I booked my flight out of Miami strategically to arrive mid-afternoon and requested the airport pick-up from the school which lies about one hour outside Managua in La Concepcion. As I watched American Airlines continually delay the flight it occurred to me I would be arriving just in time to drive out under the stars. The flight took only 2 1/2 hours and I was here. Breezed through Customs and found the guy holding the butterfly sign just outside arrivals. We had to wait for a second passenger who was actually on my flight also. Shannon from Maine made it through and we piled into the mini-van and took off into the night. Roads are insane: people on motorbikes, families on a single bicycle, horse drawn carts next to huge old American school buses jammed with passengers all trying to traverse pot-holed, bumpy roads.
Driving out of town we saw so much that I wouldn't have seen during daylight. Impromptu fiestas, little arcades, many street food vendors, a couple of giant Christmas Tree light displays with a massive sign topper saying Viva La Revolucion 2011. People hanging out with nothing to do but drink, smoke and get high. Little families eating or buying snacks roadside. All of this before we arrived in La Concha where we were introduced to our host families and placed in their care.
I met Elisabeth, a teacher at the school, in the home she shares with her family. It is a concrete block house with a corrugated tin roof that lays over the top. There are naked light bulbs which are used sparingly to illuminate the area currently being used. I was shown my private bedroom (there is one other bedroom and a main room in the whole home) which has a comfy little bed, locking wardrobe, small table and chair and a curtain over the entryway. I have no door to my room. The back of the home empties into a dirt courtyard which is lined with many green plants and pours into the homes of the other family members. There is a kitchen of sorts where meals can be prepared. The lavatory is a composting hole in the ground with a blue tarp over the entry. Bring your own paper with you girls. My first night in I was led to the toilet room via flashlight and they threw a seat over the opening for me. After that I was on my own. I was also shown the shower. That experienced will be reviewed momentarily...
After getting settled in to my bedroom a group of us walked to another part of the neighborhood to meet more family and eat dinner. In a tiny concrete room sat a tiny gas stove where delicious food was being prepared. I was treated like an honored guest. They broke out the little table for me to set my plate on and I was served before everyone. All of the little kids eyeballed me while I received my meal of rice and beans, fried plantains, fried chicken and salad of cabbage and tomato. They were so proud to prepare me the typical dish of their country. Everyone attempted to speak to me in Spanish and practice with me. I was introduced to multitudes of little children who were in turn shy and curious. It was almost exclusively women in the house until after dinner Papa stopped by to meet the gringa and give me a polite kiss on the cheek which smelled of cerveza. They laughed after he left and told me he had muy cerveza haha. It was an exciting night and already I'm learning to understand and attempt a language that seems to foreign.
Yesterday I met the gardener at the daycare where I would be volunteering five days a week. He is an old Campesino with some good stories of the Revolution if I can get my Spanish up enough to understand. He will put me to work in the garden later this week helping install some water pipes, tend the botany and whatever else comes to mind. I believe I'm also going to get to help him extract honey from the hives. All of this each morning before coming back to the school to study language in the afternoons.
Last night I returned home where we went for a walk to the store. When we passed one of the fruit stands my friend asked me if I liked pineapple. I told her I loved fruit so she bought me a pina de Nicaragua and presented it to me as a gift with a hug. It was absolutely beautiful.
This morning I finally decided I couldn't delay the shower any longer without risk of offense or infection. When I woke up I asked to use the shower and Elisabeth proceeded to fill the big bucket with a hose. Before I go any further I should be honest in admitting I never wanted to be in a place where I couldn't take a cold shower. I always crank up the hot water to scalding in my showers and let my skin prickle from the heat. When I realized I not only would use a bucket shower but it wasn't heated there was a passing moment of panic. I entered the shower room with the bucket and smaller bowl and stared. There are no instructions for this kind of thing. How do you use a small bowl to wash everything? And so I dipped the bowl in, bent my head and dumped tepid water over myself. I didn't drop from the cold, nothing awful happened to me and I figured it out. Of course it isn't that difficult at all. And the amazing part of all this... I looked down at the bucket and realized I only used maybe two or three gallons of water. Bucket showers are totally efficient and sooo much more environmentally friendly in this water-deprived community.
As I lay in my humble little bed attempting to sleep amidst street noises, animal sounds and people hanging around outside I turned on the iPod to drown out the noise and try to sleep. I realized what a strange world I am in where I am living in the most humble of homes and listening to an iPod which probably cost more than the whole house earns in a month. And yet they are happy and proud to share with me. I hope I can in some way return the favors and blessings they bestow on me so regularly.

The Wild Bird

Many years ago there was a wild bird. She wasn't exotically beautiful in plumage nor did she have an exceptional song, however she came from a wild and free flock. This wild bird was just beginning to taste the sweet freedom of leaving the nest. She had barely begun to spread her wings when she began to admire the sparkling glimmer of a gilded cage. "What a lovely, safe place to rest", she thought. She entered the massive cage and partook of the luxuries that such a place offered. The bird keeper who owned the cage provided the best quality comforts available. He kept his wild bird company, made sure she was warm in winter and always kept ugly matters to himself to avoid ruffling her delicate feathers.
As the wild bird looked out of her cage she realized how tame she had become. "How very calm my cage is", she would say to herself. But over time she would look out the window at the blue sky with billowy clouds floating by or see wild birds flying free through the trees to destinations unknown and wonder if she could survive in the wild.
The bird keeper noticed as her brightness faded and her song became more hushed. He couldn't understand why his lovely bird no longer appeared with bright eyes to greet him. He had done the very best job he knew to take care of a wild bird. He had given her a palatial bird palace; he spent everything he made to give her special delicacies; he listened to her every whim and didn't ruffle her feathers. She had always rewarded him with a special bond of companionship. And now- she was unhappy.

It was an unexpected day when my bird keeper unexpectedly left a hidden door in my cage open. Had he unlatched it intentionally before he woefully left for the day turning to look at me with sad brown eyes before closing his own door? I had no way of knowing that he was giving me the key to fly back into the wild freedom I had just a taste of so long ago. I had no way of knowing how frightening it could be to leave the safety of my beautiful cage and enter the reckless unknown. Would my wild cousins embrace me or shun me? I was soft and groomed from a delicate, caged life. I would need to learn to provide for myself in a dangerous world.

And now she is free. She flies dramatically sometimes gliding on currents far, far above and sometimes resting in a quiet place of her choosing. There are moments when she reflects on the luxuries she left behind, the soothing company of her bird keeper and then her freedom seems a little less sweet. For now, however, she will continue to explore a magnificent planet that welcomes wild birds that flock to destinations far and near.

American Girl

While I was in Europe I made a concerted effort to disguise my American-ness. My best compliments were being asked if I was from the UK or being mistaken for Scandinavian. I realize I should be ashamed of this attitude but I was inspired by all things European and wanted to believe in the myth at the time.
Returning to the USA I am learning what it means to rediscover my own country, appreciate the beauty that is my home territory. Embarking on a road trip from Southeast to Northwest is a sure way to finding home-grown highlights. It also solidified an even more important path I've been developing for myself.

I love contrasts, juxtaposition of old and new, visuals that cause the mind to think harder, question the real picture and accept the poetry of the dichotomy. This has propelled me on to the path of the real American girl. The real American girl knows how to load and accurately fire a .45 but empathizes with human rights focusing on women's interests. She knows how to shoot a compound bow without letting chandelier earrings get in the way of her aim. She isn't scared to be alone or get dirty working on a project outside but knows how to put on Manolo stilettos for dinner. She understands the delicate beauty of feminine sexuality is balanced between a smart, hard fought confidence and investing in high quality lingerie. This bad ass girl will not be trampled but will hold her own in a competition. And if she is beat then she will work that much harder to get better.

While in Montana I was invited to a gourmet dinner with new friends. Each course was presented by our hostess (an incredibly talented chef and baker) with an enthusiasm and vivaciousness that excited everyone. The main course was comprised of white tailed doe she had shot herself and then cooked in a Guinness sauce with a side of butternut squash and a fried sage leaf. The final course was a delicate flour-less chocolate dessert with homemade cardamon ice cream. Following dinner she invited all the guests downstairs where we were all encouraged nee' required to shoot one of the various bows, air pistols or other hand weapons available. The bow was presented to me with the same exuberance which the meal had been shared. The women at this dinner are leading a charge on a rough-hewn path to being real American girls.
I am dusting off the cobwebs of corporate ambition and apathetic attitude towards personal growth to uncover what has lain simmering below. I aspire to follow in the footsteps of those women. Who is with me?

My Finale

I spent the last couple of days of my adventure in Amsterdam...on a houseboat. Since visiting the city back in September I was enchanted by the charming houseboats lining the canals. When I learned they could be rented I made a silent commitment to myself to come back to one. Due to the French strike against extending retirement age by 2 years, my departure from Spain was delayed by 2 days and thus my time on the houseboat severely limited. When I finally arrived my host showed me my quarters which were adorable. It was set outside of the city in a residential island with other houseboats. The bakery around the corner had amazing croissants, pastries and coffee. After getting settled in I went to dinner at a quiet cafe with candlelight, a glass of wine and three course dinner including oysters three ways. The next day I wandered over to the Waterlooplein Flea Market next to a canal with its hodgepodge of old and new. I investigated the used book tent, elbowing old men perusing Dutch titles while I scoured the stacks for English.
It was cold outside when I returned to my houseboat flat, turned on the radiator and opened a bottle of wine. My last night in Europe I celebrated with cheeses from the tiny Dutch market, olives and other snacks. The sun set while I sat in the wheelhouse reading my book.
I spent 85 days visiting 11 countries. There are important lessons learned while traveling an extended period of time that translate to my life in the future. Patience is imperative. Waiting for trains, delays, mono linguistic disability (my American defect), spontaneous plan changes all require patience. I learned to free myself to savor small details and stop looking at the clock. I figured out it was ok to dance when I have no rhythm because it's FUN. Laughter makes me happy and brightens me from the inside out- no matter how loud it gets. And it is infectious. I visited places and saw things I had always wanted to see. But I became empowered by the journey.

Espana

I have spent the last three weeks exploring, lounging in and embracing Spain. From the Catalunyan region to Madrid and south to Andalucia it has become my home.
I arrived in Barcelona for a short visit before I left for Madrid. I instantly fell in love with the city so I knew I would return. With Gaudi's designs seemingly springing out of some whimsical dream onto street lamps, buildings and even the sidewalks it felt as if the city was breathing art. I went for a walk along the beach, sat at a cafe watching jets practice for an air show over the water and realized how significant this moment, this place is. I would come back to Barcelona before leaving Spain to really soak in the city and explore the avenues, alleys and squares. There is a great square called the George Orwell Plaza- actually shaped in a triangle- where my friend Melissa and I ate at a couple cafes, had a beer in a bar where the tables and walls were decorated with street art and sat around people watching. The city is magnificent for its mix of people, poor and rich, art students, old bums hanging around chatting in Catalon and everything in between.
I've already mentioned Madrid, but it was from there I took the day trip to Toledo to explore the walled city. In addition to visiting the mosque, museums and other sites I was on a quest for marsapan. Not ordinary marsapan- this was something special I stumbled on through my limited research. In some of the convents in Toledo the nuns make special dessert treats out of marsapan and sell them directly from the convent as they are not allowed to leave. I had a list of some of the convents and made it my mission to find them. This is a very old tradition that is at risk of dying out unless it is supported so naturally I wanted to do my part. It involved a delicate process of locating the convent, ringing the intercom out front and when answered asking to enter for "dulces" and then finding the secret window inside where they would sell them. Well I did find a convent and it was every bit as exciting and quaint as I imagined. Once inside there was a cabinet with all the sweets available and next to that a window which the nun opened to accept our request. All I can tell you is that was the best marsapan I have ever tasted and I will never look at almonds the same.
Heading south I visited Seville and Granada. There is an entirely different air about Andalucia. The architectural influence of the Moors, the beautiful ceramic tiles, relaxed atmosphere all inspire a traveler to slow down.
For me Spain is art, music, history and so much more- but above all Spain is passion. There is a passion for their culture whether it is Catalunyans fighting for independence from Spain, a flamenco show in Seville, laying on the cafe con leche colored sand at Sitges watching sailboats dance on the water or a siesta so we can eat dinner at 10pm and go dancing until 5am- it's passion.
I'm inspired by Spain- motivated to study life and art, slow down to savor my glass of wine and good conversation, challenge myself to continue growing.
See you soon Spain, you'll always be mi amor.