In which I tell the tale of what is quite possibly the stupidest souvenir ever
What happened was, in talking with other travelers in Nicaragua, I learned that there was a chocolate-making class in Granada. The truth is, this is kind of idiotic, as Nicaragua, while known for its chocolate beans, is not particularly well-known for it’s chocolate, which is mainly processed elsewhere. And even though Nicaragua is known for its chocolate beans, these beans (and the fruits that hold them, and the trees that support those) does not grow well near Granada, as it is too hot. And oh, is it too hot. But I digress.
Revisiting Managua, a market, a church, sunshine, and some hibiscus tea
Managua was important to me. For years, it was the city in Latin America that caused me the most discomfort. I remember arriving there in 1993, and feeling like I couldn’t get my brain around it. There were insistent people, shoving us into Soviet-style Lada taxis, which we joked were called that for their similarity to latas (cans).
Feria Report, Jan 2013, fresh from vacation version
Coming back from vacation brings me back immediately to two important things. Laundry and the feria. Today’s feria foray smelled like basil and melón calameño (cantaloupe) and ripe peaches and sometimes tomatoes. And occasionally, fish, but I speed past that part because despite eating it, I still haven’t gotten my brain around cooking it. I have two friends who cook it very well, and when I’m feeling deprived, I like to hit them in the chin (pegarles en la pera=pop over without invitation, though in actual fact, I do wait to be invited).
A little perspective on falling down, and privilege. This time in Nicaragua.
In Nicaragua, I realize, the world is not out to get me, but that I have to adjust my expectations, learn to ask the right questions and learn to watch my damn step.
The thing you can’t find in a guidebook. That thing is you.
She was terrified. She was uninformed, ill-prepared, and, not speaking the language, practically mute. And in this picture, she is taking a boat from the town of Livingston, Guatemala through the Bahía de Amatique, to Punta Gorda, Belize. And the waves were sometimes taller than the boat, and we pulled across the troughs of grey water and she thought, “does anyone even know we’re out here?”
When you’re not here, you’re fuera
Fuera is a strangely empty word, lacking in information, a way of saying “not here” as opposed to “in this other place.” But nobody really knows where you were.
Photographer ambles in the rain in Santiago. Takes pictures. Gets wet.
Taking nighttime photography in Santiago in the rain.
Getting a view of Talca, figuratively and literally, from the Río Claro
There used to be a bridge over the river in Talca (the Rio Claro), but it got old, and fell into disuse, though you can still find beer bottles and the occasional tombstone (no, I'm not kidding). After a while, a new bridge was built, shiny and with metal railings,...
El qué dirán–What will people say?
One of the things you can imagine about living on an island, or in a small community, is that you'd better watch what you say and do, because if you don't, someone's going to tell your momma. Or if not tell your momma, they'll gossip about it themselves, and peer at...
I had a great trip to Chile. I’m back in Santiago now
Sorry about the lack of posts, I went to Chile for a few days. What? Don't I live in Chile? Well, kind of. I mean, I live in the largest city, within 100 miles of more half the population of the country. When I think of Chile, I think of Santiago. But it's not fair....
