Log 4 - Central America 2
(May 8, 2003 - June 20, 2003)
HONDURAS
NICARAGUA
EL SALVADOR & USA
HONDURAS
May 8, 2003 - May 10, 2003 (Dana)
Our first stop in Honduras was Santa Rosa de Copán, the capital of the department of Copán.
There must have been something special about this place, but
it just seemed like a crowded, dirty and unpleasant big city to me. But the bus
ride there was phenomenal. Honduras is a very mountainous country, which
someone once described to Chris as having topography like a crumpled up piece of paper that has been
uncrumpled a bit. The change in terrain is noticeable almost immediately upon
crossing into Honduras, and my eyes were glued to the window watching the
beautiful green and mountainous scenery pass by. When we arrived in Santa Rosa, we
probably could have enjoyed it more if we spent more than a day and got to know
it better, but we were really looking forward to getting to our next stop, Belen Gualcho.
Belen Gualcho is the village where Chris lived and worked for two years while
serving in the Peace Corps back in 1988-1990. Despite forming some close
friendships and leaving with fond memories, he had not returned to Belen since
he left there 13 years ago. Rumor had it, however, that he had been eaten
by a jaguar in the mountains above Belen, and that’s why t
hey never heard from
him again. Chris heard of this rumor from a Peace Corps volunteer living
in Belen years later who wrote to try and debunk the story. Chris was surprised since he had said his goodbyes and told everyone he was
leaving. Maybe the rumor was just a myth. He never responded to the
volunteer and was sure they’d all
be pretty surprised to see him, presuming they even remembered who he was.
We took a bus from Santa Rosa de Copán to Corquin, a small town not far from
Belen. We got off the bus and asked a man how we could get to Belen from
there. He pointed to a pick-up truck that was about to head that
way, then asked us how we knew of Belen because he was from there. As soon as
Chris said his name ("Cristobal" in Spanish), the man said “I remember you – you taught me English” (in
Spanish). And so it began. He chatted with Chris for a while about some of his
memories of when Chris was there, and then led us to the pick-up truck. He
introduced us to his friend who would be taking the truck to Belen as well.
This second person also remembered Chris, saying that his sister was in Chris’
English class. As the three of us, among others, all stood in the back of the
pick-up truck on the way to Belen, the guy stared and Chris for a while then
said… “they're not going to believe it when they see you … they think you were
killed by a jaguar”. Apparently, the rumor was more than a myth.
About a half hour later, we arrived in Belen Gualcho. Belen
Gualcho is a remote and charmingly beautiful town located in western Honduras.
It forms part of Honduras´ highest mountain range, which rises more than 9,000
feet. Belen Gualcho proper is a small town with cobblestone streets, a store, a
school, a small hotel, a beautiful church, an empty jailhouse, and many modest
homes full of friendly people. The town is
surrounded by several small and
picturesque farming villages a little higher into the mountains. Chris was
pleased to find that Belen seemed to be thriving. A brand new central park was
under construction and almost completed, and they now have electricity. In
addition, they are said to have the best market day in Honduras.
After arriving in the center of town, one of the first places we came to was
Nelly’s store, which supplies the town with just about anything they could want
from the outside world. When Nelly saw Chris, she greeted him with hugs and
happiness that I am sure helped alleviate Chris of any remaining concerns that
he would not be remembered. They caught up a bit, as some more people converged
on the store to see Chris.
Our next stop was a block or two away to the home where Chris used to live. He
had become very close to the owners of the home, Aquilino and his wife Olivia,
who lived in a different house while renting out Chris’ house. Aquilino, in
particular, was Chris’ closest friend in Belen. One of Chris’ fondest memories
of Aquilino was from the night before Chris left Belen 13 years ago. Aquilino never
drank alcohol, so although they spent a lot of time together, they never had a
drink together. But before Chris left, Aquilino showed up with a six-pack and
said “today, we will drink together”.
When we arrived at
Aquilino's house, Abimael, one of Aquilino’s sons,
answered the door. Though he was just a toddler when Chris lived in Belen,
Abimael knew who Chris was and was excited to see him. He invited us in and
rushed to get his mom, Olivia, who was even more excited to see Chris. Next,
Chris was reunited with Guillermo, another son of theirs who was about 12 years
old when Chris lived there and used to spend a lot of time hanging around
Chris. Now, he was grown and had a family of his own. They all were very
welcoming and thrilled to see Chris, and they showed us around Chris’ old home
so I could see it for the first time and Chris could see the changes they’d
made. After spending some time together, we all decided that they would not
tell Aquilino, who was away at work, that Chris was in town, so Chris could show
up and surprise him that evening. On that note, we left Olivia’s house and
Guillermo took us down to his house to show us his rabbits, which, of course, I
loved, despite the allergies it triggered. After that, we left to continue our
tour.
We went back to the center of town where we met someone who did not know
Chris – the town sheriff. (No, we were not in trouble already, even though
that would make for a much more interesting story.) The sheriff was not
living in Belen back when Chris was there, but he was happy to meet us and took
us for a tour of his jail. The jail contained only one cell, labeled
“celda no. 1”, even though just “celda” would have sufficed. In addition
there were three young kids who were
very friendly and interested in us, and decided to escort us up the hill to
Belen’s cemetery, which would provide good views of the town. It was good to
have them along since Chris did not remember exactly how to get there. One of the three
kids was young enough that we had to carry him, making the hike up a little more
challenging. When we reached the top we were indeed treated to a great
view of the town, however we were not able to enjoy it for long as one of our
escorts became spooked by the cemetery, and we head back down the hill.
By the time we got back to town, word had spread. People came to their
doorways as we walked by to catch a glimpse of us, and those that knew Chris
would call out “Cristobal!” and invite us in. Many of them were people
that Chris didn’t even remember, but they were fun reunions to witness
nonetheless. I felt like a bit of a mute sitting there unable to say much since
I don’t speak Spanish, and they must have thought that I was awfully quiet. But
if they thought anything bad of me, it didn’t show. I was with Chris, so I was
immediately loved and treated like a celebrity.
In visiting with all the people that came out to greet Chris, it didn’t take
long to piece together the story that had spread about Chris’ demise.
Apparently, shortly after Chris left Belen a boot was found in the cloud forest
above Belen (Celaque forest). In that boot was a foot – a Caucasian foot.
Not knowing many other gringos, many assumed that it must have been Chris’ foot,
being all that was left of him after a jaguar attack. The only truth the story had in relation to Chris was that Chris and a
friend (Walt, a forestry volunteer) had once gotten lost in Celaque forest for
two days. However, they had returned to Belen after finding their way.
Maybe
the people of Belen thought Chris got lost in Celaque again after leaving. Who
knows. Either way, maybe it will be best if Chris drops a line once in a while
from now own so such rumors don’t spread.
That evening, we had dinner at Nelly’s where I got a chance to make tortillas
for the first time. It really was no big deal, but Chris urged me to give it a
try and seemed highly amused by my less than circular creations. Regardless of
shape, they still tasted just as good as the others. After dinner, we headed
over to Olivia and Aquilino’s for the big surprise. Aquilino stared at the
figure standing in the darkness at his front door, then said… “Cristobal?”
Aquilino approached and they greeted each other with a sincere embrace that said
“welcome home” without words. I received nearly as warm a welcome and was
touched to see these two reunite. We all visited for a while, while Aquilino
stared at Chris with pleased disbelief. We made plans for the next day to hike
through the mountains to a waterfall with Aquilino’s youngest son, Aquilino Jr.,
who is now the same age and appearance as Guillermo was back when Chris lived in
Belen. After that, we would attend a Mother’s Day celebration at the school
with Olivia. (Dia de la Madre is a big deal in Latin America.)
The hike to the waterfall took us through some beautiful scenery. Following
our young guide, Aquilino Jr. (who was a pleasure to get to know), we crossed
rickety old bridges over rivers, and passed a few highland farming villages. In
one of them, aldea Paraiso, we saw a man making Spanish-style roof tiles in his
yard. Chris walked into the yard and introduced himself to the man,
asking if we could watch him work. The man was happy to demonstrate his craft
to us, and called over his eldest son to help him show us how to make a tile
from scratch. It was really a treat to see how the tiles were made, but even
more of a treat to see how happy this family was to share their time with us. I
particular enjoyed the younger sons, who got a kick out of my camera and allowed
me to take some photos of them. They got even a bigger kick out of it when I
was backing up to fit them in the frame and stepped on a finished tile that was
on the ground drying behind me. I immediately tried to remold the damage I
caused, as they giggled in delight. After the tile-making demonstration, the
father told us that he knew who Chris was –his wife was in a women’s group that
Chris formed. With that, he invited us into his home so that his wife could
reunite with Chris. While Chris chatted with them, I spent more time hanging
out with the kids, who don’t require much from me in terms of Spanish-speaking.
When we finished visiting with the tile-making family, we went further into
the mountains to find our waterfall. It was a steep hike, and it felt good to
get some exercise. The lush forest scenery would have been enough to make the
hike worthwhile, but eventually we were rewarded with a tall, majestic
waterfall. We headed for the pool at the base, and one toe in the water was all
it took for me to know there was no way in hell I was going in there – it was
freezing. My fellow hikers, however, ages 12 and 37 alike, both had to show how
manly they
were and go in. After overcoming the dread I could see in their
eyes, they took the plunge. It looked truly painful and I thought they were
nuts, but I applauded their “manliness” nonetheless. Their swims
did not last for long, and after they got out, we ate lunch then hiked back down
the mountain.
After returning to town, we cleaned up and went to Olivia’s house to meet up
with her for the Mother’s Day event. We waited a while but she was not ready
yet, so we headed over to the school with just Aquilino Jr. The room where the
event was being held was already quite full, so no more kids were being admitted
and Aquilino Jr. had to wait outside. They let Chris and me in, and we sat
down in the large school room jam-packed with mothers. The celebrations
consisted of dancing, gift-giving and speeches, and I used all the strength I had
to keep from falling asleep, until the surprise at the end. A teacher got up to the microphone
and announced that they had two very special guests in the room – including
someone who helped found the school – and that everyone should give them a very
warm welcome. Yes, they were talking about me and Chris. Chris stood up and
received a round of applause. Did Chris really help form the school, you ask?
Well, the school was created while Chris was living there, and to meet certain
requirements it had to offer an English class. Despite his lack of teaching
experience, Chris accepted the community’s demand that he should be the one to
teach the class. I don’t know how effective the English teaching was, since
none of his former students seemed able to speak any English now, but they
still look up to him today and remember him fondly, which perhaps is more
important.
That helped bring home a truth that become much clearer to me in Belen:
perhaps more important than what a person accomplishes is how they accomplish
it. Chris might have done a lot of work while he was in Belen – designing and
building latrines and water systems, forming women’s groups, teaching English,
etc. – but what was more important to the people of Belen was who Chris was. He
was an outsider at first, but one who made every effort to visit every home and village and
really get to know people. He was a fun and likable person to be around, with
an undeniable love of and comfort around people, and a sincere desire to help in
any way he could. He is still this way today, and people love and remember him
for it.
Two days after arriving in Belen, the emotion
and celebrity-status took enough of a toll that it was time to leave. They
tried to convince us to stay one more day to be at their market day, but we
explained that we would have to leave early that morning. Our last night in
Belen, we stopped by Olivia and Aquilino’s to say our goodbyes. We came
inside and visited for a while, during which it became obvious that something
was in the works. Some family members were moving around hurriedly,
whispering and giggling under their breath. Soon, they brought a table and
chairs to the room where we were sitting, and then a cake appeared on the table.
We now knew why Olivia didn’t make it to the mother’s day event – she was baking
a cake for our surprise farewell party. (Baking a cake isn’t the easiest
thing to do in clay ovens with no temperature controls, but Olivia learned how
to do it from another Peace Corps volunteer and now sells them for a profit.)
We all sat around the table, drank soda, ate cake and took a few photographs,
before having to say the inevitable goodbyes. It was a sad and tearful
farewell, but there was happiness too for having had the chance to see each
other. We acknowledged that it might be another ten or fifteen years
before we’d be back, but that we would make sure that Chris did a better job of
keeping in touch in the meantime.
May 10, 2003 - May 15, 2003 (Chris)
We took the 5:30am bus out of Belen and said good-bye to
this wonderful place. As I did 13 years ago, I felt as if we were saying
good-bye to my home. We took 3 buses and traveled more than 8 hours that day
stopping in Santa Rosa de Copan and San Pedro Sula. Our ultimate
destination however was Puerto Cortes located in the northeast corner of the
country facing the Caribbean coastline.
We arrived in Puerto Cortes by late afternoon. I
don’t recall having been in Puerto Cortes during my service in Honduras. Since
it is the principle seaport for the country, I expected something a little more
lively. What we found instead was a sleepy little port town that looks like it
had its hey day 100 years ago. Near the turn of the century Puerto
Cortes, as a number of other cities on the north coast such as Tela, Ceiba and
Trujillo literally became banana towns where the banana companies had de
facto control over the business, services and politics. Architecturally, many
of the homes here are distinct. Relics from the colonial period when railroad
and fruit company executives lived here. Unlike most of Honduras, these homes
are large, wood structures, elevated on stilts perhaps four feet above the
ground. Incorporated into the window are large
wood slats to help control the
amount of light and ventilation into the homes. Most are decrepit and falling
apart but speak to wealth and privilege of the fruit barons that once ruled
here.
Our reason for going to Puerto Cortes was actually to get
to Tela. We could have easily taken a bus from San Pedro Sula but the
Cortes route would offer something a little more interesting. Every Friday
and Sunday at 7:30am passenger service is provided from Puerto Cortes to Tela on
the National Railroad trains. Honduras has 785 kilometers of railroad that were
originally built by the banana companies and consist of two separate systems.
The larger system, with almost 600 kilometers of track, was built by Standard
Fruit Company in the early 1900s. The government nationalized the Standard
Fruit line in 1983, renaming it the Honduras National Railroad (Ferrocarril
Nacional de Honduras--FNH). The other system, still owned by the Tela Railroad
Company, a subsidiary of Chiquita Brands International, encompasses 190
kilometers of lines. Both systems are located in the north central and
northwestern coastal areas of Honduras and provide freight and passenger
service. In 1992 Honduras announced that it and El Salvador would build a new transisthmian route to compete with the Panama Canal, but it never came to
fruition. All that exists are the railroads that were laid almost 100 years
ago. This would be a rare opportunity to take a ride through history and
we weren’t going to pass it up.
We stayed over night at a small, musty resort on the
beach. In the morning we caught a cab to the depot area. The depot was near
the seaport where dozens upon dozens of containers were waiting for loading with
names like DOLE and CHIQUITA Brand. The depot was an open elevated platform
littered with trash – not particularly attractive or picturesque. The train
arrived with five or six box cars in tow. Laying on the deck of the locomotive
was a large bundle of green bananas as if to remind us what these cars are used
for. Fifty or so passengers got on board, many destined for Tela or small towns
along the way in order to celebrate Mother’s Day with their families. This was
apparent from the numerous pink boxes sitting on the laps of passengers
containing cakes or pastries.
With the exception of the engine, the train looked like
something right out of the turn of the century. The passenger cars were riveted
metal with wood bench seats. I noticed a plaque indicating it was constructed
in 1957. On the side of the car it read FERROCARRIL NACIONAL DE
HONDURAS. When it moved, each car would push, pull and pitch in different
directions. There was no modern suspension on this antique. As the
train sped up, these opposing forces became counterbalanced as they fell into rhythmic sync. The
trek weaved through a panorama of banana fields, pastures and small towns. It
made frequent stops to drop off or pick up passengers and each time the opposing
movement to counterbalance process would start again. At one point we had to
stop to change trains. While we waited, I went into a small store to get us
breakfast. What did I get? Bananas of course. While we were waiting we
listened to tag-team evangelizing. Two guys with a bible, a microphone and a
very load speaker. After 20 minutes or so, one would pass the microphone off to
the other. By the time we got on the train again our ears hurt and we didn’t
feel blessed. I don’t think their mission was accomplished.
One of the great things about traveling in the developing
world is the lack of public safety laws. The real potential of losing a limb
allows for a much more exhilarating and enjoyable experience while traveling.
This would hold true for the Ferrocarril Nacional de Honduras. Each car had an
external platform with steps on each side used when exiting or mounting the
train. This was also a fun place to hang out when the train was at maximum
speed. I spent most of the train ride out on the platform as it was easier to
see the passing vistas. While I pretty much stayed on the platform and first
level of steps, some passengers would literally be hanging off the bottom step
of the platform with only one hand on the guard rail as they tried to catch
leaves from passing trees. The whole time I was out there I felt a strange urge
to climb onto the roof of one of the cars and duke it out with someone. I
refrained, however, remembering how easy it is to fall victim to a low overhead
passing tunnel.
We arrived in Tela that afternoon and unloaded at a French Canadian
hotel called the
Hotel Maya Vista. It was a bit of a hike up the hill and to our room on the
third floor, but it had a great overlook of the beach and town and the room was
nice.
I have some fond memories of Tela from visits years ago. The day after
completing my three month Peace Corps training a bomb exploded in the offices of
Peace Corps in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. It was planted by a group that claimed
Peace Corps was an arm of the CIA conducting psychological warfare in the
countryside. Faced with the dilemma of whether or not to close down, Peace
Corps ordered all volunteers out of the capital and major cities until it could
figure out what to do. A large group of us went up to Tela to spend the
Christmas holiday not knowing whether we would get to serve after having trained
so long for it. All I remember was that we got drunk continually for about a
week. After 3 months of training and the insecurity of not knowing what would
happen next, it was time to let off a little steam and that we did. Peace Corps
decided to stay and we all went to our sites - with a hangover.
Dana and I spent a more sober two days in Tela.
Tela has a lot of
history to it. Until 1976, it was home to the Tela Railroad Company still
owned by Chiquita Bananas. As I briefly mentioned above, the banana companies
had a big influence in the region. Chiquita, once known as the United Fruit
Company, had a strong hand in the governments of Honduras and Guatemala (even
executing the overthrow of a Guatemalan president). Bananas were the biggest
industry in Honduras for years (in 1913, two thirds of all Honduran exports were
bananas) making United Fruit Company and its competitors extremely powerful
players in Honduran politics during the first half of the 20th century. The
immense power wielded by these companies gave rise to the term "Banana
Republic", which was originally used in reference to Honduras and not to a
chic clothing line.
Dana and I caught up on some sleep and took a few strolls on the beach just
outside Tela and all along the Garifuna villages. The
Garifuna, also known as Black Caribs, are believed to be descendents of
black slaves who escaped from two Spanish ships that sunk in 1635. The Garifuna
culture has a look and feel distinct from the rest of Honduras, so we were
interested in exploring it. We had planned to stroll up the beach to one of the
villages but were told by a young boy on the beach that there are a number of
robberies that have occurred there, so we didn't go far before turning back.
There are other Garifuna villages that are safe and even have guided tours, but
we did not have time.
On Tuesday, we left Tela and headed south back to San Pedro Sula. San
Pedro Sula is considered the commercial capital of Honduras. As such, it has
all the accoutrements of a big city. We took advantage and went to a movie and
dinner the evening we arrived.
The next morning we got on a bus and headed south toward the capital of the
country, Tegucigalpa. The trip traverses perhaps two-thirds of the length of
the country. In Honduras, 90% of the land is on a 60% grade or higher,
something that is notable on the drive south to Tegucigalpa. Its
mountainous terrain and its abundance of pine and mahogany make it somewhat
distinct from other countries in Central America. 
Tegucigalpa is located
in the central mountainous region of the country. It sits 1000m above sea
level nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains. The name means “Silver
Mountain”, a reference to the silver mines that gave the city its prominence.
After my service in Belen Gualcho, I spent a
year and a half living and working out of Tegucigalpa. Dana and I stayed at the
Hotel Honduras Maya. It was once the most prestigious hotel in town, but
has over the last decade received stiff competition from newer and bigger
hotels. For $45 a night, though (a special rate offered all this year), it was
luxury at a bargain. We took full advantage of the room, swimming pool and
other services it offered. The Honduras Maya is fairly central which allowed us
to get most everywhere on foot. During the two days we spent there we walked to
the downtown area which, similar to all of the Central American capitals, boasts
a catholic cathedral with the municipal building sitting to its right. It has a
peatonal, or pedestrian mall, that starts at the church and heads west
for 4 or 5 blocks. We also strolled Boulevard Francisco Morazán and the Colonia
Palmira area near the hotel. Both areas have an abundance of restaurants and
small cafes of which we made good use.
NICARAGUA
May 16, 2003 - May 21, 2003 (Dana)
Although we had a short stay in Tegucigalpa, another of
Chris’ former homelands, we learned that I too would have an opportunity to get
to know it better. Chris’ former employer,
PCI, asked if he could fill in as head of their Honduras office
for a while. Since we were to have several months of down time in Central
America anyway, Chris accepted, limiting the time period, however, to three
months, so as not to lose sight of our sailing plans and personal projects.
Other than the fact that Chris would be working, the only real change was that
we would be spending three months (July – September) in Tegucigalpa instead of
Costa Rica, leaving us still with several months in Costa Rica. The only
real
downside was that since we had planned on arriving in Costa Rica in June or
July, my brother Loren and my friend Ischia were coming to visit us there in
August. However, we figured that we would still have time to get the boat down
to Costa Rica in June, before Chris begins working. Then, we could return to
Tegus for Chris’ work and bus it back to the boat in Costa Rica when visitors come. Chris
would only be able to stay there for about a week, but I could stay for as long
as visitors are there. So for the next several weeks, we were still on
track with our plans -- finish our month of land-based touring with a visit to
Nicaragua, get back to the boat in El Salvador, and sail to Costa Rica.
On May 16, we left Tegucigalpa and headed to Managua, the capital of
Nicaragua. That bus ride was pretty miserable. For starters, the air
conditioning was not working and they weren’t permitting us to open the windows,
since the air trapped inside the bus was about two degrees cooler than the outside air.
It got to the point, however, where it felt like there was no air left
inside the bus. And whatever air there was certainly was not cool. Feeling
like I would soon suffocate, I opened my window a bit to let some fresh (though
hot) air blow against my face and fill my lungs. Seconds later, the bus
attendant was at my seat demanding that I close my window. I argued that I
needed some air or I was going to be sick, but she wasn’t buying it. I closed
the window, she walked away, then I opened it again. A few minutes later, she
was back, and the same debate ensued. This cycle repeated a couple times. An
hour or so later, other bus passengers started supporting the cause, and we
perpetrated a successfully mutiny. Finally, the windows were allowed to be
opened and I was feeling much better – my lungs anyway. The rest of my body was
being bounced and jarred about by the pothole-ridden road we found ourselves on
after crossing the border into Nicaragua. That particular road was in worse
shape than any others we’d been on, and being in the very back of the bus only
accentuated the bumpiness. A couple hours later, the road smoothed out as we
neared Managua.
Upon arriving in Managua, we met up with our friend Leonel,
PCI’s country director for Nicaragua, at his office.
Leonel is Nicaraguan and has been very involved in Nicaraguan life and politics,
and has amazing stories to tell. (Lucky for me, he also speaks English, because
Nicaraguans tend to speak Spanish so quickly that it’s hard for even Chris to
follow.) In earlier years, Leonel grew up amidst the turmoil of the Somoza
regime in Nicaragua. He developed somewhat of a celebrity
status as a teenager when a photo of him with a gun held to his head execution-style by a
member of Somoza’s national guard was snapped and published in the newspaper.
During that time, Somoza was close to being overthrown, and his national guard was
terrorizing many Nicaraguans including young Leonel who
was trying to process papers when returning to Mexico to study medicine.
Luckily, he was not shot, since they found a credit card in his wallet and assumed
that meant he may have come from a powerful family. In later years, Leonel
became active in politics and was even a candidate for vice-president (for
Partido Renovado Sandinista). Now, in addition to heading PCI’s
Nicaragua office, he is a doctor and has a television show where viewers call in
with medical questions. Certainly, based on Leonel’s education, ingenuity,
popularity and endless energy, he could have done anything he wanted with his
career and made loads of money doing it. It says a lot about him that he chose
to focus on nonprofit work helping those who are less fortunate in his
country. In short, Leonel is an extremely interesting and likeable guy, and we
were looking forward to our visit with him in Managua. We were also
particularly looking forward to seeing his new little sailboat about which we’ve
heard so much. He got the sailboat for nothing from his uncle in Panama, and
that gift has turned into a saga of breakdowns, sinking, groundings, endless
repairs and costs, and continuing troubles that we’ve been following. Most
people would have given up on the boat by now, but it has become
his new baby
and he’s determined to nurse it to its full glory. (I have no idea how he finds
time for this.) Besides, there have been so many problems that it’s become
undeniably amusing.
After visiting with people in Leonel’s office, we were ready to go to
Leonel's home where
we’d be staying for the next few days. On the way home, however, Leonel
gave us a mini-tour
of Managua (more for my benefit, I guess, since Chris has been here before). Leonel loves his country and his mind is packed with interesting information
about it. He pointed out many sites that we would have missed on our own, told
us about types of trees we were passing, etc. He also took us to a view point
of Lake Managua, a lake almost as big as El Salvador, which is unfortunately too
polluted to be of much recreational use. He also showed us views of the
pleasingly cone-shaped volcano, Momotombo, which can be seen from various angles
while driving around. He also pointed out Momotombo’s little brother,
Momotombito, located within Lake Managua. Lastly, we took a quick drive through
Managua’s downtown, where only a couple tall buildings remain since the
destruction of most of downtown by an earthquake in 1972 (and a previous
disastrous earthquake in 1931).
Eventually, we arrived at Leonel’s home in an upscale neighborhood (by
Nicaraguan standards) with lots of trees and spacious homes, but no street names
or numbers -- something not entirely uncommon in Central America, I’m beginning
to find. To identify a home when sending mail, you reference the closest
landmark and then say, for example, two blocks east, one block north, second
house on the left. Wacky. Over the next few days, I was introduced to Leonel’s
family as they’d come and go: his wife Graciela, his sons Leonel Jr. and
Leopoldo, the ladies who work in his home, his driver, and three dogs. I also
met his sister Mariangeles and her son who live a few blocks away. Our first
night in Managua, Leonel took us to a great meal at a restaurant serving
typical Nicaraguan food, where I was introduced to some of the unusual but tasty
juices that Leonel enjoys. Afterwards, we went to a bar
("Mariachis"?) where various mariachi groups hang out and perform, and enjoyed
a few songs while drinking Cuba Libres. We then went to one more bar with live
modern music before calling it a night.
The
following day, Leonel and his oldest son Leonel Jr. (around age 17) took us to
Puerto Sandino to visit Leonel’s troublesome little boat. We got to
the town then drove along a dirt road hidden between the backs of some buildings
and a waterway. The road was flooded in areas due to high tide, but we
plowed through and made it to a small beach
surrounded by mangroves, where a rickety little dock in the corner of the harbor
led only to Leonel’s little boat. There was one other sailboat in the
mainly commercial harbor at the time, but it’s since sunken, making Leonel’s the only
sailboat in the harbor now. We hung out on the boat for a while, watching
workmen try to get the engine running while we taught Leonel and Leonel Jr. some
knots. Chris and I also performed a quick survey of the boat, and noticed that
the mast sat at a bit of an angle instead of sticking straight up. Leonel
thinks it probably was sticking straight up when he first got the boat, so
that’s one more thing he can add to the list of issues. As the weather
grew hotter, one by one we dove into the lagoon, swimming for a good hour or
so. Thankfully, we did not meet any crocodiles during our swim. Then shortly
before dusk, the workmen got the engine working so Leonel decided to take us for
a sunset tour of the harbor.
About twenty minutes into the harbor tour, the engine died,
and we all floundered around trying to get the boat to sail under almost no
wind. Within minutes, we butted into an island, which was luckily surrounded by
mangroves instead of a beach on which to ground. After getting a much closer
look at the mangroves than we wanted, Leonel Jr. swam the anchor out and dropped
it so we could pull ourselves away from the island. The first time, we drifted
back to the island pretty quickly. But the second time, we managed to maintain
some direction under sail long enough for them to get the engine working again.
We motored back to the dock and got a good chuckle out of yet another
misadventure of the currently nameless little boat.
After leaving the boat and grabbing some seafood dinner, we
went to a beach house owned by Leonel’s parents in a private residential neighborhood called El Valero.
It was a two-story house with a large terrace overlooking the ocean, and we
relaxingly sank into chairs and hammocks as we absorbed the view and quiet
serenity. We spent the night there, and drove back to Managua the next
day. On the way, we stopped in a town where "quesillos", a traditional
Nicaraguan dish, originated. A quesillo is a rolled tortilla with a mild
white cheese and
chopped onions inside, drenched in some kind of milky juice (you hold it in a
plastic bag
to keep the juice from spilling out). We each had a couple,
and Chris and I have not found any others as tasty as the originals since then.
A day or two after returning to Leonel’s house in Managua,
we joined up with another PCI Nicaragua employee, Christina, her husband
Rick, and their friends Brian and Ana, for dinner. Christina used to work with
Chris in PCI’s international office in San Diego, but she and Rick moved to
Managua a couple years ago. After somewhat of a
difficult transition into life in Managua, they made friends and settled in, and
even have a little
website commemorating their time here, which will be ending shortly when they return to San Diego later this year.
Their friends, Brian
and Ana, also used to work for PCI, but in Bolivia -- those PCI folks sure to
get around.
Our last night before leaving Managua, we went out for
Italian dinner with Leonel and Graciela. During dinner, we ran outside to
see a "Gigantona" -- a man dressed in costume as a giant woman who, together
with his mini-person sidekick, entertains people with wittiness, flattery and
dancing. We didn't have any cash handy to give them, so we didn't get a
whole lot of entertainment. But I did snap a quick photo. Then back at home,
we packed, and I took some last
photos of Leonel's funny little wiener dog with a dangling tongue.
EL
SALVADOR & USA
On
May 21, we left Managua on a bus headed back to San Salvador, to spend
another day at John and Ana's before finally returning to our boat
and getting ready to sail to Costa Rica. Little did we know that we were about
to be hit hard with something terrible that would change our plans drastically.
When we arrived at John and Ana’s house, we chatted briefly
then went upstairs to put our things in the bedroom. John and Ana followed us
up and then John said he had some bad news. I’m shaking right now just thinking
of it, but the words that followed were that Chris’ brother Mike had died.
PCI’s Nicaragua and El Salvador offices found out while we were en route between
the two countries and family members were trying to track us down. But having
arrived in El Salvador, we now knew and it was a devastating shock, even though
Mike’s physical condition over the last several years made it something just a
little less than completely out of the blue. We made plans to fly to Iowa
as soon as possible to attend the funeral and be with Chris’ family.
Over the next few days, we tried to carry on with the necessary arrangements
despite a depression that hit Chris hard and myself to a surprising extent as
well. Over the past year and a half, Chris had really formed a close friendship
with his brother Mike, with whom relations had been rather distant before. The
distance was due partly to having taken different paths in life and partly to
having always lived far away from one another as
adults (Mike in Iowa, and Chris in other states or countries). But in November
2001, Chris invited Mike out to San Diego, and they spent about a week together,
went sailing, and bonded in a meaningful way. During that same visit while
Chris was getting re-acquainted with his brother, I was meeting him for the
first time and began getting to know and love him as well. After Mike returned
to Iowa, he and Chris spoke on the phone weekly, and Mike would end each call
with “I love you brother”. He had really begun looking up to Chris and
wanting to be a part
of his life. Eventually, Mike decided he would move to San Diego so he came out
a second time in June of 2002, but matters in Iowa kept him from being able to
stay. We saw Mike again three months later in September, when we traveled to
Iowa for a family reunion organized by Chris’ dad. The reunion couldn’t have
been timed better, as three family members who attended have since died, making
the reunion the last time that everyone would be together.
The first reunion attendee who died was Chris’ maternal grandmother, Virgie.
She passed away unexpectedly in December of 2002, right before Chris and I were
to leave for Ensenada to begin our voyage. Instead, we went to Iowa for
Virgie’s funeral, not knowing it would be the last time we’d see Mike. Mike
lived with and was very close to his grandma Virgie, so he took her death
particularly hard. I stayed up late with him the night before her funeral, and
convinced him that it might help to write something out to say at the funeral,
as difficult as it would be. After I went to bed, he wrote a poem about his
grandma, and he stood up and read it the next day at her funeral. I never would
have guessed that the same poem was going to be repeated at a funeral for Mike
five months later. At least, however, Virgie’s funeral brought us all together
with Mike one last time. Likewise, Mike’s funeral gave us an opportunity to say
goodbye to Chris’ paternal grandmother Martha, who passed away just a couple
weeks later while we were still in Iowa. This has proved to be a mournful year
for Chris’ family.
May 21, 2003 - June 20, 2003 (Chris)
This has been a particularly difficult time for Dana and
me. Upon our return to El Salvador, John gave me the news that my brother had
died. Within a few days we returned to the United States and were able to
attend his funeral. Mike had asked that he be cremated. I asked his daughter if
I could take some of the remains to scatter at sea. She gave me the entire
contents and said “please take it, he loved his time on the boat so much and
would appreciate it.” My brother was a gentle soul who had many demons he could
not overcome. He visited us a couple of times in San Diego. The first time he
and I spent a week working on and sailing the boat. He had never set foot on a
sail boat before but he fell in love with it and continued to talk about over
the following year. The next time we are out at sea I will give him a sea
burial. He was a good person who is missed already.
We decided to stay for a month to provide support to my
mother. During that time my paternal grandmother also died. She was in her
80’s and suffered from adult leukemia among other ailments. I was glad we could
be there and visited with her days before she died.
Dana has been a big support to me and my family and I
couldn’t imagine doing this with out her. Most of our time has been spent
helping to figure out and set up my brother’s estate as well as helping with
projects on the small farm where my mother and stepfather live. For
father’s day, Dana returned to California to surprise her dad. She’ll
return this Thursday and we’ll head up to Chicago where our plane will leave for
our return to El Salvador. Once we return we will visit the boat and then
head to Honduras where I will be working for 2-3 months for
Project Concern International – the organization I worked for prior to this
trip. This will help take care of some down time and also increase our
kitty.
Back to Log 3