I was involved in two pretty interesting conversations with Ruy and Plutarco while in Nicaragua. They spanned about three days, but below you will find the gist of them both. I traveled with a friend who wrote up the conversations in dialogue form, as my Spanish leaves lots to be desired.

Ruy:

On Evangelicos

Ruy: “There are a lot of evangelicos here. You know, the people here have a lot of illiteracy and no education. When the evangelicos come, the people don’t know any better. They take, and take and take and the people just flock to the church and give what little they have to these thieves; puto evangelicos estupidos.

More after the jump.

I fly home tomorrow, so this is the last batch of photos from Nicaragua. Enjoy!

SP -- your comments on Nica's crime situation are spot on. In an earlier incarnation, I covered all of Central America (well, never made it to Belize....) for one of the analytical arms (OK, chose your own body part) of the USG. At the time, Nica in the run-up to the return of Comrade Danny and was a particular favorite of mine. The Nicas are probably the most interesting of the Ladino groups in the region.
The lower crime rate CAN in part be traced to the socialized medical & educational programs the Sandis brought in. Another factor is that Nica expats during Danny's previous time at the trough departed the country as family units (middle class & all that). More important, most settled in Florida -- not the west coast, where local gangbangers were a dominant influence.

For a long time Nicaragua has had the lowest crime rates of any Latin American country. I don't know if that was a function of a semi-socialist/communist history or the simple fact that there just isn't much left to steal in a country when a former president pilfered the state coffers of $100 million. (Yes, that is chump change back home, but here?)

Sadly, crime is on the rise and Conservatives back home, while they love to berate Daniel Ortega, they'd love the privatization of the police function here. From a Nica Times article, October 2-9 issue:

The communications officer for the National Police of Granada, Luis Carrillo, says citizen security is not just the police's responsibility. He says that everyone has to work together to ensure 'citizen security.'

Might I suggest to Officer Carrillo that he import some gun-toting white southerners for his vigilante justice project?

Have I mentioned how uninspired I am when it comes to writing? I think it's the heat. It's downright devastating. Singapore was hot and so was much of the area around the Straits, but this heat? Good grief. I had a hard time finishing my pancakes this morning it was so hot.

I've never been a big fan of the rum. At least until I tried Flor de Cana, the local Nicaraguan brand of rum. It's nice and goes down smooth. I should know, some surfers and I polished off a full bottle a few nights back on the beach at El Popoyo.

I might be a convert. The only problem is I seem to fall in love with local blends, like Yeni Raki, that are well nigh impossible to get at home.

Life is rough.

On a side note, yesterday, for the first time in my life I was corrected by a local for calling myself 'an American.'

"I know you are an American," Walter told me. "So am I!"

Soy Tejano, then," I said.

He looked at me with his head cocked to one side. "Huh?"

"Texas," I said.

"Oh, you are a Norteno," he said.

"Sure thing."

He does have a point. Of course, I've heard 'yanquis' and 'gringo' here in Nicaragua more than anywhere else in my life as well.

Had someone told me twenty years ago when I was majoring in Russian, ready to fight the Cold War and all that, that twenty years to the day I would be spending my 39th birthday in a Nicaragua where Daniel Ortega was president and enjoying myself immensely, I would have laughed in their face.

Alas, here I am. 'Tis a strange life and a stranger world. Lots of new photos from the Lago De Nicaragua here.

More photos from Granada, here.

The vile shit we do in the name of national security is beyond me, sometimes. I’ve visited a lot of countries in which our national security obsessions have led to all sorts of misery, but here in Nicaragua it seems the most futile. What harm did this desperately poor country ever pose to us? A little Cuban influence? Or Russian mercs running around in the hills? As Ruy told me yesterday, “Soy no Sandinista, pero if I have no job, I vote for Ortega.”

That says a lot for a guy who was pressed into the Nicaraguan army to fight the Contras. “Three years I spent in the mountains, fighting that puto Ronald Reagan. Pablito,” he tells me,” I love you Americanos, but Reagan was el grande puto.”

Ruy likes that word, he uses it with a large smile, his little Ortega inspired mustache hanging from his upper lip. He’s got an infectious hand-shake and at close to 50 years old has the energy of a 20 year old.

We drive for an hour and a half from the beach here at Popoyo to Rivas, the only place within a hundred kilometers with an ATM. “Yeah,” I think, “capitalism has come to even Nicaragua.”

More after the jump.

I figured I better post a photo of me working, as opposed to doing nothing, which I seem to be pretty good at!

More photos of sunsets, geology, surfing and landscapes can be found here.

A couple dozen new photos are up.

There is nothing so hideous as waking to the thumping bass and screeches of of foreign music at six in the morning. But after 36 hours of no electricity I can't blame the Nicas (short for Nicaraguan) for wanting to revel in it. That, however, didn't help my headache. Or my first morning in Nicaragua.

My room is terrifying. Ants scurry across the floor. The shower is little more than a PVC pipe pumping out sulfurous swamp water. The sheets are clean, but only in a tentative, hand-washed way. The rafters leak mosquitos. The wash basin is filled with the accumulated grit of years. I don't think it has been cleaned since before the Sandinistas overthrew Somoza. The toilet has no seat. Surf boards and bottles of empty rum are scattered helter-skelter.

I stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed and coated in sweat out to the veranda and ordered coffee. I lit a cigarette, dragged deeply as the nicotine and tar at the very least woke up my lungs. I surveyed the sights around me.
The wind blows up dust devils in the dirt road. Thatched huts line the beach. Blue skies and bluer water ripple out all the way to Hawaii as tropical clouds jog penitently in the sky. Alfonso argues in the kitchen with his mother. Coconuts cling to branches while the water in the mangrove lagoon behind me splashes softly onto sandy banks. A pair of Magpie Jays roost in the branches while a small heron and sandpiper feed on the banks. A fish kicks out of the water, snagging a wayward dragonfly. A hammock swings in the breeze beckoning me to waste my day in its embrace.

I'm tempted.

More after the jump.

New photos up here.

I left La Fortuna at 615am. Yes, that early. I took the bus from La Fortuna to Penas Blancas, a small frontier town along the Costa Rican-Nicaraguan border. It was a slow bus ride, taking about six hours. I arrived in Penas Blancas about noon.

From La Fortuna down the mountains to Guanacaste the flora was a uniform, high canopy, interspersed with small farms of guayavas, papayas, carrots, onions, peppers and the like. But as I entered the flatlands, high semi-dry grasses proliferated. It was dryer too. Still lush by Texas standards, but the grasses had a golden edge to them and the trees looked windblown. The bus stopped frequently, crawling north between parallel mountain ranges. Cool highland breezes gave way to lowland humidity and stifling heat.

The people changed in the lowlands too. Where they had been more Spanish looking in the highlands and along the Pacific Coast, here their looks took a decisive turn to the indigenous. Lean body frames, thin noses, light eyes and wavy hair were replaced by by thick straight tresses of black hair, coal eyes, short globular frames and flat noses with flaring nostrils.

More after the jump.

My latest Texas Monthly story is up, here. Enjoy!

I'm off to Nicaragua tomorrow and will be out of pocket until Tuesday. My next Texas Monthly story should run this week. My latest Guardian story was supposed to run late last week, but I think the Iran news pushed it back. I fly home from Managua on the 8th of October. So my regular blogging schedule will resume then. I'll keep you all posted.

Lots of photos today. Hopefully I'll get a story done as well.

My favorites?

I'd be lying if I said the one above of the lizard wasn't one of 'em. By the way, all the animals in the subsequent photos are from the wild. None, except the kitty, are in captivity.

This one of the Arenal Volcano is nice.

And this one is for Don Henry Ford, Jr. Horses!

I love Vermillion Flycatchers. And this one of the Broad-billed Mot Mot? Probably the finest bird I've ever seen in the wild. I wish the colors weren't so washed out in the photo.

No photo collection is complete without food, this of a fine anti-pasto overlooking the Lago De Arenal, taken from The Country Store, owned by ex-pats from Arizona.

Cumulonimbus!

Finally, the hot springs at the foot of the volcano, known as Tabacon de los pobres.

Enjoy!

A year ago today I was in Kuala Lumpur. It was day two of what turned out to be the second leg of my year long journey from Singapore to Amsterdam and then home. Day one was spent in the old spice trading town of Malacca. Much has changed in that year, but then again, not so much. I'm in a town tonight that's not to terribly different from a hundred other towns I visited over the last year. Although, I confess, the view of the Arenal Volcano is pretty impressive. As a matter of fact, it's the first active volcano I've ever seen. And a big, beefy strato-volcano it is. Tropical jungle gives way to evergreen forests about half way up. After the evergreens it's pretty much a slush of ash and smoke. I hate to keep speaking in platitudes, but there is something even more impressive seeing it smoke. When a breeze rolls in at night and sends the tropical rains scurrying away the light show is like a giant Fourth of July sparkler several thousand feet up.

I'm feeling a little guilty today. I'd planned, upon waking, to head off to the jungle, do some bird-watching, take some photos and maybe end the day bathing in hot springs. Just your typical work-a-day life. But I got sidetracked and ended up doing a whole lot of nothing except a little Friday Cat Blogging. That just won't do.

More after the jump.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

My first story in Texas Monthly is now up and running.

Enjoy!

And I have some new photos up, here.

If anyone can identify the woodpecker in the attached photo I would be very grateful!

Sorry for the slow posting. I've got two stories that will more than likely run this week, one at The Guardian and the other will be announced upon publication.

I hope to have some photos up tomorrow or the next day as well, although tomorrow is a full travel day as I head up to Arenal and the big volcano there.

The good news is Nicaragua looks increasingly likely, so I'll have some good stuff to post from there.

More soon!

Here's today's photo dump! Access to the internet is sketchy. Hopefully have a post up tomorrow.

New photos here.

From the travel journal:

I feel like a wimp. The waves were huge in Santa Theresa and I didn't surf much. Then again, I am not a big fan of the feel of a cement truck's worth of water crashing atop me. No worries.

Lots of clouds, lots of waves. Not so much sun. But there is coffee and coffee is good. I woke up to the screech of parakeets in the treetops and the whisking of a broom on the porch below me. It's nine in the morning and already the humidity and heat are tearing sweat from my pores. And although the Ticos (Costa Ricans) are Latin Americans, they aren't like the Mexican's at all. I don't know why this surprises me, but it does. Growing up in Texas I usually associate Spanish speakers with Mexicans. The Ticos are much more laid back than the Mexicans. They also don't have much indigenous blood in them, very Spanish looking. I asked someone if there was much of an native population left here. She said, "nope. Not much at all."

The ferry collected me in a small bay beach, a bare-bones fiberglass fishing boat that sits eight. Three young Israeli surfers and a thirty-something couple from England are headed, like me, to Montezuma. The sky cleared for the entire journey. Clouds jogging along Pacific horizons, serrated mountains a pale emerald green in the distance. It's the rainy season and I am grateful for the sun. I did get to chase an iguana the other day!

More after the jump.

The surf part of the trip is over for the time being. There is not much of a story here and I do have work to do, insofar as what you can call what I'm doing work.

And while I do enjoy surfing, it's just not the same without Reyes' tequila-sodden antics. (I'm not a big fan of rum.) Hell, I'm exhausted at the end of the day and wonder how in the world Reyes and I carried on for a week and a half down in Mexico. Besides, I can’t hardly tell a surfing tale to one of the magazines I’m down there writing for. Really, what do middle-aged housefraus from Dallas really care about a divorced, late-thirty something man on the tail-end of his early mid-life crisis, down in Costa Rica surfing and drinking, chasing iguanas across the beach and monkeys through the jungle? Said hausfrau would probably be more interested in my writing an expository essay on the prostitutes in Costa Rica, better to understand why her husband is spending so much time in here.

Tongue planted firmly in cheek, folks.

No really, today I'm headed off to Montezuma, which sits on the southern tip of the Nicoya Peninsula, a boot looking spit of land kicking its way into the Pacific Ocean. I'm planning on a hike through the national park there, waterfalls, howler monkeys and lots and lots of birds.

If any of you have been down here before and have suggestions feel free to chime in in the comments section. I'm always game for something off the map, beaten trail, or whatever you want to call it.

More soon.

Just another day at the old office.

I had dinner with this woman in Singapore last year. I've met some amazing people in my time and she is certainly at the top of the list. Few women have her courage and passion. And few people, men or women, have her intelligence. Her profile in the Times is worth a read.

Although, I have to add, there is an tone of whimsical dismissal in the profile. As if a woman couldn't have a full, rich life living on her own? Without a man? That's bullshit--if she doesn't need a man, she doesn't need a man. Who am I to say otherwise by implication or not? Also, the thing to keep in mind is just how patriarchal a place Singapore is and how much courage she has to live the life she leads. That's not to be underestimated and it is to be applauded.

Photos can be found here.

Last night was a riot. Sleeping in the jungle always is. There were at least 10 different animals howling, cackling, wailing, chirping and singing in the night. Two different kinds of frogs, howler monkeys, birds, dogs barking, crickets, and a pool full of big bullfrogs who's croaks rose and fell like the crescendo of a Beethoven symphony.

Don't cry for me Costa Rica. Although I do have an all over, generalized body ache. The waves down here make those in Mexico look tame in comparison. I spent the day surfing in the whitewash, that area of the surf between the big waves (3 meter swells today) and the beach. It is a nice long beach break here. And I am nothing if not a rank amateur.

It's a strange little town. One long strip down a dirt road. And it's full of Israelis. Last night was Rosh Hoshanna and I saw a few Hasidim walking the streets. Talk about an incongruity. Of course, most of the tourists here are young Israeli men at the height of fitness, post-military service. It's hard to be out in the surf with 'em sometimes. I'm not in the worst shape in the world, but not like that. And then yesterday as I was paddling out a girl, and I mean a pre-pubescent girl, less than 12 years old paddled out past me, turned, got up on a wave and surfed it like she owned it. Me? I just generally flail about in the water. But I am having fun--which I kind of feel guilty about because I am actually down here on assignment. So, the surfing will end in a day or so and I'll head inland to investigate and write a few stories on eco-tourism here. Expect lots of photos!

Speaking of, yesterday I attempted to upload some photos, and at about five in, the connection for the village died. But I did manage to get them up today.

Activity is the enemy of reflection, but I've dedicated some time to writing today so I'll do my best to conjure up a post or two here shortly.