Semana Santa

One of the best parts about living in a country that is predominantly Catholic is Semana Santa, or Holy Week. Yes, we have the entire week before Easter off. Originally this was a holy time for spiritual reflection, but in its modern incarnation it is a time when all Nicaraguan citizens flock to the beaches.  And who am I to eschew Nicaraguan cultural traditions? Unfortunately, a week of vacation does not compensate for the distance from my loved ones this time of year; but I made the best of it, anyways.

In my first big vacation trip in Nicaragua, I journeyed out to the isolated Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua, to the city of Bluefields. I have described Bluefields in previous posts, since it is where Caroline is currently living. In summary, it is extremely different from the rest of Nicaragua not only for its isolated location, but because it was settled by freed African slaves and had more colonial contact with Great Britain and the US than with Spain, giving it a unique cultural flavor. Most residents are dark-skinned Creoles who speak the Creole dialect, a form of English without all the pesky grammar rules that make teaching it so difficult. The journey to Bluefields is epic. I left on Friday night for the capital of Managua, and almost didn’t make it – it was a special religious holiday in the port town of San Jorge in honor of a saint named Santo Jesus del Rescate. To celebrate, groups flocked to the beaches of San Jorge, and to accomplish this they hired all the buses in the region. As such, there were no buses left running the regular routes, and it was after dark by the time a bus finally stopped for me. And even then I had to sprint half a block and elbow my way on, something I am very good at from my time in China. But I finally made it, and the next morning at 6am I departed on a bus for Bluefields. Well, not all the way to Bluefields; after 5 hours, the buses arrive at a town called El Rama, where all the passengers disembark and sprint to a ticket window to reserve seats on the pangas, small boats that transport one the 90-minute trip up a river to where Bluefields is situated on the coast. Pangas are fairly small motorboats that fit 20 passengers crammed into 5 rows, heaven forbid if you have excessive amounts of luggage. The wooden benches one sits on begin to be really uncomfortable about 15 minutes in, a discomfort that even an improvised towel-cushion can’t alleviate.  

Robi, Alba, and I on the panga. We were among the handful of people actually wearing the life jackets. I hope the Peace Corps sees this...

All things considered, our trip went as well as could be expected – I slept most of the bus ride, then we managed to get seats on the very first boat to depart, which as luck would have it was also the only one with a covering to protect us from the brutal sun. Caroline has horror stories about taking the only other bus available, which leaves at 9pm from Managua, then drops the passengers in El Rama around 3am, leaving them to wait 3 hours in the dark for the first boat to depart.

There were 5 of us in total staying at the Hotel Caroline: myself, Alba, Robi, Isabel, and of course Caroline. She has a fantastic set-up in which she occupies the entire second floor of a beautiful home, complete with wrap-around porch and hammock. The only downside is that the entire city lacks running water, so we were bathing and flushing toilets by bucket. It was of course wonderful to see all of them, as always, and they are my best support network when it comes to sharing experiences and frustrations from our sites. And of course there are always the tales of cultural misunderstandings and bloopers that are bound to occur and will be retold for the rest of our lives.

It became very clear from the start that this trip would be all about eating. Bluefield cuisine is famous for utilizing coconut milk, most notably in the pan de coco (coconut bread), which comes in two varieties: regular pan de coco and the sweetened bon, which bear a pleasant resemblance to cinnamon rules. We consumed at least 3 of these daily. 

Top shelf: pan de coco. Bottom shelf: bon.

Bluefields is also famous for its fish and shellfish, something I readily believe but cannot personally confirm. One of the highlights of our trip was a special traditional lunch of rundown prepared by a friend of Caroline’s counterpart. She even prepared it specially with the fish apart so I could enjoy the sauce, which was extremely tasty with a coconut milk base. The highlight of the meal was when we witnessed Caroline, who was gamely eating the honorary fish head, suck out a fish eyeball for the first time. She made a very satisfying sucking noise, which was recorded on video for posterity. She said it wasn’t bad, but I noted that she didn’t eat the second one.

Bluefields has yet to develop many attractions to bring in tourists, which is unfortunate because it is such a cool and unique place in Latin America. The event it is most famous for is the Palo Mayo, the May Pole celebration on May 1^st. I had the privilege of witnessing a portion of the May Pole dance performed by some campers at the Access Camp in January, and it was an awesome spectacle. I think a dinner theatre would be a perfect and culturally respectful draw for tourists. But luckily for us, we had a local tour guide who took it upon herself to give us a cultural tour of her city. Our first cultural experience was a baseball game between the coastal team and a visiting team from Masaya. Everyone tells me that baseball is king in Nicaragua, but in the two places I have lived it’s soccer that the people love. Not so here. The stadium was packed with enthusiastic fans and vendors selling goodies at much more reasonable prices than in the US. Unfortunately the home team lost the game in a regrettable come-from-behind surge, but it was a double-header and we heard that they won the second game. 

Caroline, Robi, Alba, Carol, Lisa, and I at the baseball game. Lisa and Carol are friends of ours who arrived in the TEFL group of volunteers last year, and happened to be in Bluefields at the same time as us. We are sitting in the first row, which was annoying because the vendors always stopped in front of us to watch the game during the most exciting moments. But it was very easy to buy snacks: fresh mango for me, tasty-smelling meat pouches for everyone else.

Our second cultural experience was a trip to the beach. Although Bluefields is technically an island, it has no beach front, so anyone who wants to go to the beach takes another panga across the bay to a place called The Bluff. I loved it because we were virtually the only tourists, there was plenty of shade, and the water was unbelievably pleasant for swimming and frolicking. However, despite repeated applications of sunblock, none of us really understood just how strong the sun was until the burns emerged. I made out the best of all of us, with only some red on the back of my legs and a little on my back from when I was playing in the waves. But now it’s faded into a nice tan, yet another step in my quest to look like I belong in my host family (ha!).

And then, all too soon, it came time for me to return on Wednesday. I only stayed for half the week because I wanted to spend Maundy Thursday – Easter with my host family, and to see how the week was celebrated on the island. Plus I was seriously worried about the lack of public transport any later in the week. 

Back on the island, I finally made it to the tourist destination “Ojo de Agua”, a natural spring transformed into a swimming area complete with overpriced refreshments for sale. I went with my two host brothers, Moises and Francisco, and we spent a relaxing day swimming, reading, and generally doing nothing. Three of my students from my advanced community class work there, and they obligingly slipped me an orange juice and a lunch for free J

Now for the more spiritual aspects of the week. Good Friday is celebrated by Catholic islanders with a large Via Crucis, or Stations of the Cross. I accompanied my family in the name of cultural experience, but was not adequately prepared. The beginning of the route was about 2 kilometers away, and then it took about 90 minutes to visit each of the flowered crosses placed along the route. Also, it was sunny and hot and on the main highway of the island, which means that trucks of tourists were constantly driving through the middle of our procession. And of course we had to kneel on the pavement at every station; I brought an empty corn flakes box so I wouldn’t get my pants dirty. But I did enjoy the solidarity of walking with the people from the community and experiencing their traditions. It was also cool to see that a couple of my students were leading the ceremony. And I’m getting pretty good at saying the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary in Spanish. Later in the evening there was another procession to commemorate the death of Jesus, called the Silent March. I didn’t participate, but I saw the procession carrying the image of Christ in the tomb, walking silently with only a sole drum to indicate their passing. On Sunday there are more processions, but of a more joyful character: the faithful divide into two groups. The men accompany a figure of the resurrected Christ around the city, while the women accompany the figures of Mary and Saint John. They finally meet joyously in the park, where people celebrate by shooting off fireworks. However, apart from these religious activities we did nothing special and had no big meals. Which is probably a good thing, our pigs will get to live a little longer…

Now for updates in my regular, day-to-day activities: the most unfortunate is that I managed to aggravate my long-running hamstring injury while lifting weights with Caroline in Bluefields. This is now the third time I have pulled it, and it feels the same way it did in 2010. Will I have to spend another 2 years rehabilitating it? Will it ever heal? And this is an especially bad moment for me because I have become so passionate about my long runs in the morning, I’ll have to find a substitute to maintain my sanity and mental well-being.

Other than that, another new development has been the addition of a new brother to our family. His name is Francisco, and he is the 24-year-old son from Felix’s former marriage. He first arrived in February to stay for a week, then never left and planned to stay here for a while, but now it seems he will be leaving next week to return to work in Costa Rica. We’re all sad to see him go; he has a gregarious personality that brightens the house, and we all adore him, especially Moises. Plus he does a lot of chores in the house, and I’ll probably have to take up the slack once he leaves…

Disclaimer: As I was traveling with friends who love to take pictures, I felt no need to replicate them. However, many of these photos haven't made it to facebook yet, so stay tuned.

Other updates: I have posted several lists on the "pages" section of my blog including: 

- Class was cancelled today because....

- How to Ruin Clothing in Nicaragua 

- How to Sustain Bodily Injury in Nicaragua.

Enjoy!