Well here I am again sitting in the VIP lounge at north terminal Gatwick. Sipping coffee and contemplating the task ahead. Have I completed all the things I had to do before departing? The todo list is ticked off so I suppose I must have. Have I packed everything I will need?, no, I forgot the gloves, I'll survive without them.
Checked in, my bag gets lighter every time. 16.6 kg that's lighter than my packing for the Sahara, not that that mattered anyway as the airline lost it. Less for them to loose this time. I have leg room, an exit seat next to the window, excellent and booked all the way through to Managua. At least I won't be disturbed by the weak bladdered passengers heading for the toilet every 5 minutes.
I didn't sleep well last night and am feeling quite tired, does this mean I will sleep on the fight? I doubt it. No wifi in this lounge so no emails to check, they will have to wait until I get to Houston. So for now it's sit back, drink the coffee, read the paper and await the call.
15:00 hours local time 20:00 GMT. I'm .now in George Bush airport Houston Texas. Weather is 60 plus. In VIP Lounge downloaded emails and responded, had glass of wine and now settled back awaiting Carol (Momma C) thought she would be here by now.
The flight was terrific, a Continental 777-200 . Seats about 360 people I think. If there were 50 on board I have over estimated. I didn't see another soul the whole journey. I had the exit seat and felt as though I was on my own private jet. If only every flight was like that. Not good for the carbon footprint but easy on the stress levels. Although those of you who know me, know that I don't do stress.
Nearly an 11 hour flight and once into my book (The Kite Runner) the hours slipped away. I also believe I slept for about an hour, now that's unusual. So it's time to settle down and await the next connection. Departs at 17:30 not long to wait. May get in another glass of wine before the gate calls.
I found Carol at gate E6, although I had given her instructions to meet me in the VIP lounge, she thought it looked as though it was only for important people so didn't enter. No problem, at least we met at the gate.
Again the flight was not full and Carol moved up to sit with me in an exit seat. Once in the air I dozed for the entire journey.
On leaving the airport we jumped into a cab and headed for the hotel Carol had found in her Lonely Planet guide. The fact that she could not get a response via e-mail or telephone should have been a clue. A $17 cab ride later through some dodgy looking streets and we were sitting outside a closed down hotel at 9pm in the evening.
The streets reminded me of Costa Rica, iron bars, razor wire protecting tin shacks with rubbish everywhere. Open drains and pot holed roads.
Outside the hotel we were greeted with the sight of a young lad with what looked to be a home made baseball bat across his shoulders surrounded by his entourage of admiring younger wanabe's. At this point it could have turned either of two ways.
By the time I was out of the taxi the leader with the bat was standing in front of me. "Full" he said in broken English. It looked closed down to me but maybe that was just his English. You go with my brother, his house, 2 down, follow him.
I'll take a look I said, but if I don't like it I'm off. I left Carol in the car with the luggage and followed the brother. Actually it was not too bad. Looked clean, 2 rooms en-suit, one at $15 and one at $20. At this point I had been travelling for 23 hours and the sight of a bed was good enough.
I returned and paid off the driver, smiled nicely at the guy with the bat and shook his hand, mucho gratius I said in my best Spanish. You're welcome he said, (dammed Americanisms get everywhere.) As it turns out he was local vigilante security. There is one on every street corner in that area.
I suggested Carol took the $15 room as the pound is stronger than the dollar. The only difference I could see was that my room had a double bed and a single whereas her room had two singles.
The room was rough rendered walls (even I could have done better) painted green, probably with a 9" brush. It was splashed all over the brown doors and skirting boards (at closer inspection these turned out to be painted directly onto the wall). The door itself looked home made from old pallets. The ceiling was covered with wooden panels nailed around the edges and sagging in the middle where it was not fixed. A single strip light hung in the centre of the room.
The en-suit was something else. Brick built as an afterthought, not reaching the ceiling and lit by the strip light. A WC with a broken seat, but again at least it had one. A sink that was hanging off the wall, only held in place by the plumbing and of course no plug. A shower built into the corner. Cold supply only but in these temperatures that was fine.
There was a window in the main room looking directly at the street, and yes the iron bars were in place. Power cables hung from the ceiling with a fan and a TV attached. The only thing that looked as if it had been installed with care was the tiled floor.
On the wall was a picture you wouldn't even put in a boot sale, 4 daffodils in a glass tumbler with what looked like a roaring fire behind them, all finished off in a plastic frame held together with sticky back plastic (no product placement in my story). Either side of the picture were two candle holders, obviously they are used to power cuts here.
I threw my bag on the double bed and unpacked my sleeping bag. Nylon sheets, why do you think I always travel with a sleeping bag. I hit the single bed and tried to get some sleep. It's 86 degrees at 21:15, hot & humid, but I slept through the night. Woke at 4 am and dozed until 7 am.
Killing time today, awaiting the arrival of Terry and subsequently the rest of the team. The idea was for Terry to call me on my cell phone. No signal, T mobile told me it would work. Orange didn't work in Costa Rica and now this. This may cause a problem, I'm out of contact with the office and Terry can't find us. There has to be a way around this.
Carol and I walked the streets thinking how much this reminded us of Costa Rica, right down to the vendors trying to hustle you into there stall or store, kids wanting Cordoba's (not the drink but the cash). But it's all in days life here and you just get used to it, ride it out and smile a lot. The local word is "tranquilo" it covers most applications but "no problem" "chill" you can imagine the rest. It's amazing to see the young guys checking in their guns at the entrance to the banks. Every store has a gun toting minder on the door just like Costa Rica.
We took lunch in the Crown Plaza an expensive up market hotel restaurant, but they had wifi and I was able to access my e-mail on the laptop and send a couple of replies, also one to Terry telling him where we were staying as we decided to take another night in the dodgy hotel. I also went into the mall to buy a local sim for the cell phone, even they didn't work. I feel as though my right ear has been severed.
Following that we took a taxi to the monument district. You want dodgy, it doesn't come much dodgier. Plastic city on the waste land, dogs roaming excuses for streets, feeding of the rubbish left by the homeless. (and they too feed of the rubbish so not much left for the dogs).
This whole area was devastated in the earth quake of 1972. It was never rebuilt due to the cost and the inevitability of another quake.
But the biggest problem was that the president collected all the world aid and pocketed it instead of rebuilding. This is a city without a heart, no downtown as the Americans would say, no centre.
The Cathedral survived but was so badly damaged that it is off limits to tourists. When I saw it I understood why. The Cultural Museum was fine, it had only suffered slight damage whist all around it collapsed.
Back in the borada area we found a bar and sat for a cervasa (or 2) great place, I was helping myself from the fridge and going behind the bar to open the bottles, such friendly people I thought, or do I mean lazy!!. We were soon joined by an American who was living there for a month or two depending on how he felt at the time. He was well travelled and had many stories so time passed quite quickly. On leaving the bar, the three of us found a cafe bar two stops down and spent the rest of the evening there, the food was good, clean and with a friendly service although the building was constructed of wooden off cuts and looked like a ghetto building. We split about 21:00 as Terry may call our hotel, I had left him the number by e-mail, no such luck, still no contact.
Walking back through these ghetto streets was fine, perhaps a little silly. The answer is don't stop, keep walking. It was not a problem, we arrived at our hotel without the slightest hitch. Perhaps the guy with the bat recognised us as his brothers guests.
The following morning Terry made contact. He was in Granada, so we arranged to meet up at the Crown Plaza bar at about 18:30 hours. This was not to be, we arrived at 19:20 but then this is Nicaragua. He was gone and even though I booked him a room at our hotel he still didn't arrive by 23:00 hours so tomorrow is another day, we shall see what happens then.
Carol and I had taken the 3 hour bus ride to Jinotega (city of mists) set in a fertile 1 km high valley in the mountains. At an exorbitant cost equivalent to £1.60 each way. The steep drive up from Matagalpa is one of the most scenic in the country.
We used a local bus, no luxury here then. Packed with locals, luggage, trays of vegetables, tyres, you name it, it was secured to the roof. Every now and again someone would join the bus and make there way through selling coke, or tortillas, perhaps fruit. When we stopped at the traffic lights or in a small town, vendors would offer up there home made dishes of food to the windows and people would grab a dish and thrust money into the vendors hands. It was pure theatre, entertainment all the way.
This is Managua's main coffee growing area. Along the roadside you would see coffee beans laid out to dry in areas called patios. Woman were turning them with long broom like implements and then when dry they would be dragged up in plastic sheeting ready for packing. I have never seen so much coffee in one place, it's amazing.
Arriving in Jinotaga we arranged to meet the bus at 16:00 hours for the journey home. It was then time to find a small taverna for lunch. I have never had Fajitas the likes of these. No pancake, no salsa, sour cream or guacamole. No sizzling chicken and onions. What I got was chips, rice, salad and chicken in a batter. But then this is Nicaragua not the local tex mex.
Carol jumped a cab to deliver the plastic bags she has brought from Washington. She read that there was a project here that used the bags to make woven plastic bags and sell them to fund their school. Whilst she was away on her mission I moved on to the plaza in front of the church. I can hear live music and am determined to find it. Over to the far side I found a group of guys playing drums and brass. They were banging out a great Latino beat. It turns out they are drawing a crowd for a car sales event set up at the side of the Plaza.
I moved across to the band stand, much like any you would find in an English park. Sitting on the step watching the people promenade and the children playing, the sun beating down on my face, this was good, that word came into my mind again "Tranquilo".
Opposite me there is a young lady sitting with what appears to be her grandmother. The young one trying to take a picture of them both on her phone and then showing them to the elderly lady who smiles approvingly.
Each time I look up from my note pad the elder one is looking in my direction. I must be a novelty to her as this is not a high tourist area. An ice cream vendor wheels his cart around the pathways, stopping to converse with me, I couldn't understand a word but he laughed a lot and I laughed with him, we shook hands and flashing his gold tipped teeth in a wide grin he moved on.
Street vendors are starting to set up on the perimeter of the plaza as more people arrive. Children are playing on the swings and roundabouts and a group of young lads settle into the concrete bench and table in the corner. One wearing an "Arsenal" shirt. Kids are the same the world over.
Murals on the walls of the old Samoza Jail serve as a reminder of the revolution years. A monument to the Sandanista leader Carlos Fonseca stands amid tall trees between the labyrinth of pathways.
The Sandinista National Liberation Front is a Nicaraguan political party founded on the broad leftist principles of the popular front. Their organisation is generally referred to by the initials FSLN and its members are called, Sandinistas. This term comes from what the Sandinistas termed the anti-imperialist struggle of Augusto César Sandino during the 1930s.
It led a broadly based revolution that in 1979 and overthrew the Somoza political dynasty. Following their seizure of power, the Sandinistas ruled Nicaragua for roughly 11 years from 1979 to 1990. First they ruled as part of a Junta of National Reconstruction. Following the resignation of centrist members of this Junta, the FSLN effectively took exclusive power in March 1981. In 1984 there were democratic elections in which they won the majority of the votes. They established a new national constitution. Today the FSLN remains one of Nicaragua's two leading parties. The FSLN often polls in opposition to the Constitutional Liberal Party, or PLC, which represents a roughly similar portion of the Nicaraguan population. Although the FSLN was voted out of power in 1990, its revolution affected many facets of Nicaraguan society and its legacy has left a lasting impression in the country. In the Nicaraguan general election, 2006 former President Daniel Ortega was re-elected President of Nicaragua and the voters brought in the country's second Sandinista government. Ortega was elected President with 38.7% of the vote compared to 29% for his leading rival Eduardo Montealegre of the Nicaraguan Liberal Alliance. Here endith the history lesson.
16:00 hours arrives and having met up with Carol again, we head for the bus and home. Three hours later we try to locate Terry at the arranged location. No Terry, I'm sure he will find us at the airport tomorrow.
Carol and I arrived at the airport just before the designated hour. Finally Terry showed up to great shouts of "Raymondo", he's not a quiet guy at the best of times but having not seem him for some 14 months it was man hugs and greetings at an elevated volume.
The rest of the team arrived on the flight from Houston. Terry was off on walkabout when Regan our HFH contact arrived. I spotted his HFH "T" shirt and made myself known. The rest of the day was spent travelling to Esteli which is going to be our home for the duration of the project. One stop for lunch and on our way again.
A Few Team Members outside the hotel on Esteli. Regan is front centre
On arrival at the hotel, we checked in and found our rooms. Terry and I are room mates, Very much like the first room except the banio (bathroom) was larger. It even has a kitchen sink. The room dark brown in colour with an open framework ceiling exposing the corrugated steel upon which the second floor is located. A strip light and fan hang from the steel supports. no where to hang anything the room is bare except two beds. What more do I need?.
After settling in we all went for walk around town to acquaint ourselves with the location. On the way I had a long and interesting conversation with Regan, he's a cool guy. As a teacher of English as a second language we have no problem communicating. That is except his English is American so the inevitable comparisons pervade the conversation
Over dinner we expand our conversation and cover likes and dislikes in music. Regan is a guitar player and singer. He even enjoyed the diverse taste in music I have on my mp3 player, he must be a good guy.
As a devout Christian he finds me a bit of an anomaly. He was left speechless on hearing that I am a none believer. The conversation intensified to cover theology. This theme was to continue over the next few days. Each of us being intensely interested in each others position on the subject. I like this guy, so unpretentious, a true kind hearted and caring person with strong convictions.
Sunday was spent meeting the families of the homes we were to help build. First at the orientation held at the hotel where we were greeted, thanked and welcomed to Nicaragua and Esteli. We then toured the homes and saw the various stages of construction they were at.
Once again the poverty was apparent. There is an Unemployment rate: 38% plus underemployment of 46.5% here and the land has been raped by former governments who left it baron and wanting.
The home owners are a teacher a doctor and families with respectable jobs but who can not afford to get beyond the poverty housing they currently occupy due to the cost of land.
At this point you may be thinking what are we doing here, but believe me I have seen the homes these people currently occupy. You wouldn't even put your dog in one. This is all about money and politics. Poverty exists at every level. Our mission is to help eliminate poverty housing and this is some of the worst I have seen at this level.
We walked around the area in which the new homes are currently being constructed. Each family indicating which one was theirs. One of the owners was keeping up on his motorbike. And yes I did get to take it for a short off road expedition.
The farmers of Sri Lanka and India at least live on their own land even if it is in mud houses. These people live in wooden shacks on rented land. It is totally unbelievable.
The land upon which we are building was once a farm captured under the revolution and held by the government. It is now being sold to the people in plots. Surprisingly the Mayor has made it possible for these and other families to move forward by providing land at a reduced cost, payable over a reasonable number of years interest free. Most have built timber shacks on the land plots but those that are fortunate enough to be in the HFH project are now getting new homes under the HFH programme.
Following our tour it was back to the hotel for lunch and for Regan and I to continue our discussion. He is a very proud man who loves his family and admires his two sons. I am sure he is the type of person who will make a difference to this country someday. I may not believe in his god but I certainly believe in him.
The team is made up by Marlin, I worked with him in Costa Rica, great guy. Norioco a tiny Japanese lady from Washington, known to Terry as the dynamo. Tony, a friend of Marlins, a truck driver by vocation but a trained brick layer so he will prove a useful member of the team. Brian a real estate agent. I like this guy, he talks intelligently and sensibly. We must have a lot in common then, Yes? And of course Terry and Momma C.
At present they are at the church and I am taking the time to catch up on my diary entries. Tomorrow we start the build.
After breakfast we headed for the site, not before purchasing a couple of long handled shovels for us tall guys. We are travelling back and forth to the site in an open back Toyota truck and attracting strange looks from the locals. I'm not sure if this is due to the fact that white guys are running around town or that Tony is wearing a strange hat
Everyone is set to work on one house to start with so it was straight into mixing mortar and laying block This will be the first layer upon the concrete ring beam foundation. The site workers laid the blocks whilst we provided the labour. This was to prove to be a fruitless exercise and the walls, 3 blocks high at the time, had to be demolished as the base was not level. Why had they not picked this up before?. I think there is a lack of supervision here, not for our team but for the site workers. This was to prove to be the first of a number of problems we would encounter.
Moma C and Tony & Norico were tying re-bar The weather, slightly overcast but still very warm, easy to get burned without noticing it.
Terry was doing his usual "smoozing" an American word I have learnt, and boy does he do it well. This guy can talk his way into anywhere. He disappeared for about half an hour and returned to tell us that he had agreed to offer our services to a local single mother to complete digging her latrine and building the base and Banio.
This is what is so fantastic about what we do. A bunch of people descend upon a village and lives are changed for ever, on both sides. This woman had part of her leg blown away by a land mine and has one son aged about 18 and a daughter of 13. Their home is a wooden shack, they couldn't eat until the son had foraged for some wood to light the cooking facility. Wood is at a premium here and those that have it charge for it.
I suggested to Terry that we were over subscribed on the HFH house and I would be happy to go and dig the banio. Brian came in too and after lunch we headed for her home. The greeting we received was amazing, she was so pleased. Brian and I dug and Terry talked, it's what he does best. She made us coffee in the afternoon and again I felt that this was depriving her of her very limited resources, but she wanted to do this for us and it would have been ungracious to refuse.
The ground was incredibly hard but we got to the bottom. It had already been started by her son but we took it to the required 3 meters deep. Tomorrow we will procure some bricks, build the top section and install the plate and WC. Terry has been working his charm and we already have the sand donated, all we need now are blocks and cement.
As Tony was a brick layer (as well as a truck driver) we thought it would be good to get him to lay the blocks within the latrine. At 3 mtr deep I suggested we place blocks on the base allowing him to reach the build area. This worked and the blocks reached full height by late afternoon allowing us enough time to place the slab and seat. You will need to look at he pictures to get the general idea. No flush on this banio.
In the process if making the mortar, the son had to transport water in buckets by hand over a distance of about half a mile. Can you imagine the difference this small gesture has made to these people who have not had a decent toilet facility for some years. In two days their dream has been realised. They now have to construct a wood and plastic surround to make the facility private. This they can achieve themselves. I can only wish them luck for the future and hope that in some way we have improved their lot.
As you can imagine they were so grateful, they could not do enough for us. Celebrations took the form of herb tea which in my case ended up over the fence (disgusting stuff) and corn on the cob (white) not like we have in the UK, and tortillas. Lots of picture taking, each of us on the throne with a family member, quite surreal.
A few plots to our left a wooden house is being dismantled. I jokingly asked if they were moving house. It was no joke. It would appear that the owner has not kept up payments on the plot and it has therefore been repossessed. The owners were removing the house and will have to rebuild somewhere else, if they can find anywhere. I foresee another plastic home appearing on the land near the museum.
A local Habitat representative joined us later in the day to see at first hand the how the work was proceeding. I don't think anyone mentioned the demolition of the walls prior to rebuilding them. As I was on the latrine job I was not party to the goings on during the day.
It was back to the hotel and early dinner. It's a good job this hotel has a licence as a few of us needed a beer after the days labours
On Wednesday the team was split over 2 homes. Tony, Brian and I worked on the second site whilst the others remained on the first home. Brian was bending re-bar whilst Tony and I fixed shuttering for the half way ring beam and door frames. This went quite smoothly and the morning soon passed. In the afternoon the sand arrived allowing us to mix and pour the concrete into the shuttering. We were kept quite busy today but I am still feeling that we are surplus to requirements.
This is the first project on which I have felt this. It appears that we are just relieving the workers as they stop when we start and that is not the idea of these builds. We are there to help the home owners to either save on the expense or speed up the completion. There are so many labourers employed on the project with little supervision, that extra help without guidance or pre-planing becomes a hindrance.
Earlier in the afternoon the ice cream man appeared with his push cart. This man is a poorly paid local pastor supplementing his income with the ice cream round. He turned out to be an expert in marketing. It was my turn to pay and as usual it was ice cream all round including the paid labourers. When I had finished my fruit flavoured ice lolly, he gave me a "letche" flavoured one (a bit like butter scotch). From me to you, he said. Within seconds both Tony and Brian purchased one each. That's two more than he would have sold. A lovely kind natured man eking a living from this harsh environment.
That evening after dinner, The three amigo's (Tony Brian & I) headed for a bar I had spotted earlier when trying to locate a better Internet café.
On entering the bar it looked just like any other but with a little more atmosphere. Tony & I ordered a beer whilst Brian ordered a Margarita. As we sat at the bar we notice people entering the bar and walking directly through to the back of the property. One beer down and Brian was still waiting for his Margarita. He opted for a beer, the Margarita never materialised. At this point we decided to see what was out back. As we exited the building, the garden within, opened up, pathways with trees and plants, seating areas and in the centre, live music. A Spanish guitar and solo singer serenaded the drinkers for the rest of the evening
Tony got chatting to 3 young ladies who turned out to be Swedish and working with the UN on a cultural exercise. Brian & I left him too it and remained at our table. We preferred the sound of the music and planned to get as much mileage out of this encounter as possible. Soon they left and Tony returned with tales of his bravado and the fact that he obtained an e-mail address for one of them. Pity Tony didn't have an e-mail address of his own.
The evening soon came to an end and sleep was beckoning so it was back to the hotel.
In the morning we split the team up as per the previous day. Brian is plugged into my mp3 player whilst he bends re-bar. He appreciates good music, not sure about 30 Seconds From Mars, a bit heavy for him. (These youngsters, I don't know).
Tony and I sifted sand passed blocks and mortar to the brick layer, this again gave the signal for one of the paid workers to sit on his backside. The best worker on this site is the young 14 year old lad. He just did not stop. Later we started to construct the re-bar frames as instructed by one of the workers on site. This was set at 150 mm centres. After we had completed one unit. Andy (block layer) tells us they should be 100 mm centres. Yet another example of the right hand not knowing what the left is doing. Also another waste of time.
Andy is 28 years old and has 5 children, no wonder they struggle to survive on such low wages.
Today is the 14th, Valentines day and we had set Tony up by buying a dozen roses the previous evening and hiding them in Norioco's room. At breakfast Terry broke the news that Tony had to stand in the back of the truck and hand roses to all the young ladies we passed on the way back from site. He was blown away by this, it made him feel important and he loved it. We figured that Tony was short on confidence and as part of the group took strength from that and also he felt the need to belong.
On site that morning Terry appeared with Dona Doya (the lady from the latrine job) and her daughter Mariana (the one we had been teasing Tony about earlier in the week) He promptly handed her a rose and posed for pictures. I'm not sure who was more embarrassed, Mariana or us, it certainly wasn't Tony.
A TV crew appeared on the first site and interviewed some of the team and Terry was in his element. Give him a stage and he is away, but as I said, it's what he does best, a great promotion for HFH.
On the way home that evening Tony was lording it with his roses, leaping from the back of the truck to present them to unsuspecting young ladies. He was loving every minute of it and I'm sure will dine out on these antics for a long time.
After dinner Brian and I escaped and went back to the bar we had been at the previous night. No live music but we met Noel (picture) (Noel is the head of an organisation working closley with HFH in Esterli) and his buddy Ronaldo (the creep as will become apparent later).
We joined them for a beer and then found a table to sit at (Brian's Margarita ordered the previous night was still absent). Brian ordered something to eat whist I passed on that one. A few more of Noel's female friends joined us and it was suggested that we should all go to a night club. Sounds good to me I thought. Now remember this is February the 14th. Noel is in a bar whilst his wife was at home, not clever me thinks. Not sure about creepy Ronaldo, if he had a wife she was either very brave or totally stupid.
Noel explains that he just has to pop out and will be back to take us to the club. My guess, he went home and that was the end of his night. He called Ronaldo to say that he had run out of gas (petrol) and couldn't get back. What banana boat did I come up the river on? . So at this point its Brian, myself and Ronaldo and also at this point I had not yet found out what a creep this guy is.
We jump a taxi and head for Club Shamam on the outskirts of the town. The music was brilliant, a live band playing salsa and Latino. Beautiful young ladies dancing with their men on the dance floor. It would have been a great evening if it wasn't for creep man Ronaldo.
My guess is that Noel is the main man, lots of people look up to him, he is handsome in a rugged Latino way and I would also guess a bit of a ladies man. Ronaldo on the other hand is a grim little creep who probably looks up to Noel as his hero. Now he is on his own with two gringos and he is the main man. He gesticulated to waiters and shouted at them as if he owned the club, just trying to impress (he didn't impress us). He grabbed at women and through his sign language indicated that he can pick up anything and then dump them without a problem. (as I said, creep)
He grabbed at women and through his sign language indicated that he can pick up anything and then dump them without a problem. (as I said, creep)
That aside we had a good evening and after leaving the creep there, we arrived back at the hotel at about 2 am.
Brian overslept the next morning but still made it to breakfast even if a little late. This was to be our last day on site. We all arrived at the first site with not a lot to do without giving the paid labour a break. I plugged myself into my mp3 and shovelled sand at a rate to complement the music (slow). At times I danced a little and played air guitar along to the sounds, much to the amusement of the locals and the workers alike.
The girls from the (latrine) house appeared on site and were talking to Terry, I had to share my music as they wanted to know what I was listening to.
To be honest I was pleased to leave site at 12 noon. I was really getting bored at that point. When we arrived back at the hotel there was still no water or electricity. It had been this way since the previous evening. Its not much fun trying to wash from bottled water in the dark, but it is achievable.
After cleaning up a little Brian and I went for a walk through town to photograph some of the graffiti art. Much of this is painted by students in class groups who list each member and the class number. Other works tell stories of the revolution and some is just advertising. Whilst on this walkabout we discovered a wonderful fruit and vegetable market. Incredible colours and marvellous displays of produce. Melons as far as you could see, stacked up along the sidewalk. We spent quite some time here, Brian trying to get he best photograph he could of the displays.
Back at he hotel we meet up with the rest of the team and head for another hotel where we will be meeting the home owners for a farewell get together and also meet the next team of 18 coming in. These are from the USA and Canada. It troubles me that there will not be enough for them to do during their spell on site. I will be speaking to Regan about this later in the evening.
The homeowners put on a pleasant display of dancing and speeches, gift giving to the team and thanks all round. Then a welcome to the new team and time to sample some food prepared by the homeowners. Followed by our goodbyes.
This I felt was not as heart warming and emotional as the other projects I have worked on and re-enforces my thoughts about the Central American countries. I definitely prefer India and Sri Lanka. I felt we made a difference there, I did not feel like that on this trip. I actually felt surplus to requirements. Yes we had fun but that's not what it's all about. It's about helping to eliminate poverty housing and I think Nicaragua HFH has a long way to go and a lot to learn.
Back at our hotel we completed the evaluation forms, it saddened me to have to report my feelings and findings as previously I have had no problem with this task. I will be able to say more when I can get to talk to Regan on his own.
As I have the laptop with me, Terry asked to see pictures from previous trips to India and to show Regan the Costa Rica project. He was amazed at the India shots, the building style the people, the culture, traffic and much more. Her has never travelled outside Nicaragua.
I never did get the opportunity to talk to him that night. But at breakfast on Saturday I cornered him and we sat and talked. I don't think he wanted to hear what I had to say, but it had to be said otherwise HFH Nicaragua will fail once again as it had in the past. We said our goodbyes and he promised to meet us that evening before we set off for Managua. He never reappeared. We left without further goodbyes which is sad considering how well we had got on at the beginning of the project. He has a lot of work to do to bring this build up to standard and I wish him well. I hope he will keep in touch via e-mail as promised.
After breakfast we headed out to Miro Flora and area of natural beauty outside the town. We used the truck we had used all week to get to site. The three amigos rode in the back as usual.
It was a long dusty ride through the tobacco growing area. It took two and a half hours to get there, winding up an unmade road into the mountains. Stunning scenery and cloud formations making the journey quite memorable.
Once there we walked out into the flora with Marlin constantly on the look out for another bird to knock off his list. He spotted over 40 on the Costa Rica trip, not sure he will achieve the same on this one. We lunched at an organic farm in the area and rested prior to the ride back. The tame birds were amazing.
On the way back it started to rain, we three got wet but soon dried as we reached lower levels. The temperature rose to a level we had been used to. At the hotel everyone collected their luggage and transferred to the mini bus taking us back to Managua. For most, the journey and the adventure was nearly over. Only one more night in an hotel and then home to reality once again. But for me I had a few more days R&R to take care of.
Back in Managua we located our hotel and settled in. Another seedy location in the poor part of town, but then that's where the life is, the real life and real people. Dangerous it may be but you can stay in a 5 star hotel anywhere in the world and when you close that door, you could be anywhere. In this part of town, you know exactly where you are.
Our hotel, (not sure what you would call the young man as he was our receptionist, protector and just about everything else) instructed us not to venture beyond the end of the block in each direction as he could not protect us outside his domain. This is the same area Carol and I stayed in at the beginning of our trip. You may remember the young man with the baseball bat. Even though we had no trouble then, I went with the majority. We therefore crossed the road to a little (I shall call it a restaurant) and downed a few well earned beers followed by a plateful of local food. Obviously rice and beans figured large in the equation.
Once back in the hotel we said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, some of us will, as always there are the few that drift into obscurity. Most were heading for the airport at about 10:30 the next morning. That is except Carol and I who were up at 04:00 hours and walking to the bus terminal to join our ride for the next instalment of this adventure.
I went to my room and re-packed my trek bag, I was leaving it at the hotel and taking only my backpack. Collecting it upon my return later in the week, a one night stopover before I head for the airport and the journey home. The shower was something else, no knob to turn it on just a pair of pliers hung over the spigot. But at least it worked, cold of course, there has been no hot water on this trip so far, it's that warm you don't need it.
There was a knock on my door at 03:30 as arranged, I stored my trek bag in the store room and met up with Carol in the lobby (I use that term lightly) behind the iron bars and steel gates. We were off, only a short walk to the Tica Bus Depot, one block up and one across. We sat outside in the morning light waiting for it to open. Taxis arrived and more travellers joined the que.
Before I continue with the extended part of my journey I feel I should qualify some of the points I have raised in this diary. For those of you who have read my previous exploits in India, Sri Lanka, Portugal etc. will have noted that I have not felt quite as enthusiastic on this trip. Even less so than Costa Rica. I think this reinforces my original concerns about the country and the people as reported in the CR blogg.
A lot of work is needed out here, not only to help illuminate poverty housing but also to educate the populus about respect for each other outside the family. Teach them to help themselves. There country was ravaged by civil war and in some respects that war is still going on. In the west I believe we tend to glamorise civil war brought about by an uprising of the people against oppression. Believe me there is nothing glamorise about it at all. Just the shattered lives of those who remain. Mrs Doya (the latrine home) is a prime example, loosing part of her leg to a land mine during the uprising, still bitter and resentful. The corrupt governments born out of the uprising. A culture of gun law and gun crime. Poverty and depravation prevail. Unemployment is rife and little hope for the future without help. Yes of course there are the rich, yes there is employment for some, but the majority are still struggling and they need our help.
As most of you are aware, my heart lies in Asia, The Indian continent, and that is where I shall devote my efforts in the future. I really enjoy working with Terry but I must leave the building of hope in Central America to him and his fine mission and others like him. In my heart I hope that HFH Nicaragua succeeds, but will require a lot of effort and input from the local affiliate organisation and I wish them well.
You will also note that I have taken fewer pictures of the project this time. My ex-partner once said, and I quote, "if you have seen one mud hut you have seen them all" Whilst I did not appreciate that comment at the time, maybe she had a point. One build is very much like another (on the same continent). I looked at the build here in Esteli and saw the build in Costa Rica. Only some of the people had changed. I realised that my pictures should be of the families we work with and the other team members as these are the memories, this is why we are here. Mind you that doesn't stop me taking excessive pictures of interesting subjects sorry about that.
I hope in my explanation I have not conveyed a tone of disappointment in the project, maybe just in it's organisation on this occasion and my preference for the eastern continent.
So, back to my story, Where was I? Oh yes Tica Bus Managua Nicaragua at 04:00 hours. The interesting thing here is that in Nicaragua they drop the "S" from the end of their words so Tica Bus becomes Tica Boo.
The bus was impressive, more like and aircraft. Plenty of room and a trolley dolly too. Well a guy actually but you get the picture. We are headed for El Salvador and the capital San Salvador via Honduras. My only complaint so far is that I can't see out of the front of the bus as the drivers compartment is like an aircraft cockpit and sealed off from the rest of the cabin, so only a sideways view.
The bus left bang on time 05:00 hours. Having ridden around in the back of a truck or a clapped out minibus, this was luxury. We were due to arrive in San Salvador 11 hours later at a cost of $30 = £15, marvellous.
As we headed north the vegetation became greener and the terrain more picturesque. Deep valleys and soaring mountains on each side of the road. At the boarder with Honduras we vacated the bus for security and immigration control. This gave us time to stretch our legs.
Honduras is a democratic republic in Central America and was formerly known as Spanish Honduras to differentiate it from British Honduras (now Belize). Just so you know.
As we head further north the buildings and countryside appear to become more European in style (Spanish). The poverty is still much in evidence but as we are not entering large towns it is restricted to the roadside. One stop for a drink and a stretch and we are off again. The temperature drops as we drive higher into the mountains.
Arriving at the El Salvador boarder the security forces enter the bus and check papers etc. A very slick operation and we are on our way in next to no time. Speeding through the countryside and dropping down to a lower altitude we soon arrive in San Salvador, a journey time of 11 hours. The bus or Boo pulls into the terminal and we head for the on-site hotel. A sweet little room with a bed and shower cubical, Nothing too fancy here. A metal door with two locks and bars over the windows. What do you expect for $12 = £6 per night.
But hey, I can at last get a phone signal. A few messages to respond to, nothing too disastrous from the office so relief there I suppose. I was a little concerned being off the grid for so long.
Carol and I walked out into the city. San Salvador is the capital city of the nation of El Salvador. The valley where it is located was earlier known as "El Valle de las Hamacas" (The Valley of the Hammocks) because of its high seismic activity. It is the second largest city in Central America and covers an area of 568 km² (220 sq. mi.) and is home to nearly 2.2 million people. It is home to one-third of El Salvador's population and one-half of the country's wealth.
Some interesting facts for you: In the past years El Salvador has experienced high crime rates including gang-related crimes, and gangs in general. Some say that this was a result of the deportation of thousands of Salvadorans from the U.S, the majority of whom were members of MS13 (Mara Salvatrucha), in the mid-90s. The gangs in which Salvadorans had been involved in the United States began to show up in El Salvador. In 1996, San Salvador was considered the second most dangerous city in the western hemisphere, according to statistics.
Today San Salvador and El Salvador in general experiences some of the highest murder rates in the world and is also considered an epicentre of the gang crisis, along with Guatemala and Honduras. In response to this, the government has set up countless programs to try to guide the youth away from gang membership, but so far its efforts have not produced any quick results. One of the government programs was a gang-reform called "Super Mano Dura" (Super Firm Hand). Super Mano Dura had little success and was highly criticised by the U.N., it saw temporary success in 2004 but then saw a rise in crime after 2005. In 2004, the estimated murder rate per 100,000 citizens was 41.2, with 60% of the 2,576 murders committed were gang-related. The Salvadoran government reported that the Super Mano Dura gang legislation led to a 14% drop in murders in 2004. However, El Salvador recorded a total of 552 murders in January and February 2005 alone. In addition, crime rose 7.5% in just a year, from 2005-2006. Homicides are among the highest with respect to the overall crime rate. The homicides reported in 2006 reached up to 3,906, in 2005 3,779 were reported; 57.2 violent deaths per every 100,000 people. In 2007 the rate rose to 58 per every 100,000.
In the first half of 2007 La Policía Nacional Civil of El Salvador statistics showed lower numbers in homicide, and extortion's as well as robbery and theft of vehicles. In 2007 homicides in El Salvador had reduced 22%, extortion's reduced 7%, and robbery and theft of vehicles had gone down 18%, all in comparison with the same period in 2006. Despite the lower numbers of homicides in the first half of 2007, El Salvador continues to have the highest homicide rate in Central America and one of the highest in Latin America with 58 homicides per 100,000 people.
So no problem going for a walk then!!!
San Salvador is a large city whose population is starkly divided between the wealthy and impoverished. The wealthier neighbourhoods boast luxury shops, fine restaurants, five-star hotels, and tree lined avenues. However, most of the other neighbourhoods, are hot, dusty and overcrowded, and are plagued by skyrocketing crime rates and gang related violence.
So lets go and get something to eat in town.
The streets are lined with market stalls, the traffic passing only inches from them, Music blaring from the illegal pirate CD and dvd trade. The smog is heavy due to the traffic fumes being held down on the city by the surrounding mountains. My eyes are starting to water and my throat is soar. Must be time for a beer and something to eat.
We found a small pizza restaurant on a side street not far from the main square. Police were arresting someone who obviously didn't want to be arrested at that particular time. He was putting up quite a struggle. Guess who won that tussle? The rest of the square was quite pleasant, if a little run down. I guess we were not in one of those luxury shop and fine dining areas. The pizza was good though. It was starting to get dark and whilst I'm not too bothered about being out in the dark, I had Moma C to consider and it was quite a walk back to the hotel. I didn't want to be too late as we were due on parade again at 04:00 hours for the next leg of the journey.
We attempted to purchase a ticket for the journey to Guatemala upon arrival but were told that we had to purchase them in the morning. They also mentioned that the Bus (Boo now as we are in San Salvador) might be full. We dutifully arrived at the desk at 04:00 to be told "bus full, next one available tomorrow". So much for Tica Bus. Plan "B" get a taxi to King Quality, a rival company. No problem, The man with the sawn off shotgun (door guard at the bus terminal) halted a taxi for us and told the driver where to take us. You just get so blasé about these things, it doesn't take long before you take the gun culture for granted.
A few minutes later we were pulling into King Quality's terminal. Ticket purchased and through security in no time, again very slick like an air terminal. This bus was even more upmarket. Double Decker and we were upstairs. This time I get to see the view in front. The seats had plenty of room and even had leg rests so that you could sleep if you wished. The stewardess & steward were on form and looked after us well, even had an in flight meal. 5 hours non stop except for the border into Guatemala, and we were in Guatemala city.
The countryside on the journey was getting greener and even more mountainous. The villages again more European bordering on American. Obviously a more wealthy country.
On arrival at the terminal we again took a taxi to the city centre. I needed to find an ATM as neither of us had any Quazales (local currency) and I was out of US$. Located one without a problem and then had lunch just off the square. Another busy city but without as much squalor as San Salvador. We were still not at our destination so it was another taxi to the chicken bus terminal and the journey out to Antigua. Now this was an experience to remember. These buses vie for trade, cutting each other up, undertaking and the don't appear to care too much about road safety. But oh boy what a ride. The assistant hangs out of the door screaming the destination and beckoning people to join the ride. Before they are even on the bus the driver is off at speed. At one point the assistant runs along the pavement through the throng of people awaiting a bus to various destinations, leaping on again as the driver takes off.
This goes on for some time as it travels the streets of the city until it breaks out onto the highway. By now we have a bus full of travellers with, of course, baskets of chickens, a dog in a cage, the fat woman who sat across the isle with a cheek on each opposite seat. The assistant made his way around to collect the fares (not helped by the fat one over the isle).
This journey is expected to last for about an hour, the cost 8 quazales. At 7 to the $ that makes the fare about £0.55. Worth every penny for the entertainment value alone. As the journey progressed we collect more passengers and dropped others at their destination. The bus comes to a screaming halt in the middle of the inside lane of a two lane road, he has just spotted another potential customer. They run for the door and he is away as their foot hits the plate.
Approximately 1 hour later we are in Antigua. After 2 days travel we are here, but the journey was all part of it. A short walk through the market to the main town and we soon locate a hotel. Following some sharp bargaining on my part we secure two rooms, 1 at 150 QZ and another at 200 QZ. Again I took the dearer room due to the dollar rate and the fact that Moma C was staying a day longer than I.
My room was quite large with 3 single beds, a window to the street and a small banio. Although it was small, it was clean and the shower produced hot water, the first for weeks. This is the first bathroom I have used where when sitting in the toilet your feet are in the shower tray.
That afternoon we walked the cobbled streets admiring the architecture and the colours. La Antigua Guatemala (commonly referred to as just Antigua or La Antigua) was the colonial Spanish capital of Central America, and is now a World Heritage site, and is perhaps the most popular tourist destination in Guatemala. And can't you just tell this by the number of American tourists milling around.
The whole city is full of historic buildings, monuments, fountains and ruins. It was founded by the Spanish in the XVII Century, and it follows the traditional design of a Main Plaza surrounded by Government and Catholic Church buildings.
The Parque Central is, strangely enough, a park in the centre of town. It is a city block in size, (still with the Americanisms sorry) with concentric circular walkways threading among trees and a fountain in the centre. On our second day here, the local council workers were cleaning this in preparation for the Easter festivities. Easter is one of the busiest times of year with many religious parades. (stations of the cross I believe they are called, what do I know) The trees are decorated with lights, and there are plenty of benches for sitting and people-watching. The tourist agency, city hall and police office, the cathedral, and several banks and tourist businesses line the four sides of the park. Many Antiguens hang out in the park, and it has a pleasant, bustling, friendly feel to it.
Women in local dress ply their trade selling trinkets and jade items (Jade is big in this area). Also boot boys everywhere, I was saved the sales pitch as I am wearing sued boots. Carol on the other hand had to fend them off.
The Volcán de Agua rises high to the south. There is supposed to be two others, one east and the other west. I didn't see them during my visit but de Agua was visible most of the time with cloud covering the peak or sometimes forming a halo just below the summit.
That evening we sat in an very comfortable patio bar for a beer before searching out a restaurant for dinner. We settled on one called Frida's. Carol had never heard of her so I spent the evening explaining about the life and loves of Frida Kahlo the Mexican artist married to Deago Rivera.
There were artworks by both displayed on the walls along with photographs of them together. All in all a good evening with a great atmosphere. The service was slick and not overbearing. (not quite American yet then). The food? Obviously Mexican influence.
It was not a late night so I caught up with the diary and got a good nights sleep. Also the first night I haven't used the sleeping bag, must be a good hotel. At QZ200 or $28 so it should be. To save you the effort of converting that, it's £14 per night.
The next morning I met Carol for coffee. I was sitting on my window ledge watching the traffic and the antics of the chicken buses rushing up and down the grid style streets vying for passengers, when she walked out of the hotel and crossed the street. I joined her and we went in search of good fresh coffee. It didn't take us long, but do you think we could find it again the next day? No way.
After coffee Moma C went off to do whatever it was she had planned, I headed for the Cafe WiFi. What a wonderful place, free wifi, I just purchased another coffee (I'll be on the ceiling soon with all this caffeine) and sat at a table that had seen better days. But that was all part of the charm, distressed walls and doors, rickety tables and chairs. The walls had pictures of what looked like Cuban scenes, what do I know I have never been there but you get my drift don't you, you can picture the scene. They were playing world music "yes", again I can't resist, it's my kind of atmosphere. The outer bar had pictures of African people and settings. I want to pick this place up and drop it in either Bethersden or Doncaster, preferably both.
I worked until about 12 midday and wandered off to the square to meet Carol for lunch. The weight is going back on, here we go again, have to get back to the gym. We find a small bar for lunch and discussed the mornings events, for me the cafe and for Carol the market and her research trying to find that special something for her 5 grandchildren (good luck with that one).
In the afternoon we wandered the streets admiring the beautiful doors and windows, the internal patios of the hotels, guest houses and gift shops. These unassuming little fronts open up inside, much like the Spanish homes in Europe, built on a square. Filled with caged birds (pity about that, they should be free to spread their wings and fly like the rest of us), large pot plants and vines. Those that are shops have paintings surrounding the patio along with an array of trinkets and all those items that tourists take home and put in a draw.
Carol went back to the hotel to lie down for a bit, I think all the walking has been a bit much for her. I know she is a tough old bird but at 70+ I reckon she has done very well to last this long. I toured a few more streets and visited a number of art galleries before stumbling upon Reily's bar. I'm sure there is an Irish bar in every town in the world. They even sell "Vitoria" the beer we have been drinking in Nicaragua. No point in drinking Guinness anywhere else other than Ireland, it's not the same stuff.
A great sign behind the bar said " Irish Diplomacy. The ability to tell a man to go to hell so that he looks forward to the trip" I like that.
Carol joined me at 5pm for a drink and then we should have been going onto dinner at a venue yet to be decided. Unfortunately she is not feeling to good and wanted to skip the meal. Well I'm into the eating mode at present and also wanted to try another restaurant as they all looked so good and I had so little time.
I dined solo and also made it later in the evening , first time this trip as Americans like to eat early. I located another good establishment and dined on Guatemalan fare in cosy surroundings. Good music, maybe too many tourists, I would have preferred a place where the locals eat but I just couldn't find one. Maybe they can't afford to.
I walked the streets again admiring them from a different perspective, dark buildings, subtle lighting. Just soaked it up as this was my last opportunity. It is homeward bound for me tomorrow. I had purchased my shuttle ticket earlier in the day so I made my way back to the hotel for my last nights sleep. I will be travelling for the next three days.
The traffic woke me at 06:00 hours, I showered, the last hot one for a few days. Packed my bag and again watched the chicken buses. At about 08:00 I wandered outside the room to find Carol in the lobby writing her journal. As I previously stated, we couldn't find the coffee bar, but they are not short on the ground in this town. After coffee I returned to the hotel to check out. Carol and I headed for the square, my last chance to get in some people watching before catching my shuttle at 11:00 hrs from one of the artisan boutiques along the street leading off the square.
Carol and I said our goodbyes and I left her in the square. Not sure when or if I will see her again. She heads back to Washington on Thursday or is that Friday, I have lost track of the days. Whatever, I wish her well for the future. She is on the list for Portugal but I think Terry wants a younger team on that one. We shall see.
I join the shuttle as it does the rounds of the pick up sites. Only 4 of us on a small minibus that has seen better days. It rattles and bangs over the cobbles until it hits the smooth tarmac of the main road. We are not late but the driver is obviously in a hurry. Either that or he is practising for the grand prix. Tyres are squealing as we take the bends on the highway followed by the smell of burning rubber. It's not surprising they have all that religious paraphernalia hanging from the rear view mirror. So long as they believe someone is watching over them, I suppose that covers me for that period of time. But for all that we arrive safely and a little early.
What is the world coming to? No VIP lounge at Guatemala City airport. It's listed in the directory. (note to myself to remember to contact Privilege Card and inform them of the error). At least wifi was available in the waiting area.
I lost my shaving cream and a small pair of scissors from my personal first aid kit to security. Not sure if they thought I might offer the pilot a shave en-route, but no problem I shall just be in need of a good trim by the time I get home. I had better hope I don't have an accident and require the scissors either, or I shall be in trouble big time.
But hey guys, that's the way to compensate me for my lose, I got upgraded to business class. OK the flight may only be just over 35 minutes but there are two of them to get back to Managua.
I arrived back in Managua airport and jumped a taxi after haggling for a better rate, back to the hotel, hoping my luggage was still their. It was, along with a welcomed greeting from the little guy in charge. He obviously remembered me from a few days earlier.
Reunited with my luggage, I found my room and secured the bags whilst I ventured across the street to the same restaurant I was at a few nights previously. Same food and a beer, (they don't have a varied menu) and then back to get some sleep. Up at 04:00 hrs with a taxi waiting for me to transfer me to the airport and the first leg of the homeward journey.
I shan't bore you with the details, sufficed to say I arrived back at Gatwick via Houston at 07:00 Friday morning, tired unshaven and in need of a hot bath. A good flight, much like the outward journey, I had plenty of room as the plane was not full. Another trip over and looking forward to the next adventure. If nothing comes up before then, it will be Portugal in September. But you know me, There has to be something before then, that's 6 months away.
So it's back to reality, a few problems to sort out with tenants that have arisen during my absence, but nothing I can't deal with. If I had had a cell phone signal in Nicaragua there wouldn't be a problem, but such is life, nothing is perfect. That word again "Tranquilo"
To borrow a quote often used by a very good friend, "Life's not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain" and dance I will.
Until the next time...................................
