spinning...

I learned it in college, enjoyed it for several years, and was reminded of it last night: Activists know how to party. We almost didn't go, wore out by ping-pong and Josue's incredible chard, corn, potatoe, calabacita, onion, tomato soup, but we pumped some coffee into our veins and the walk woke us up a bit. When we show up to the party, memories from WMU come flooding back: low-lit dance floor, loud echoing conversation, good music that doesn't stop, dancing, young folks dressed up and down. Salsa dancers occupy the middle of the room, observers the edges and smokers on the roof. The party is well set-up, packed, and only growing. Soon it's hard to make it from one side of the room to the other. Some friends of ours show up, "So these are all the NGO folks?" and I remember how hard we worked as activists in Kalamazoo, thus the necessity for such extravagant parties and mad dancing.

Well, I haven't been doing much activism lately. Didn't stop me from staying until 6am, oof.

all these little things...

My life these days is composed by many distractions, fragments that, when I piece them together, make some sort of semblance to an ordinary life. I am not simply living a life that is defined by societal and cultural norms, laws, and the expectations of others, but a life which I am composing with the materials that are available to me. It requires resourcefulness and a dedication to imperfection, as well as a good amount of faith.

Weeks move even more swiftly with a routine. A middle-aged academic type who frequents the restaurant told me my expressos are "excelentisimo," and I appreciated his compliment, all the more so because of his use of the word excelentisimo.

We recently obtained a ping-pong table. A tournament is in the works. I may also introduce beer pong to Mexico, just because I can.

I organized a screening of a documentary and not many people came but it was fun, in a nerdy sort of way, to organize something again.

the depth of perception

Last night my roommates and I were walking to a party at our friend Alex's house, an outdoor backyard full moon party. Just as we were passing la iglesia de la Merced, a large, fluffy, white dog rounded the corner and almost collided with us (or us with it). It was quite an impressive dog too, clean and groomed, a rarity around these parts. We didn't slow our walk but as we moved around the dog, we all made comments something along the lines of, "Wow! What a beautiful dog!" A split second later, at the other end of the leash, the owner came around the corner. I thought he would be proud of his fine animal companion and our obvious adoration so I glanced up to give him a quick smile. But when my eyes met his, I saw that his entire face was curled into a sneer. With a mix of matter-of-factness and disdain, he said, simply, "Hippies," almost spitting the word out at us. The unexpectedness of his comment made me laugh out loud, and especially because none of us were wearing anything that would identify us as "hippies." No colorful, loose Guatemalan pants, no long, swaying cotton skirts, no excessive amounts of beads or woven bracelets, not even any dreads or tye-dye. I even thought we looked more clean cut than usual, I mean I was wearing a black blazer after all. Though perhaps this fella (who, in my opinion, looked a bit like a yuppie himself) has the ability to see into our inner beings and thus see our deepest identities. And if so, apparently we are hippies, who knew?

I already knew that there is a considerable amount of hostility felt towards so-called "hippies" in San Cristobal. For example, a grafiti I've seen spray-painted on several walls shows a machine gun between the words, "Comando, mata hippies" Kill hippies. Still, I'd never been personally accosted, nor even accused, until last night. Strange, but certainly not the strangest thing to happen in this town, not even close.

rain rain

I'm getting used to this routine. Wake up at 7am, breakfast while waiting for the water to heat up, shower, ride bike (quickly) down early and almost empty streets to la casa del pan..get out piña, papaya, and zanahoria and usually limones and manzanas too...turn on music...spend the day making coffee, tea and juice, and answering questions and translating..3:30 always comes much sooner than I expect. And considering that I am at the restaurant 6 days a week, you would think I would be in a hurry to leap back onto my bicycle (well, it's borrowed) and fly home, down and up and past the strange lighthouse-looking building that is so far from any sea. Instead I like to linger in the shop and smell and touch all the neat organic products. Today I am waiting for the rain to making bike-riding home appealing.

I met a gal from Michigan, which was nice in a sort of unidentifiable way. Sure I've got some roots and attachments there, but is finding someone from your land of birth in a farther-away land really a cause for celebration? Either way I got her phone number because she works at Promedios and I would like to learn about film editing if I can. I want to learn just about all I can, in fact, while I have what for now I will call a "brief separation from reality." Meaning, I am living how I want without others telling me how to use my time (i.e. bosses, professors, the president) and I am not-so-quietly pleased about it.

In fact, maybe on my day off tomorrow I will stroll downtown and shout about my absolute pleasure with life. Probably not (gringos draw enough attention eh?) but I'm happy, something that is seemingly criminal when one doesn't succumb to the confines of a capitalistic, elitist, hierarchical power structure. So, call me a criminal.

just like spring......

The weather in San Cristobal is warming, slowly but surely. Spring is identifiable in the sudden and brief sicknesses of several people that I know and in the alternating brightness and stormy rains of the days.

Despite all changes and newness, I have myself wrapped up in a tranquil and steady life, which involves work, puppy, roommates, books, and the occasional film. Excitement comes in the form of Tuesday 2 for 1 sushi day and Samba's ever-rounder belly, or the occasional bottle of caña.

I like my new work. It's quiet but with enough unpredictability to make each day worth getting up at 7am. I like making carrot juices for people who display such open eagerness when they ask for one. I also like the staff breakfast that we all get around 11am and which is always a complete surprise. There are nice little surprises too, like today when a woman came to drop off a granola sample for the restaurant owners and she gave me my own little bag to try too. A little later an older woman asked me if it would be safe for her to take a taxi after dark in San Cristobal and I assured her completely that it was.

It's nice. And home is also nice too. My roommates are becoming quite dear to me and I much prefer staying at home to going out these days, a sentiment we all seem to share.

It feels very good to just wake up every morning, breathe and smile all day long, and fall into a warm bed at night. Sooner or later I'll get restless but for now, it's just what I could want.

ain't no fool...

Today I spent a hot, perfectly cloudless day harvesting wheat with nothing more than a common kitchen steak knife. At first I started out with scissors, but the knife let me move more swiftly and our little cream-colored wheat piles grew and grew. Later we bundled them and tied them with pink string but even after six hours, among eight people, we were still only half finished by time we left for lunch.

Though I would be very happy to return to the garden tomorrow and finish the harvest, instead I am going to start working at the restaurant that receives the garden's bounty. The atmosphere is bright and airy and laidback, I already feel very comfortable there.

But, at the moment, I feel uncomfortably full, having just over-enjoyed the Casa del Pan buffet..crema de chayote, ensalada, gnocchi, y pastel de zanahoria. Time for a nap.

And, our home has swelled quite nicely in the past week. We added an Argentinian gal and a couple from the States to what was before only Josue, Samba (the boxer puppy menace), and I. All of us found jobs on the same day and are looking forward to sumptuous home-cooked dinners in the near future. Speaking of home, it's really time for a nap.

night snacks

In the corner of a park, just down the block from where the mariachis practice and wait patiently (despondently?), there is a small, wooden quesadilla stand on wheels. Last night we visited, I unfortunately without hunger, and while the couple inside the stand prepared mushroom and chorizo quesadillas, they told us about how the police have been trying for the past couple weeks to remove them from the park. The first time the police came, there were a lot of people waiting for quesadillas and they began to shout at the police, "Get out of here!" "We want to eat!!" Since then, the police have returned several times, each time without success and the couple have gone to the city to see what sort of deal they can work out. "Either way, we're not going anywhere," says the woman, with a huge smile on her face.

I just have a blackberry atol and watch the incredible loyalty and comraderie among this one lone stand's clientele and among the vendors themselves, as lovely and sweet as the thick purple atol in my hand, which is also the perfect amount of warm on a chilly San Cristóbal night.

bad seeds

News:
Mexico allows planting of genetically-modified crops
La situación de los presos políticos en huelga de hambre en Chiapas
What is happening to our dear bats?

More from Nicaragua:
Change of luck in Leon
Bureaucracy and beer
And finally, leaving...