Border Crossings (pum)

Godforsaken Island

Along with my ginger pills, with every ferry crossing I take some mysterious blue pills. And they knock me right out, so that when the ferry guy pokes me hard with his finger, I resent it and point upstairs to where the rest of the team is sitting... getting tan, frolicking, whatever, just not sea sick. And I close my blood shot eyes and go back to sleep, getting hit by seaspray and leaving myself open to robbers. The first time though I woke up and it took me a while to realize my bag was in a pool of seawater, I just hope that the spare socks and underwear and travel documents spared the more priceless items like my phone. The next time I learned my lesson, and put my bag on the bench, still waking up to curious stares from the locals, but I was dry...

We traveled to Ometepe. The land of two mountains. Except when we got there we found out the beach was under 6ft of water and a perpetual and violent windstorm didnt show signs of abating. And being trapped on an island even if it is in Nicaragua means they can charge unreasonable prices for some of the best grilled chicken Ive had, which was like $8. The fresh pineapple juice was also good. But basically that was my central activity. Eating. And 2 days was a blow to my budget...so I charged it. Sleeping in a hammock was my 2nd main activity... Meandering around watching Magpie Jays and seeing how drunk the two old guys were going to get was 3rd... Exploring boredom while other more silly people climbed a near 45 degree mountain face of Concepcion, was the basic theme. Their vigor was taken with a vengence as most of them are curiously ill and vomiting... we cant figure out what it was between them. But the poor souls are hobbling around the mountainous Monteverde now.

I cant say we were sad to leave the island, even though in its visceral moments it was awesomely, I dont know... atmospheric. Everything just whipped up and moving and in a loud frenzy, restless and consuming were the waves and everzthing in motion. We trudged ourselves out of bed around 6am on Sunday, van to the ferry, ferry to the taxis, to the van, where apparently we had the fastest border crossing ever from Nicaragua to Costa Rica, flipping up mud on our heels and legs and making it to the land of tourists and shopping centers. Theres something relaxing about civilazation as we know it, like you dont have to think about anything ever, but then its fairly boring also... something hesitant and inviting about shacks and ramshackled cement places, not so with uniform spanish tiling and gigantic shopping centers that met us near the border. They asked me if it was like american shopping centers.. i said, mostly like the ones near the southern beaches... but you know the a-c would be going stronger, and theyd have more to chose from then just azul for your pens, and cadberry for your chocolate, but itd have to do.

Through Space

The last night on the island I did not see as many stars as one would expect from an island. I did not know where they went. In the tiled long hall way with rotating fans i saw a crumpled leaf disguised as a butterfly. I finally prodded it up and it opened into this glorious purple thing with large circles for eyes. It calmly climbed on my hand and I thought it was nearly dead but stayed beautifully open and alert until I carried it outside and set it near the hummingbird nest. In afterthought I may have opened it to birds of prey and when later the group was playing a drinking game with cheap rum I saw it again land on a post and 5 clearish white blue geckos immediately sprang into view. And I thought certainly I´d opened it up to some harsher fate. I hope not.

One would think that also when your tour guide says 12 hours of travel. But after a short bus ride over the dead coral imbedded in sand and the cruise ship with tagged travelers, the flight with no a' c, to the 2nd flight with no a'c, to the 6 hour busride winding its way through hondurus- was easy in comparison to the worst day ever. So i just stared out of windows a lot and tried to hibernate. It´s exhausting to travel through a physical space. Flowing over a whole world of people and life. and then there´s all the waiting.

On coming to the border, the guy with the stamp had left somewhere and someone had gone to get him so we waited and waited... but were eventually released to a road with dirt and pavement patch combinations into a deserted Leon with trash everywhere around 12AM. But the christmas tree, though anachronistic to me shone prettily in the reception area. However, the charm of being in an old colonial house with thick authentic doors and gaping holes to the noise of the outside street lost its appeal almost immediately upon collapsing into bed, but I had to laugh as church bells peeled at 6am along with a car alarm.

And I thought, gone is the island, and here is the messy and all over the place Leon. It gives me perspective for the large latin base in LA. Certain staples of sprawl and weird neglect. They seem unwilling to go far from the main road. They are all out there along the highway, walking through the streets, selling their wares, as if to keep themselves neat and tidy in a small box may mean they would miss an opportunity of being, of seeing something... or that to be tucked into the jungle or synchrones with nature might mean they would slowly start to dissolve into the landscape. And it seems with all the volcanos and being on a mountainous sliver of land, how easily it could happen.

This morning I went on a city tour and their history though it may seem long is short. Indians. Conquistidors. Revolutionaries. The future...

The tour operator seemed to address himself almost soley to the older canadian in my tour group mariana, as it was just she and i, it made it obvious. We were both equally interested in Somosa, Cathedrals and the sugarcane candy. However, I was not pleased by the ¨death to imperial invaders¨... written outside the museum of revolution. And I didn´t need him to translate it for me.. because after the spanish, nicaraguans take up directly with America, but most honestly the guide admitted, they take up with themselves. But what can I do. We are all, all of us, very polite about things we believe so far both in the group and with all the guides. The conflicts usually lie within.

The others went off to sand board Cerro Negra. 45 min hike to the top and the quickest way down... but having already meditated on my limits, I declined. Though I burn with a small envy that i didn´t go, or even pay a few hundred bucks to deep sea explore in they caymen trench. And afterall I think someone should know something of the places your passing through- it´s not just an amusement park of activities. Because below the facade of the tourist is the deep waters of land and its people and its fate... And I want a good story. Something to reflect on besides the thrill and success of a physical act... But what about the city dump located on a beautiful bluff that shows you the view of all the volcanos you´re surrounded by, where Somosa had his fortress and turture chambers, or if the wealthy won´t return bcs Ortega is in power, or why Leon can´t get its tourism act together and why our guide is off to unite his country and show everyone why he loves it.

It is 90degrees or there about. And the sun is setting, which means I should go apply bug spray and await the dusty return of my mate julie. I need to get a good amount of time to tell you all about them... these people I¨m with. I have a nickname now with the aussie harriet. She calls me Cas-bar, and the Kaz for short. Mama Kaz for when she make sme feel old without knowing it. And I am already famous for my search of Canda Dry soda water, the one mojito I had and of course my smirking silent ways. Tomorrow its off to Granada ... with the peak of the summit reached, all we m ust do now is go down.