Pick-ups, Goof-ups, and Hold-ups.
This Monday night I was strolling down the steep streets of Matagalpa, Nicaragua, to get my first view of the town that would be my home for the next two weeks while I study up on my spanish language skills. Suddenly the cell phone in my purse starts tolling the hour of 5:20, a fitting addition to the disorderly events of that day, and my Nicaraguan experience thus far.
My last entry ended with me stranded in the Managua airport with no sign of my Seattleite friends Karel and Myra anywhere. I took my time through the airport, exchanged my American cash for some Nicaraguan Cordovas (at a rate of 1:20, I was pretty loaded afterwards), and made my way through a pretty lax security gate, to find myself with no remaining menial tasks to distract me from the absence of my friends. Oh, great. Stranded on the other side of the world. Even worse, I could hear all of my parents´ paranoid concerns echoing in my head... ¨Oh, shut UP!,¨ I was thinking.
My feelings of abandonment lasted only about an hour before I saw the face of one of my favorite gringos, Karel, coming through the airport´s sliding doors. I hopped in his vehicle with my luggage and was greeted by his two adorable daughters, the oldest of which, Addy (5) was dressed as a princess. Both were very excited to see me, although I´m not sure whether or not Rylee (3) would have legitimately remembered me, but they were sweet and welcoming, and as usual, pretty darn cute.
Back at the Normans, Addy and I decided to take a nap, but what was probably a light one-hour nap for Addy was a full-on, four-hour, dead-to-the-world crash for me. (Apparently they tried to wake me to see if I wanted to go swimming... I was not responsive.)
That evening we had a barbeque with the Normans´neighbours in their apartment complex, primarily American missionaries involved with various projects in Managua. The Normans had made arrangements for two friends of theirs to drive me up to Matagalpa at 6 in the morning, where I would be enrolled in Spanish school for the next two weeks and living in a Nicaraguan home.
After Karel and Myra went to bed, I realized my alarm clock had no batteries in it, so I set the clock on my Nicaraguan cell phone for 5:20 AM. Pleased at my ingenuity, and praying I would wake up, I went to bed.
At 9 AM the next morning, I woke up. In Managua. At Karel and Myra´s place. Hmmmm..... oops? I had definitely missed my ride. Apparently, a week of late-nights, packing, saying goodbye, road-trips, concerts, and 2AM Denny´s visits can really tire a girl out.
We decided that I would go to Matagalpa by bus, a plan that quickly fell apart when we realized that no busses would be running due to the fact that Nicaragua´s Independence day was the next day, September 15. Next we attempted to contact a taxi to take me to Matagalpa, but Karel and Myra were unable to locate the numbers of any trusted taxi drivers. Finally, one of Karel´s neighbors contacted a driver who often drove for them when they had American missions groups coming down to help out. Guillermo came around one in the afternoon and we had a great visit while he drove me up to Matagalpa. I learned a lot about the political situation in Nicaragua and the Sandinistas, and tried to explain the political climate in Canada as best I could.
We found my school, Escuela de Español Matagalpa, and there was not a soul to be seen. All was locked up for the holiday, and we were about an hour and a half late for my 2 o´clock lesson. After a bit of searching, we came across a woman from the school, and she helped us find our way to the house where I would be staying. After some dinner, I decided to set out down the street and try to orientate myself in the town of Matagalpa.
This is the point where my cell phone went off, letting me know that somehow I had set my phone for 5:20 PM, and not AM as I had originally thought.
Here´s the view of Matagalpa from the end of my street:
I returned to my home, unlocked the door to my room to which I had been kindly given a key, checked my stuff, and discovered I was missing $60 American, a fair chunk of the cost of my tuition, which I hadn´t been able to pay up front since the school was closed. It´s never wise to keep such large amounts of money in one´s possession when being billeted out in Central America, but I had thought it might be less wise to carry it on me in the streets. I guess you live and learn, though. So now, $60 short, and conspicuously blond amongst a sea of latinos, I find myself with two weeks of spanish studies ahead of me and a cheap and accessible internet cafe just down the street.
Listening to: Regina Spektor - The Call
My last entry ended with me stranded in the Managua airport with no sign of my Seattleite friends Karel and Myra anywhere. I took my time through the airport, exchanged my American cash for some Nicaraguan Cordovas (at a rate of 1:20, I was pretty loaded afterwards), and made my way through a pretty lax security gate, to find myself with no remaining menial tasks to distract me from the absence of my friends. Oh, great. Stranded on the other side of the world. Even worse, I could hear all of my parents´ paranoid concerns echoing in my head... ¨Oh, shut UP!,¨ I was thinking.
My feelings of abandonment lasted only about an hour before I saw the face of one of my favorite gringos, Karel, coming through the airport´s sliding doors. I hopped in his vehicle with my luggage and was greeted by his two adorable daughters, the oldest of which, Addy (5) was dressed as a princess. Both were very excited to see me, although I´m not sure whether or not Rylee (3) would have legitimately remembered me, but they were sweet and welcoming, and as usual, pretty darn cute.
Back at the Normans, Addy and I decided to take a nap, but what was probably a light one-hour nap for Addy was a full-on, four-hour, dead-to-the-world crash for me. (Apparently they tried to wake me to see if I wanted to go swimming... I was not responsive.)
That evening we had a barbeque with the Normans´neighbours in their apartment complex, primarily American missionaries involved with various projects in Managua. The Normans had made arrangements for two friends of theirs to drive me up to Matagalpa at 6 in the morning, where I would be enrolled in Spanish school for the next two weeks and living in a Nicaraguan home.
After Karel and Myra went to bed, I realized my alarm clock had no batteries in it, so I set the clock on my Nicaraguan cell phone for 5:20 AM. Pleased at my ingenuity, and praying I would wake up, I went to bed.
At 9 AM the next morning, I woke up. In Managua. At Karel and Myra´s place. Hmmmm..... oops? I had definitely missed my ride. Apparently, a week of late-nights, packing, saying goodbye, road-trips, concerts, and 2AM Denny´s visits can really tire a girl out.
We decided that I would go to Matagalpa by bus, a plan that quickly fell apart when we realized that no busses would be running due to the fact that Nicaragua´s Independence day was the next day, September 15. Next we attempted to contact a taxi to take me to Matagalpa, but Karel and Myra were unable to locate the numbers of any trusted taxi drivers. Finally, one of Karel´s neighbors contacted a driver who often drove for them when they had American missions groups coming down to help out. Guillermo came around one in the afternoon and we had a great visit while he drove me up to Matagalpa. I learned a lot about the political situation in Nicaragua and the Sandinistas, and tried to explain the political climate in Canada as best I could.
We found my school, Escuela de Español Matagalpa, and there was not a soul to be seen. All was locked up for the holiday, and we were about an hour and a half late for my 2 o´clock lesson. After a bit of searching, we came across a woman from the school, and she helped us find our way to the house where I would be staying. After some dinner, I decided to set out down the street and try to orientate myself in the town of Matagalpa.
This is the point where my cell phone went off, letting me know that somehow I had set my phone for 5:20 PM, and not AM as I had originally thought.
Here´s the view of Matagalpa from the end of my street:
I returned to my home, unlocked the door to my room to which I had been kindly given a key, checked my stuff, and discovered I was missing $60 American, a fair chunk of the cost of my tuition, which I hadn´t been able to pay up front since the school was closed. It´s never wise to keep such large amounts of money in one´s possession when being billeted out in Central America, but I had thought it might be less wise to carry it on me in the streets. I guess you live and learn, though. So now, $60 short, and conspicuously blond amongst a sea of latinos, I find myself with two weeks of spanish studies ahead of me and a cheap and accessible internet cafe just down the street.
Listening to: Regina Spektor - The Call