I´m doing these snapshots the John Mayer way*, for those wondering why I haven´t posted any pictures in this post.

Today I learned a new word: chela. It means blondie. Add that to my vocabulary list of the things men are calling out at me as I walk through the streets. The most memorable of the day was ¨chelita linda¨, a phrase I was very happy to at least be able to understand. Additionally, I was inexpressably comforted by the knowledge that this phrase sounds equally as creepy when translated into English as it does in Spanish when called out by some gruff, 50-something latino walking by you on a sparsely-peopled street: pretty little blondie.

Sometimes the latinos suck you in, though. If they can blurt out enough English words convincingly enough, you hestitate just long enough that they´ve found an in. Like one guy I met who used to live in California, and wanted to know if I had a boyfriend, because I am so pretty.

In those circumstances, I often lie. However, it´s difficult (and usually a bad idea) to lie to someone you have any sort of a relationship with, and so today became the day for personal conversations. Like with Hector, my tour guide today through the streets of Matagalpa, who also wanted to know my relational status. Reluctantly, I divulged the information. However, a great conversation ensued, the kind I always enjoy having, and the kind I´d hoped to be able to find my way into despite the language barrier here in Nicaragua.

I told Hector I prefer walking with him as opposed to walking alone because walking alone, I am just another gringa. He understood.

It´s nice to be understood.

Today in Spanish class I asked my teacher (also 23) if one of the other teachers there was her boyfriend. She said no, and wanted to know why I thought that. Those of you who know me well can appreciate how difficult it can be to relay to anyone why I think the way I think in English, much less in Spanish. However, it was fun to try, although I might have stirred up some drama there, as she´s now giving their relationship more thought.

Today I was introduced to Matagalpa´s Catholic cathedral, central park, main street, and the market here. I´m very happy that I can now walk down more than one street and still know where I´m going.

Apparently the color of my shirt and the color of my eyes are a good combination. (The color of my shirt is aquamarine.)

I´m starting to think in Spanish again. That´s comforting. I´m starting to be able to guess the answers on ¨Ruleta de la Suerte¨, Spain´s edition of Wheel of Fortune.

I´m actually really enjoying the melodrama of the spanish soaps here. I find them honest in their indulgence. They know exactly what they are for; they are television´s equivalent of the Harlequin romance; and they make no bones about it. Soaps in America (from my limited knowledge) get tangled up in all sorts of crazy crimes, murders, and impregnations. I´m sure Central American soaps have their share of these, but so far it´s just been glorious hook-up after glorious hook-up. Actually, they´re probably about the same, but it´s less burdensome to be able to ignore all of the finer details that come with actually understanding the dialogue.

And now I´m going to find my way back up the hill to my house, watch some Driscoll on the iPod I strategically loaded up with unwatched sermons, do my homework so Lussi doesn´t kill me tomorrow, and go to bed, since it´s already been dark for about two hours here.


Listening to: City and Colour - Hello, I´m in Delaware

*3x5 talks about leaving one´s camera behind in order to see the world with both eyes open, and taking the opportunity to tell others about these excursions through the act of losing one´s way with words - a well-known experience to me at the moment.