i wonder where all my old friends are..so here is my shot at a connection in this wide old world..
i have left my quiet life on isla ometepe in lake nicaragua, that island paradise of backwards-in-time living amongst dirt farmers and fisherman who paddle their dugout canoos to sea, hand-netting all day until the setting sun lights the sky on fire. an island of volcanos and waterfalls and fresh food and dirty fingernalis (which i have since cleaned) of howler monkeys and brilliant tropical birds, of transport by horses and by bikes, of long days carrying heavy things and of evening swims beneath the steaming volcano peaks...of long walks and of strangers who tell you ¨go to god¨ when they pass you on the road..
im now in a city. granada, where i live for almost free in a volunteer house with a bunch of great kids from around the world. we all work teaching poor kids in the shack communities outside town. and then throw parties for ourselves where the blenders run without stopping and everyone speaks english, even the nicaraguans. which may make them sound horrible but theyre not. people are bright and the conversations intelligent and playful and everyone relaxes...warm nights and a feeling of purpose in the air. parties for ourselves, for the neighborhood kids who think it's a blast, parties in honor of the god of youth (may he smile on me again in this blessed life, if only once or twice)
the city smells like urine but the houses are all really pretty.
the city is bloody hot but in the afternoon everyone moves their rocking chairs out to the sidewalk to chat with the nieghbors while kids chase balls aroun the street and guys on horses kick up dust and people come home from work two or three on each bicycle, sitting on laps and on handle bars weaving around potholes and dodging the occasional SUV..music from every window blending together, dogs barking, roosters crowing, nicaragua breathing..
we have limes and papayas growing in our courtyard...
there is a very beautiful crater lake i can walk to far far from everything. out of the city, past the shacks, through the fields, over the edge of the volcano and down to the lake. water a deeper blue than the skies of my childhood. sad, though, because the last time we went two masked men with machetes threatened to cut our throats for a few coins.
sometimes the chaos and the beauty and the brilliant colors and the whole great big loud crush of life, noise and rhythm makes me very very tired. sometimes, though, it is like a shot of adrenaline and i feel like i am floating. weightless, flowing with it all. sometimes i am at home and alive.
as my return flight approaches i am trying to decide if there is a good reason to be on the plane.
lots of love, and stay in touch,