The Wall

                I think I hit.  There are only 3 weeks left…what the hell is going on!  Every single night for the past 3 weeks or so, I have been dreaming of either here or going home to the States.  Sometimes dreams have secret hidden messages full of intense metaphors.  Sometimes the world of gamma and delta waves take you on an allegorical journey through your unconscious mind and shoots you out the other side around 7 am.  Sometimes we are even lucky enough to find ourselves in a lucid dream and can control and act out our deepest secret fantasies, untethered by pesky little things like reality, laws of physics, and inhibitions.  But sometimes, for instance, when I dream about going back to the States to find that nobody speaks English there either, the message doesn’t really take any dream analysis to figure out.  I am caught between two homes.

                Though I am trying really hard to keep my head here, go out strong, and make the very best of my remaining time, several factors are making it hard not to disconnect.  First and foremost is the school.  In the U.S., I remember there being all sorts of pomp and circumstance for the last day of school, even in Elementary school.  That fateful last day in mid-June every year symbolized not only the completion of another year and with that the prideful sense of growth and maturity, but also the beginning of 3 months of freedom, unencumbered by responsibility and homework.  When the bell rang around 3:00 pm, we didn’t just go home in peace and quiet. It was a liberating exodus.  The school was our Egypt.  The summer was our promised land. When Teaaaaaacher was in Tico’s Land….LET MY STUDENTS GO!  Well, not quite.  Here, instead of exploding like a firework, the school year seems to just peter out like a bon fire.  One day it is roaring and all encompassing.  The next day it is just embers with heat emanating as a mere memory of its former glory.  Then suddenly, even as you watch it, it just turns to ash.  Okay maybe this metaphor is a little bleak for primary school teaching, hahaha.  The point is, here it is just so anticlimactic.  It seems every week for the last month there has been one less day of school and fewer students.  The end just sort of sneaks up on you.  Though I haven’t kept exact count, there has probably been about 100 days of school this year, which is about 80 short of a regular school year…yikes.  I finished all my tests a few weeks ago and all my grades are in!  Overall the range of scores this year has been pretty wide, from juuuuuust passing to almost 100%.  Among my 18 students, one of my students isn’t passing.  Though the classes this year are essentially finished even though graduation isn’t until December 16, the first week in December in school is called “apasados”, which is a last ditch opportunity to help the kids who aren’t passing and try to push them up to a 65.  My student who am I going to help is soooo close to passing my class so I am confident that I will be able to get him up to snuff with some extra assignments, which makes me really happy.  I think overall I graded on the easy side, but gave tough tests so I am really pleased to see all of my 18 go on, even though they might not have an English teacher next yearL.  Given that next year the school of 18 will dwindle down to 12 with the departure of the 6^th graders, and my director being gone so often, I am not positive if the English program will continue.  Though I understand the situation and can’t deny that with such a small and inconsistent school, there are probably other places in the country that could benefit more from a volunteer, I would be really bummed to see the English program here just die out, especially after 2 consecutive years (since I am only the 2^nd volunteer English teacher EVER in La Esperanza).  Given that, I am trying to create some sort of sustainable touch of English in the school, which segues perfectly into part two of this post: The many McGuyvers of Mark.

                This year has required a LOT of flexibility on my part.  Plans change.  Plans are made but nobody tells me.  Plans are never made yet somehow everyone knows to show up at the same place at the same time, which never fails to impress me.  I have learned to roll with pretty much anything that comes my way and have embraced being a town wide Gumby.  I have also learned to use my limited resources and that something as simple as a broken broom stick handle can also be a limbo stick, a baseball bat, a fruit picker, a wild dog attack preventer, a tug of war “rope”, a part of an obstacle course, a hammer, a spider-web cleaner, a classroom divider, a doorstop, a pooperscooper,a ball-on-roof retriever, and once, a sword.  I have also figured out that banana trees are not only beautiful and yield delicious bananastical treats, but when cut in thirds, also make great free weights!  Time to work off a year of gallopinto and chicharrones, which is fried pig fat (it’s actually better than it sounds…but not much).

 Now, in comparison to other developing places in the world, this part of Costa Rica is actually awfully well off, but my lack of money and isolation from larger towns usually limits me to what I can find in La Esperanza.  About 3 weeks ago, I decided to make a bookcase to store my supplies from this year in the English class to organize the room better.  As they say though, idle hands are the devil’s workshop and my little idea soon turned into a 2 day endeavor to build a bookcase out of semi-rotten wood, a hammer, a machete, a handsaw, and a mix of old nails and rivets.  Motivated by the sheer excitement of having a project to do, I went into San Marcos and bought some wood stain and sand paper to make this baby shine!  And I must say, though it does look like a bookcase made using a machete, a saw, and a hammer, it is the best (and only) damn bookcase I have ever made!  It’s cherry stain gleams of hard work and its slightly uneven shelf gives it an endearing aged quality.  I then realized that instead of using this to store my supplies, I had inadvertently built the 1^st Official La Esperanza Public English Library (established 2011)!  I am letting Pablo, one of my 6^th graders who is an awesome artist, paint and decorate the bookcase a little more and I am going to leave all of my English books here to start a collection, both for the townspeople and for future volunteers.  Even though most of my books are way above my student’s levels, I am happy that I can at least leave some type of English resource available to the town that will stay here when I leave.  Though I only have about 15 books to leave behind now, I would love to send a box full back here when I get home to the States and would appreciate anyone’s help!  Any books you love of any level (but especially children’s books) that you would like to donate would be fantastic so let me know and we can talk when I get back!  I know my students will appreciate itJ.

I have also been working on my graduation gift to my 6^th graders and my adult class in the form of a comprehensive guide to conversational English slang.  Though 5/7 6^th graders are going on to high school where they will learn formal English, I figure I will try to leave my mark with them and give them something they could only get from a native speaker; how to butcher the English language!I have already compiled about 10 pages and am hoping to have about 25.  I have been working on it for a few days now so I really hope they like it!

I spent the last few days of class teaching the 6^th graders (who this year were ultimately my favorite class by far), some basic English slang since in reality, nobody ever really interacts with “How are you? I’m fine thank you, how are you?”.  The other day I walked by my 6th grader Rebeca and asked her “What’s up?”.  She heartily responded with “Just livin’ the dream, baby”.  Nothing so absurd has ever validated me so much.

Important Aside: I realized I haven’t yet really given thanks to everybody who has been reading this blog all year and everyone who has showed me such support.  Thank you to all of my family and friends so much for your help, your advice, your interest in my adventure, and just for being there to talk to and make me laugh and smile.  Even if we have barely talked this year, memories of our times together got me through and I can’t wait to see you all again and hear about your year.  Without great friends and family back home this year honestly would not have been possible for me.  I miss you all and will see you soon!

PHOTOS OF WILI EMPENADA MORA MONGE ABARCA SOBEL

It is pretty hard to actually capture a good picture of the spry little dude so these are not the best quality, but here is my boy!

His tongue is out in the photo above because he is concentrating hard on something...like father like son!

 

 

 

 This is the larger housing complex in which his mansion resides.  It is also the former pig sty in the backyard.  You can see Wili trying to climb his way to freedom...It breaks my heart that I have to keep him tied up most of the day in the sty but again, Ticos are NOT cool with any animals being inside the house.

 

Le Chateau De Wili...dream-imagined and hand built...and do not let the optical illusion fool you...those windows on either side of the door are real, definitely not drawn on by me...

His favorite chew toy...my finger.

Dog Day Afternoon

     First of all, I have to celebrate making it through October!  The REAL rainy season everyone had been talking about finally and unfortunately came.  I think it rained every single day in October and for 12 days straight it rained nonstop, so much so that the school’s choir couldn’t go to a competition in San Jose because the highway was flooded.  Given this, I finally caved and after 8 months here, bought a pair of rubber boots.  Much like last time when I tried to buy sandals here, the salesperson just laughed at my ridiculous Godzilla feet, and I left with the biggest size they had which was 2 sizes too small.  However, with the addition of my galoshes, I received the biggest compliment one can get here from my new host mom.  I came home one day after cutting some sugar cane with my machete in the rain and she just laughed at me as I sat covered in mud drinking my coffee and eating  my rice and beans with my machete resting on my lap,  still wearing my boots, and wearing my big yellow poncho.  She said I was more Tico than Gringo.  Little does she know it, but I now worship her for saying that.  Hopefully for now though, my days of trekking around every day in my raincoat and boots are over and I can return to the land of milk and honey and plenty and sandals and no town-wide seasonal depression.  I see the light! (literally).

                So now that the mandatory celebration is over, it’s story time!  About 3 weeks ago, I had an especially difficult day at school.  Senioritis is kicking in HARD for these kids and, surprisingly, it is not my 6^th graders who are giving me the most grief.  Despite the fact that they are graduating in less than a month and moving on to colegio (well, most of them anyway...some are not continuing onto high school and are going to start working in the coffee fields), I have definitely forged some good bonds with the 6^th graders and there is a certain level of unspoken given respect that they show and that I expect.  It is actually the younger students who seem to be pushing their limits a little bit more each day and proving that old adage, “if you give an inch, they will take a mile” frustratingly true.  Well, one of these days I gave a millimeter and they took the InterAmericana Highway so despite the downpour, I went for a good old cathartic run in the rain, much to the expected “there goes that crazy gringo again” sighs of the locals.  At the top of the hill by the bus stop, I heard this strange crying and saw a puppy whimpering and shaking violently in the rain trying to find shelter.  Well, long story short, I would like to welcome a new addition to my family!  His name is WiliEmpenada Mora MongeAbarcaSobel and it is probably fair to say that I love him more than anything has ever loved anything in the history of all time.  Weighing in at about 10 pounds, he is actually a little gordito for such a little guy…this is probably due to me sharing my gallopinto and empenadas with him.  One of my 4^th graders and his older brother helped me build the lil’ guy a doghouse and I dare say it’s the darn swellest dog house this side of Panama!  Wili basically follows me everywhere as my little companion and brought him to class one day.  The culture towards animals here, especially dogs, is that they are just that…animals.  The idea of the dog being part of the family like back in the states just seems to freak out the Ticos, so just the mere act of me actually touching Wili grosses out the locals.  At this point however, I have already given this culture more than enough reasons to laugh at me, so I figure what’s one more, right?  I think they are used to my idiosyncrasies and goofy antics.  I also think that my lifestyle here in general is starting to catch up with me and I really miss having a circle of friends around me.  Having this little pup as my sidekick reminds of this in hilarious and absurd ways, i.e. yesterday when I starting yelling at him in Spanish not to be lazy because he was going too slow on a run with me. I think after having so many ups and downs this year with my students loving me one day and seeming to hate me the next, my other family giving me the boot, and feeling like I am good acquaintances with almost everyone in the whole town but finding it difficult to know who real friends are, it is nice to have a loyal sidekick…even if that sidekick is a mangy ball of fur.

I have comprised the following list of literary and non-fiction precedents to validate my friendship with Wili:

My Dog Skip

Old Yeller

Homeward Bound

Airbud
I Am Legend

The Never Ending Story (giant flying dogs count too)

Lassie

Beethoven

Turner and Hooch

Babe (pigs are just ugly pink dogs)

Marley and Me

Free Willy (whales are just giant, slippery underwater dogs)

Okay so by literary and non-fiction…I meant movies…dammit…..

HAPPY BLOGTOBER EVERBODY!!! This One Goes Out Special to Bobby and Yvette (and also Aleeza, of course:-))

     I have alluded to life here being very structurally simple and full of free time, but I realized I haven’t really described it in detail.  Well, I’m still not going to! Mwahahah!  Just kidding, I am going to in the next post, but I wanted to preface this post with that to just give you a little nibble in the form of my former (thankfully it changed) teaching schedule.  From April – August, I taught 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th grade from 10:00 -- 11:30 and then 5^th and 6^th grade from 2:40 – 4:00 everyday…and that was it!  After much debating and bargaining with my school director, it became apparent to me that as discontented as I was with the schedule because of how little time I got with the students, it was how it was going to be.  Therefore, I decided if I can’t beat ‘em…uhhhhh…I’LL BEAT ‘EM!!  Hence, based off of the model set forth to me by my Kindergarten Graduation Ceremony from Jewish private school (we presented an hour long play in English and then again in Hebrew…yes, it’s true, my intellect peaked when I was 5) , I wanted to try to teach my kids a small play/presentation that they could ultimately present to all of their parents in both English and Spanish.  I figured it would not only be a great way to increase my time to work with the kids but would also give them something to present to their parents and families.  I was feeling extra ambitious when I wrote out the first script with the first schedule, hoping to get permission from all of the parents to hold 5 total hours of class with different grades coming in shifts in the town salon on days when the director cancelled class so we could practice.  The 5 hours quickly became 2, but I was cool with that because A) I felt pleased with myself simply being able to hold a meeting with all of the parents at once and actually communicate with them fine in Spanish and B) with the 2 hour practices on no-school days, I would also get 45 minutes extra every day to work with the kids.  My script was such that I wanted to teach the 1^st-3^rd graders a skit, the 4^th-6^th graders a skit, teach all of the kids “Imagine” by John Lennon (has a nice message I thought, right???), and, teetering on the thin tightrope that separates ambitious and just dumb, I planned to teach the school “choir” an a cappella version of Stand By Me”.  After a few hours of arranging it (my first a cappella arrangement…yeehaw!), I presented it to them and was reminded of a fact too obvious for me to have seen before: a cappella is only cool to me.  I told them that if they tried and after a few practices didn’t like it, we would ditch it…well, they tried it and I am regretful to announce that “Los Medianoche Rambladores” has officially and indefinitely disbanded.  Luckily, they are still psyched about learning the song and performing it, but I simplified it into a straight 2 part harmony and I will play the piano as the background (which actually kind of terrifies me since I don’t really know how to play piano that well and the last time I played any musical instrument in a performance setting was butchering a saxophone solo to “My Heart Will Go On” in 6^th grade).  Anyway, long story short, the process of just getting kids to show up to rehearse and getting them to behave while trying to practice has proven much more challenging than I anticipated given their overall manageable behavior this year thus far.  In their defense though, I do often find myself getting frustrated over absurd things.  For instance, on the first day of trying to start teaching the choir Stand By Me by first just going over the words one time to work on pronunciation, they all started complaining because we had been there for all of 3 minutes and weren’t singing yet and I found myself thinking, “Well these amateurs just have ZERO appreciation for the artistic process!”, at which point I flung my cashmere scarf right over my v-neck cardigan and turtleneck combo, thereby almost knocking my thick-rimmed hipster reading glasses right off of my botox-ed face.  Needless to say, I adjusted my biuret, took a sip of my non-fat organic free-range cage-free seaweed soy latte, and walked my Italian leather boots right into my trailer for some “me time”.

….At this point I just laughed at myself and readjusted my expectations and goals.  The kids all pretty much hated “Imagine” but have strangely taken to Michael Jackson’s “We are the World” so now I am trying to teach them that.  I think ultimately, my biggest problem with this is that I am flip-flopping between creating a little democracy and then being a complete authoritarian, each one trying to compensate for the faults of the other.  I ask the students what they want and what their opinions are because I don’t want to force upon them something none of them are enjoying, but then they all just fight over what to do and I end up ending it by just telling them how it’s going to be whether they like it or not.  I think I am realizing that in teaching, fairness is defined by consistency.  And now, after writing this, I am immediately realizing that, in any context whatsoever, the word “democracy” is kind of a funny word to apply to a group of 6 year olds…then again I did just finish reading “Brave New World” and ”1984” so I suppose my head is in a funny place.  Ultimately, I guess it is just funny how when it comes to the really big snafus and curveballs here that ostensibly should trip me up, I’ve been pretty proud of my ability to just roll with the punches and let things slip right off of my back in the name of this adventure, but then when it comes to the tiniest little things in the classroom, I find myself easily frustrated and often inflexible. In the meantime, on a totally different note, I wish a Happy and a healthy New Year to all of my Hebrews and Shebrews!  I hope everyone had an easy fast, a great time getting together with family, and a bounty of apples and honey (I ate guayaba and sugarcane here…still counts!)

Leeeeaaaaaaaaaaavin’ On a…1998 Suzuki Sidekick?

     So one thing about Costa Rican culture that I have encountered: it tends to be very non-confrontational which can at times just verge on passive aggressive.  Not surprisingly, in a town of about 180 people like La Esperanza, chisme (gossip) spreads like wildfire and more often than not if you ever really really need to know some piece of info, you will almost always be the last person in town to find out.  Well, I learned first-hand the interesting situations that can arise in such a culture when I was…wait for it….waaaaaaaaaaait for it…kicked out of my host family’s house!!  I won`t go too much into the details other than to say that I found out one day about 3 weeks ago (from my school director, not actually from my host family) that my host family just didn’t want to have a volunteer anymore (don’t worry I didn’t do anything really stupid to actually deserve an eviction) and I would have to leave that day to go to another family who would graciously host me for the remaining three months.  My neighbor, who naturally knew about this before me picked me up in his 1998 Suzuki and off we went about 5 minutes up the hill to my new family!  To sum up, I learned several valuable things. 1) Sometimes a blessing in disguise takes off its mask after only a few hours. 2) A year is not nearly long enough to understand ALL the subtleties of a different culture. 3) When under pressure, I can clean up my entire room here and move out in about 45 minutes, so if I accidentally commit a felony here, I can get out quick! Hooray!  Long story short, I am very happy (dare I say happier?) with this new family.  I am now living with the family of one of my struggling students so I will be able to help him all the time with English and given the amount of reading I have been doing with so much free time, having a porch with a big comfortable chair overlooking the coffee mountains now ain’t too shabby.  I also actually like living a little further from the school.  My old house was literally about 50 feet from the school and this new one is about a 15 minute walk and I’ve found I much prefer waking up earlier and having a relaxed breakfast (gallopinto and coffee is not designed to be downed quickly) and walking with my students as oppossed to rushing through breakfast and leaving the house 2 minutes before school starts just because I lived so close. Sometimes the move does break my heart a little bit, like yesterday when my old family’s adorable dog named Braudi followed me all the way from the school to my new house and waited on the porch staring at me for an hour until he finally realized/accepted I wasn’t going to walk back to the old house.  It’s okay though, me and Braudi are still good pals.  Dear Braudi, if you are reading this right now, I miss you and I hope you can accept this for what it is...We’ll always have La Esperanza.  Also, if you are reading this right now, holey gallopinto Batman we’re gonna be so RICH! You can read! Your friend, Mark. p.s. Can you talk too???

Meet The School!

     If I haven’t already said it once or twice or seven thousand times…life scampers along here on a very small scale.  There is that old saying about life throwing unexpected curveballs our way.  This year is more like a change-up and I have had to slow my roll in almost every facet of life in order to be in time here.  Now, as I have mentioned before, my school is just me, the director, the cook, and my former 23, now 18 students.  What happened to almost a ¼  of my class??? They moved away to other parts of Costa Rica:-(  Below is the memorial I have established in my classroom in honor of those who have left us...I have commemorated each of them by hanging their old nametags high so their legacy will echo in the cathedral of memory for all eternity.

    Even more sadly, 4 of my fallen soldiers were 1st graders leaving my 1st grade class with a student:teacher ratio of 1:1.  Yep, just me and cute little Esteban coloring our asses off every day!  Yesterday I taught him how to tie his shoes!  Arguably the most adorable/least English related thing I have taught this year!  Since I didn’t know how to say “loop, swoop, and pull” in Spanish, I had to default to the obviously inferior “oidos de conejo” (bunny ears) method.  Needless to say, Esteban got an A.  I realized afterwards it would have been a great opportunity to reinforce “bunny” and “ears” in English, but I can just put that one in my overflowing box of “Awesome ways I realize I should have taught a lesson after I’ve already taught it with total mediocrity”. Eh, que sera sera.  Another funny sidenote, Esteban’s older sister Mauren is my only 5th grader so I like to joke to myself that their parents picked an unpopular year in La Esperanza to have sex.  Anyway, with such small classes (my largest class now being 7 students; my 6th graders), there are definite disadvantages.  Okay 1st grader, let’s get into groups of one, time to play tic tac toe!  Good job Team Esteban you win!  Here’s a chocolate.  Sorry Team Esteban, you also paradoxically lose:-(…no chocolate for you!  And please give the chocolates you won earlier to the winning team.  However, despite the occasional slow-pace and inevitable existential chocolate problem, having so few students has its definite upsides, and I think the number one advantage is how well I have gotten to know all of my students.  Instead of spending the whole year just trying to remember names (and I am NOT good at remembering names), I had that down pat in about the first week and since then have been able to focus on really getting to know each student and at this point have visited all of their houses at least once.  So since I am lucky enough to know my students so well, it is only fair that I share them with you!

1ST GRADE

Esteban a.k.a The Lone Ranger
Age 6
Greatest Skill:  Fastest “Quiet Coyote” South of Mexico
Favorite Songs:  Days of the Week, ABCs, The Color Song, Baby Got Back
Favorite day:  Friday (because he thinks every day is Friday)
Superpowers:  shoe-tying, unstoppable giggling, crayon sharpening
Adorability level:  9.2
Location of his sillys:  OUT!!

2ND GRADE

Lauren a.k.a Lauren-Bauren-Face

Age 7
Volume: excessive
Favorite type of weather: happy
Most common emotion: sunny
Favorite day of the week: January
Ability to differentiate emotions, days of the week, and weather conditions in English: negligible
Favorite Game: holding my hands while I stand on her feet to keep her in place and then slamming her forehead into my abs as hard as she can
Dream Job: being a foghorn
Favorite letters to pick in a game of hangman: Z, Q, X

Brandon a.k.a. Brandoni-Bologna-Head

Age 8
Favorite flavored crayon: sunshine yellow
High-Five frequency: 5/microsecond
Energy Level: methamphetamines
Favorite whine: “teaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaCCCHHHHeeeeeeerrrrrrr!!!!!”
Favorite wine: 78’ Pinot Noir
Line budging: pathological

Gabriel a.k.a. Gabrielito-Tito

Age 7
Height: adorable
Weight: probably
Favorite Hair Style: bed head
English proficiency: yes!
Favorite number: shmifteen
Irony of his two previous attributes: duly noted

Yohana a.k.a Yohana-Banana

Age 8
Ethnicity: Panamanian Indigenous Indian
Favorite Dance Style: self-conscious and uncomfortable
Favorite types of hugs: ones that don’t involve people touching her
Time spent walking to and from school daily: 2 ½ hours
Unexpected class sidekick: Lauren-Bauren

3RD GRADE

Ezekiel a.k.a. Zeekie-Baby
Age 9
Intentions: only the best
Easily: loved, confused, content
Disposition: sweet and unassuming
Biggest/most endearing English-related challenge: pronunciation

Andres a.k.a. Andresitoooooo
Age 9
Attitude: daily
Favorite import: hair gel
Favorite things that begin with “sa…” : rcasm, ss, limanders, rdines, xophones, lmon, botaging my lesson plans
Pain: in the neck
Location of my soft spot for him: my heart
Most likely future job: post-undergrad volunteer Spanish teacher in the United States

4TH GRADE

Yinia a.k.a Curls

Age 9
Love interests: Teacher Mark
Favorite Heart Placements: on her shoes, on her homework, where the dots in her “i” should be, on her tests, on her hands, on her arms
Intelligence Level: off the charts
Most guarded secret: she is already fluent in 11 languages and is only taking the class to draw me pictures of smiley faces

Nicol a.k.a. Nicolita Bonita

Age 9
Self-perceived age: 34
“ists”: perfection, femin, hair styl
Relationship with Teacher Mark: love/hate
Effort: frustratingly inconsistent
Sass: frustratingly consistent

Daniel a.k.a. Danny-Boy

Age 12
Apparent favorite grade: 4th
Secret Wish: to learn English…he’s just realllllly good at keeping his secret and letting everyone else believe he doesn’t care
My confidence that the above statement is actually true: 59%
Favorite English word: boobies
Statistically Proven Comedic Value of the word “boobies” – 97/100...well played Danny-boy…well played

5TH GRADE

Mauren a.k.a. The Lone Rangerette

Age 11
Favorite classmate: Teacher Mark
Effort in school: equal to an 11 year old me, i.e. not much
Probable future career: actress, singer, overall goofball
Ease of peeking her interest to pay attention in class: running the Tour de France with a broken leg
Dear Karma,: touche

6TH GRADE

Pablo a.k.a. Pabs

Age 12
Most prized classroom possession: 8 glitter gel pens
Personality: glitter gel pen
Celebrity Crush: the Jonas Brothers
Hidden talents: drawing, choreography, interior design of my classroom
Classroom Role: Eccentric Cousin

Rebeca a.k.a Rebequita a.k.a Alpha Female

Age 12
Future Breaker of:  hearts, balls, rules, expectations
Actual Career goals:  gynecologist, nurse, nun, or missionary
Opportunities to get away with breaking balls in gynecology, hearts in nursing, rules in the nunnery, and expectations as a missionary:  ironically lacking
Classroom Role: Mom

Mayerlin a.k.a. JohnMayerLindonJohnson

Age 12
Favorite face to give teacher in class: skeptical smile
What the skeptical smile means: “Teacher you have no idea what you’re doing do you…”
Hidden Talent: appears to not know English but can still understand all the jokes I make to myself during class to keep myself entertained
Classroom Role: Cool Aunt

Yilania a.k.a. Y-clef

Age “12”
Height: lots of it!
Estimated real age: 17
Favorite classroom hobby: singing “La Camisa Negra”
Biggest teacher mistake she reminds me of: playing the students “La Camisa Negra” without thinking about the lyrics and the fact that they know Spanish.
Classroom Role: Fun Step-Mom

Leivin a.k.a. “on a jetplane”

Age 12
Most common expression: enthusiastic bewilderment
Puberty: just around the corner
Attention span: Josh Hatcher
Potential: more than he knows
Classroom Role: Spacey Dad

Victor Daniel a.k.a. Victorino

Age 12
Favorite things to hug: people
Height and Weight: a lot more than he realizes when he jumps on my back
Spirit Animal: the tortoise; a little slow but steady and determined
Class Role: Problem Child

Yuri a.k.a. Jewwwwwri

Age 12
Hair: Avatar ponytail
Role Model: Tyra Banks
Similarities to Avatars: knows little English; fear of white Americans, is 9 feet tall with blue skin
Class Role: Too-cool-for-school Older Sister

16 Days in Nicaragua: My life as a traveller, a fugitive, and an honorary Nicaraguan

Nicaragua…god what a country! This whopper of a yarn of a tale of a legend all began with a single taxi ride.  Sure, it all started out innocently enough. Our protagonists awoke with the dimly lit crease of light coming through the window in their budget hostel dorm room.  They sauntered with bravado and enthusiasm onto the streets of San Jose, armed with nothing more than stuffed camping backpacks (known on the streets as “Tourist Beacons”), brooding confidence, a Lonely Planet guide, and unending hope.  Little did they know that ahead of them lay a path of adventure, intrigue, unsolved enigmatic mysterious quagmires, run on sentences, and the heaven-sent marriage of 1 dollar beers and 6 dollar a night hostels that would change their lives, if not forever, then at least for like a week or two. 

CHAPTER 1: Travellers

Country of origin: Costa Rica. Primary Destination: TransNica Bus Stop, San Jose. Secondary Destination: Nicaragua.  Suspects:  Caucasian American, considered unarmed and dangerously white.  Given Names: Eric “look at my biceps” Dunford and Mark “my words” Sobel.  Known aliases: DunnyBear and BearJew; White Lightning; The Lesson Planners; El Toro Empanada and The Grandma Whisperer. Ages: 23.  Sex: not until they learn how to salsa dancebetter.  Blog Entry Preference: needlessly long and noir.

It was approxametely 7 pm, E.S.T, when the duo finally crossed the border.  To lesser men, a 9 hour busride into uncharted terrain could prove terrifying if not more likely, fatal, but after months of unexpected changes in schedules, living on Tico Time, and having nothing go quite as planned, our lads simply laughed like barbaric Viking warriors in the face of such a paltry challenge.  But when they really had to pee it kind of sucked.  Anyway, arrived they did in the fine colonial shire of Granada, Nicaragua.  Accustomed only to Costa Rica, a country whose gems lay 2% in the cities and 98% in the nature far from the masses, our gents were quite taken by such a beautiful and charmed Central American metropolis.  Thus, the journey began with a pleasant surprise.  The oldest city in Central America, Granada was but a collage of tree lined squares, externally derelict but internally majestic cathedrals, and colorfully changing architecture.  However, juxtaposing all of this was the striking contrapasso of barefoot children running around the streets and returning to their houses that looked equally decrepit on the inside and out.  They soon realized the general picture one can paint of Nicaragua: in the background a soaring volcano surrounded by greenery.  In the foreground a barely clothed child either begging for money or playing in a dirty puddle.  Though the duo would surely return to the fine city of Granada later in their quest, for now further adventures lay ahead that needed immediate tending to.  First and foremost was the mystical Isla de Ometepe, where they spent their 4^th of the month of Julius.  Deep within the heart of this fine country, surrounded on all sides by the massive Lago Nicaragua is this magical island made up of two perfectly shaped volcanoes connected by a narrow isthmus.  Upon their arrival, the young sirs turned to each other and agreed instantly regarding the beauty and grandiosity of themysterious land with a hearty, “holy shit, dude!”  It was on this island that they met their first compatriots; troubadours of sorts you might say.  Following a traditional Nicaraguan feast of pizza and beer, our young squires marched through the twilight to a lovely hostel by the welcoming name of Indio Viejo (the Old Indian).  Of all the fellow wanderers they befriended, from the two German girls whose bodies only just compensated for their personalities to the fearless but awesome leader of a group of eighteen 17 year old American girls, the most remembered by the judge of time will sure be the two Brits (Nigel and Joe…and I can’t believe we actually ran into a British dude named Nigel either) and he who is simply dubbed “Predator Hair”.  Predator hair, whose real name is neither remembered nor relevant, was the well-aged proprietor of the Indio Viejo, presumably the Indio Viejo himself.  He was a man defined by the time he lacked; for shoes since 1981; to show us a cheaper room because he didn’t want to climb the stairs; and to comb his hair out of the single most transcendent dreadlock I dare say has ever blessed a person’s scalp.  Oh yes, for he nay had dreadlocks, but merely a single 7 inch wide dread lock falling just above his arse.  As legend has it, every three hundred years on the seventh day of the seventh month when the moon is at its highest, the hair comes to life and feeds upon the hair of lesser beings.  Hitherto, the young wanderers imbibed ale and rum with the other members of the house of the Indian late into the wee hours as Predator Hair simply watched and read in peace.  The next day, our heroes arose to a day where the sun shines as though it is shining for the first time…as though they are the first men ever to see it.  With the two British fellows in tow, the foursome set about to circle the islands on mighty two wheeled steeds (i.e. mopeds).  And ye, they explorethneareth and fareth, to the far shores to swim in the gloomy waters of Lago Nicaragua and enjoy the rare sunshine and skies of crystalline blue.  Oh the four men rode mightily and swiftly they did; their honored only tarnished by several groups of 12 year old school girls that laughed at them because they were riding girly motorcycles.  Indeed it was a traditional American 4^th of July; a day filled with polluting the air and trying to get to our destination faster than the British. With warm goodbyes they left the island when the sun rose in the morrow and aboard they went to a great water vessel that a man drove lying down steering with his feet.  With this, they were departed from the great island (and consequently from the fine British gents and Predator Hair as well) even faster than my writing style in this story has switched from film noir to an odyssey of yesteryear.

Upon leaving the great isle our fellows continued northerly, past the wide plains and fuming volcanoes of the South West to arrive in the great city of Leon and it is here my  friends, where are protagonists luck suddenly took an unexpected turn. Oh shit.

CHAPTER 2: Fugitives

                Now days into their journey with miles to go and further memories to make, Dunnybear and BearJew found themselves at the heart of Nicaragua; the city of Leon.  Known far and wide as the country’s epicenter of artistry and revolution, this city opened its arms to the men offering them 1 dollar dinners made for kings by night and streets lined with merchants by day.  After a relaxed first evening of billiards and glog with the local riff raff, they retired early with hopes of a full day to come…if only they knew how full it would be.  After hours of meandering through rows of merchants, getting lost in the maze of seemingly endless cathedrals, and buying Spanish versions of Kung Fu Panda for their students, the brave warriors finally set their sights on the main attraction: the Basilica de la Asuncion which of course in English translates to “Run Away Eric and Mark”…sadly the lads Spanish was lacking in fluency and foolishly they believed it to be the Basilica of the Asuncion…ha! FOOLS! After striking the palm of the gatekeeper with 2 dollars of silver, they entered to climb the stairs to the roof for a view of the city below and the country side in the distance.  And ah what a view it was!  Laughs were had and joy was flowing like a river.  But then, alas! Nay it cannot be!  As the fellows were taking pictures, down below in the town square approached a man of uniform, gesturing  “Get down gringo…I don’t wanna have to handcuff your ass!”. And oh get down they did and left to explore other regions of the roof and their asses remained uncuffed…but not for long.  Rising like a phoenix up the stairs a gentleman and lady of uniform approached the confused men and delivered the most dastardly news a man can here “follow me”.  Fearing the possible retribution of his club and firearm, the boys obeyed silently but with faces of confusion and increasing fear.  Minutes later they arrived…in Nicaraguan jail.  Milliseconds turned to seconds and seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to about an hour…but that’s about it.  The boys awaited in their prison cell, passing time taking photos and videos of their current misfortune for the face of the book, singing sad dirges about their folly, and longingly watching the birds outside fly free from the shackles of imprisonment.  An hour or so past and the verdict came to the young sirs in the form of a man in a track suit who was apparently in the department of intelligence.  And it was now my readers that these boys learned a sobering and valuable lesson about their Spanish abilities; you don’t really know a language until you’re in a prison that only has 3 walls and on the open side a dude with a shotgun is just standing around watching you and you can understand what a cop is yelling at you about.  It had seemed that a misunderstanding of great proportion took place for the boys were simply innocently taking pictures, unawares that they were in a prohibited part of the roof.  After several bewildering exchanges with the man of the law, the boys heard the only word they needed to here “vayase!” (leave!).  In a daze and caught off guard by their sudden liberation, the boys hesitantly walked from their cell, unsure ultimately if they were actually being freed or if they were accidentally escaping from jail, for other than “vayase”, they had heard the man utter something about a supermarket, a bathroom, his country versus America, something about clothes, and something about little boys.  It was then, minutes later as the boys were struggling to comprehend their predicament that a fearful thought shot into their heads with the fury of 1000 burning suns, “Did they want us to come back??? I don’t know much about prison but I don’t think they usually tell you to go to a supermarket to buy food and go home and get your teddybear to make the stay more comfortable, but…maybe??”  With this mutual doubt and the paranoia that is only brought upon by unsure freedom, the boys made the natural choice to flee the great city of Leon and live as potential fugitives on the beach for a few days.  They arrived to their sandy paradise past dusk and toasted with a congratulatory ale to celebrate their freedom(though at the time sipped fearfully as they hoped dearly that it was not a premature celebration) and watched a lightning storm over the ocean that only Zeus himself could have conjured…ultimately the boys apprehension was undue as, of course, they were indeed set free

CHAPTER 3: Being an Honorary Nicaraguan.

                After a short respite from their odyssey to enjoy the Pacific sun, the dynamic duo continued even further into the depths of Nicaragua to the very rarelytouristed, mysterious Caribbean Coast.  However, it is here where ½ of this team of 2 separated and retreated back to his homeland of Costa Rica due to the arrival of his American parents.  So onward young Mark of La Esperanza went, alone and both exhilarated and scared to be travelling without his companion.  He explored this magical land in a place called Pearl Lagoon and realized that unlike the rest of Nicaragua, on this coast the language of choice was English creole and the years of sun had tinted the skin of the natives not the soft brown of the other Nicaraguans, but rather a rich and deep Caribbean black.  Though he travelled alone, he was not alone for long.  Only briefly after his isolated ventures ensued did he come upon two ladies of the American persuasion.  Both coming from Latino backgrounds they hailed from the Calif of Ornia, each a student enjoying a summer before entering undergraduate studies.  And oh the adventures the new trio had!  Going to lunch.Talking for hours on rocking chairs.Going to dinner.Drinking rum together.  Actually that was about it…so on the morrow he bid farewell to the lovely maidens and again ventured alone…but this time he was alone for even less time.  During a stroll in the afternoon sun on the one road that led through the vast savannah, he stumbled upon a gaggle of village women standing waist deep in the river washing their clothes.  Around him naked children smiled and laughed as they played in the water.  He smiled at this most foreign way of life and watched the goings on for but a short while and then continued merrily on his way…but only for about 50 feet before he was beckoned.  Behind him a booming voice called, “hey brodah why you do walk alone we make walk togederman!”.  And if he had a nickel for every time he was walking in a savannah and a black guy screamed that to him he thought to himself…and abandoning his travelling instincts that are guided by American cynicism, he turned on his heel and back he went to join this jovial and friendly fellow for a lovely stroll.  This stroll with this random fellow, Sir Rudolph, ended up leading to quite an unexpected gift indeed.  Further abandoning his instincts, our solo protagonist chose to trust his new friend and accepted an invitation into his domicile for an afternoon meal and good conversation in his village by the name of Raiti-Pura (in Miskito that means “above the grave”).  The food and conversation eventually bled into the night and a smorgasbord of insanely fresh fish, coconut bread, cassava, breadfruit, and coconut milk ensued like that which he had never dared dream.  The next day, at the request of his new Nicaraguan family, young Sobel bid ado to his hostel and again traversed the single savannah road with all his belongings to stay with his new friends.  He went with an open mind, but still on his guard and what followed can only be described as generosity beyond generosity.  He slept like a prince in a private bedroom and ate like a emperor for 2 ½ days with his new family.  Though they had barely a coin to spare, one lightbulb in the house, and an outhouse with no running water, they refused any payment other than his company and his friendship.  He learned that they were of the Miskito people, an indigenous tribe that is the second largest in all of Latin America, second to the Mayans.  He learned their ways and how to say such fantastical things as “How are you?”, “Are we going fishing tomorrow?”, and “Shall we drink alcohol now?” in their beautiful Miskito tongue.  He went crab fishing in a dugout canoe and bathed in the lagoon.  He sat on a dock with an elder and sipped rum from the bottle as he was regaled with the people’s history.  After 3 days of not opening his wallet or his guidebook, he, with a reluctant sigh and a pout finally left their house to return to hisTico homeland, but only after promising them that he would return and be their white gringo honorary black Caribbean son and brother again.  Behold, a mere 22 hours later riding upon the finest school busses, 8 of which he had no seat for, he finally saw the church steeple of La Esperanza on the horizon, and knew, with a smile and a sense of surrealism, that he was home.  And so my readers, this story ends not with a prison cell or an ill-fated call to the American embassy, but rather with a belly full of Caribbean delicacy, warm memories of the extraordinary generosity that can be found from impoverished strangers, and the general satisfaction of a wonderful trip.  What a country indeed!