Adventures in Nicaragua

This was written in June, 2011
     I thought it appropriate to start off my first blog entry with a quote about Yoga, the base/purpose of my journey to Costa Rica which has led me on an adventure into places I never knew existed, inward and outward:

     “You and I have to use finite means: mind, body, intelligence and consciousness to reach the infinite seat of the soul which is the mother of all those things. In this way, we remain ever fresh, ever peaceful and with ever growing intelligence.”

     I will start from where I am right now, 5 months into my journey I find myself in Bluefields, Nicaragua, an island of population ½ million that took us two days to get to from Santa Rosa, Costa Rica. Bluefields is not a usual stop for backpackers, vacationers or any kind of traveler for that matter. It’s named after the Dutch explorer, Abraham Blauvelt, who came here in the 17th century. How did I arrive at this Nicaraguan Island of majority Caribbean folk, 80% of them being supported my relatives living in the States or working on Cruise ships since there is little to no opportunity here to make an earning. Well, this journey of mine happens to be a romance as well. Fernando, my Tiko novio (Costa Rican boyfriend), who I met at Rancho Margot, the organic, self-sufficient, yoga inclusive, educational hotel/retreat where I had the privilege to study Yoga with Irum, my friend and mentor, for five weeks. Fernando caught my heart, worked hard for it, and he has become family to me. Being so far away from friends and family, I am at home with him. And that’s what led me to Bluefields, his mom and extended family grew up here and currently live here. It is a colourful, lively, gated entrances, don’t go out alone at night or during the day, kind of island and it is HOT, I mean hot. Did I say hot? I’m talking dripping from mostly all of the pours on my body for the majority of the day.

     To get here was scarier than any rollercoaster I have ever been on. If you ever want a real ride to make you shake in your pants then come take a midnight bus ride in Nicaragua. I’m not sure if the bus drivers here are suicidal, drunk or possibly both but for that three hour ride from San Carlos to Rama it was as if I was in a vortex, being pulled at (I’m not exaggerating) 180-200km/hour, in a greyhound-like bus, going around curves, at night. I think I talk to God somewhat often, but that night God and I got real close. Just before the ‘bus ride of terror’ we narrowly escaped a hold up waiting at a so called ‘bus stop’ in middle of nowhere Nicaragua, at 11pm. No one was around except for Fer, myself and Fer’s uncle who we happened to run into at the last bus we were on, thank goodness or we would never have figured out the scheduleless busses since every person you ask gives a different answer. When we had 3 guys surrounding us one of whom was telling us about how life is extremely difficult here and God is his savior and he only does good, pretending to help us out and tell us the best route to get to our destination. I, of course, wanted to be friendly and make small talk, Fer told me to put up my hood, don’t say anything and let them handle it, no problem I thought. They were moving in, I was praying for the bus to come RIGHT NOW when out of nowhere, and in the 3 hours we were waiting there not one taxi drove by, a taxi shows up and asks us if we need a ride. One of the sketchy guys surrounding us told the driver that we were fine and did not want a ride but we called the taxi back and once we were in the car, the driver told us those guys told him they were just about to take us for all we had. Wow, thank you God once again. The taxi took us to a safer place to wait for the bus. This safer place had more people but the people were sketched out, dark, dirty, impoverished, could barely walk, it was like a zombie land. Then we hoped on the ‘bus ride of terror’.

     Before all that, during the day I took notice of Nicaragua. They play good music, hip hop, Spanish reggae, Bob Marley of course, I hear a lot of Gyptian and Daddy Yankee. The houses are made of wood with tin roofs, extended family all live together, they fetch water from the wells, there is a lot of chillin’ and hanging out, not a lot of school, only half day, not a lot of work but some construction which is promising. The women are beautiful, especially set against the ghetto background, they can hold their own. The women are not just beautiful, they are hot, sexy and stunning. But many parts there is no hope, no joy, no love, just harsh reality of poverty, you can see in the people’s eyes, they have lived a seriously shitty, scary, dark existence. There was one woman who bought a boat ticket to Bluefield who caught my eye. She was about 38 years old, wearing a long skirt, and printed matching button-up top which you could see many little wholes in when you looked close. She wore some kind of printed material over her head which made her look somewhat elegant, even though her worn out sandals were a dead give-away she does not have even $4 to buy a new pair. She was slim and her face was beautiful, she had an elegance about her that was captivating because of how obviously tough her life was. We later caught eyes quite a few times both glimpsing into each other’s souls. She came over to me, Fer and Fer’s uncle and asked if she could read a passage from the Bible. She read in Spanish, in a low and nervous voice. I told her I barely understood porque entendo poco Espanola and asked her if she studied the Bible a lot and what her name was. Rachel was her name and she studied often. Then our number for the boat was called, we had to go, I wanted to give her some money but it was in the bottom of my bag, I didn’t have a chance to give her anything. I felt bad. But from her I learnt a lesson. Life has delt her a shitty card, more shitty than I can ever imagine and for all those times I questioned ‘Why me?’ I realized who knows ‘why me?’ and my ‘why me’s?’ are so far less important than others. And instead of questioning ‘Why me?’, you just live, you do your best, you keep your mind on what’s important. You find a way to live life humbly. Her mind and consciousness was sharp, you could see it in her face, through poverty she hadn’t lost the faith, she still had her belief and her sanity. Most people I saw there were lost, gone, life had eaten them up and life can be very hungry sometimes, I can’t begin to imagine what these people have had to face.

     Life here in Bluefields is different. One thing I like is that there are always people around, always things going on. However, that is one this I don’t like as well. You never have alone time. The extended families live in different houses on the same property with gated entrances and there is a well with fresh water. The women sell bread and cakes they make in a coal burning stove that does not require electricity. The street is busy, always taxi’s going by and not much else. The taxi’s are a show! They have Che Guvera propaganda on the roofs, flashy colourful lights, all kinds of designs and have loud hip hop or reggae blasting. Fernando’s grandfather is wise and passes down his knowledge. He said there used to be prosperity there, that Nicaragua has a wealth of resources and he used to work on the gold mines and make good money. But now the government is so corrupt, they pocket everything and nothing gets to the people. No doubt there is corruption in all governments, it’s humans who run them, or if you’re a David Icke follower, its half reptiles that run them, but Nicaragua is on the extreme side of the spectrum. I think sometimes, why did I quit my corporate job to come live in the ghetto? But this is an experience that is giving me a wealth of knowledge and a second family that is a world apart from mine.

     This entry is just a little glimpse of what I have experienced so far. Stay tuned for more of Breezy Bri’s adventures in consciousness.