Easter Madness

Easter Week is known here as Semana Santa, the biggest event in the Nicaraguan calendar. Many businesses as well as all government offices and schools close for the week, as people typically take their families for a beach holiday. Unfortunately, San Juan del Sur is the prime destination for Semana Santa celebrations and upwards of two hundred thousand people descend on this little town, the crush of people peaking on the Saturday after Good Friday. Two huge, multi-level discos have been assembled out of scaffolding on the beach and much of the town has been turned into a parking lot, with fast food stands lining the sidewalks and hundreds of hawkers prowling the streets. Pounding electronic music can be heard for kilometres around, generated by several different sources, from early in the morning until a couple of hours before dawn.

A solemn religious procession makes its way through town each day carrying a statue of the Virgin Mary and there are extra masses, but for most people the holiday seems to have more to do with drinking, barbecue and lazing on the beach. Nicaragua is a nation with a very low average age and teenagers abound, the perfect fodder for the twenty-four hour party energetically promoted by beer, liquor and tobacco companies. Everyone seems to want to get in on the marketing opportunity and I noticed a truck equipped with massive speakers blaring merengue music, carrying bikini clad dancing girls and guys dressed in fish costumes, promoting a popular brand of sardines. Many of the businesses that cater to the expat community and foreign tourists simply shut down for the week rather than deal with the chaos.

Other than an occasional stroll down the beach to satisfy my curiosity, I have been holding up in my little apartment with a good book. Tomorrow the throng leaves town and I will have my first night's sleep in several days. I can hardly wait.

History Lesson

I was enjoying a drink with some other travelers in celebration of yet another spectacular sunset when Michelle, an American at our table, remarked that most of the people present were Canadian. In fact, a disproportionate number of the foreigners she had met in Nicaragua were from Canada. It was helpfully pointed out to her that Canadians love to travel and perhaps only the Australians are as prone to itchy feet. Michelle rejected this idea, however, arguing that the United States' larger population should compensate for Americans' lower propensity to venture abroad.

I offered that Canadians have a very positive relationship with Nicaragua. Many had supported the Sandanista revolution and thousands came as volunteers during the 1980's to help the country rebuild after the destruction caused during the revolution and subsequent war against the United States. Also, I cautiously observed that the perception of Nicaragua among Americans is still somewhat coloured by the Reagan era propaganda campaign that had portrayed the country as a Soviet-backed terrorist state. As a result there remains a residual prejudice against Nicaragua, a situation that the current security hysteria in the US doesn't help. In my own experience, passing through the Atlanta airport on my way here I was thoroughly searched and questioned simply because I was flying to Managua. In response to Michelle's blank look of incomprehension, I took a deep breath and elaborated.

The United States has a long and unflattering history in Latin America, nowhere more so than in Nicaragua. Domination of the Nicaraguan economy by US corporate interests goes back to the late nineteenth century and the US Marine Corp actually occupied the country, employing the same kind of brutality Iraqis are currently experiencing, for seven years starting in 1927. During that period, the Marines abducted and murdered legendary Nicaraguan nationalist leader Augusto Sandino as he was leaving a dinner in celebration of a peace accord intended to bring democracy to the country.

To insure against future popular uprisings, before departing for home the US military trained the Nicaraguan National Guard to be the most viciously effective weapon of repression in the region. For the next few decades the US appointed dictators of the Somoza dynasty, a small group of wealthy families and American corporations ruled the country as a tyrannical kleptocracy, with the full approval and support of Washington.

Finally, in 1979 a broad coalition of Nicaraguans, united behind the Sandanista National Liberation Front, forced Somoza from power after some 50,000 people had given their lives in the struggle. The United States government did not accept this challenge to their authority and in response created a counter-revolutionary force known as the Contras. Recruited, organized, trained, financed, armed and supported by the CIA, the Contras were a US mercenary force that carried out a terror campaign against the Nicaraguan people for ten long years at the cost of another 50,000 lives. In addition, US Special Forces destroyed infrastructure in the country and the US Navy mined the harbours as part of a parallel campaign by the US administration to wreck the economy.

Illegal under both international and American law, Washington's war against Nicaragua continued until the United States Congress realized that the commanders of the Contras, characterized as “the moral equivalent of our founding fathers” by Ronald Reagan, were in fact criminals, former National Guard officers and death squad leaders who were prosecuting a war against their own people primarily to facilitate the siphoning off of US gun money into Swiss bank accounts. The Reagan administration, however, chose to disregard Congress when it refused further funding and continued financing the Contras illegally with the proceeds of covert weapons sales to Iran.

When their plan was discovered, Reagan and his staff feigned ignorance and offered up a Marine officer named Oliver North as a scapegoat. After a brief stint in a country club prison, Colonel North wrote a book exonerating himself and entered Republican politics. As a result of its war against the Nicaraguan people, today the United States shares only with Libya the distinction of having been convicted of state terrorism by the World Court. Of course, the irony of a War on Terror carried out by the world's foremost terrorist state is lost on most Americans.

Peace returned in 1990 only after a war weary Nicaraguan public elected the Washington financed UNO coalition in response to a US ultimatum threatening continued economic warfare if they did not. The terms of peace with the United States demanded a roll back of social reforms and left Nicaragua with a crushing debt. Persecution by Washington continues, regrettably, and in one example financial aid and IMF loans to support the economy after Hurricane Mitch ravaged the country in 1998 were held up until the Nicaraguan government agreed to sell off its national telephone system and state oil company to foreign corporations at fire sale prices. However, generous US financing of opposition political parties could not stop the Sandinistas from being re-elected to power in 2006.

Michelle is not an ignorant or untraveled woman. She is an oncologist from Seattle who spent six months traversing the length of Africa just last year, yet everything I told her about Nicaragua came as news. Although others at the table nodded in agreement with my telling of history, it was obvious that Michelle's had stopped listening. Her response was to utter, “Huh”, turn to someone else and change the subject.

I have sometimes felt sorry for Americans, often ashamed of their country's actions and at odds with its leaders. Embarrassing as their history may be, it is Michelle's kind of willful ignorance that permits their government to get away with its crimes and will probably cost at least three more US soldiers their lives in Iraq today.

In Search of the Green Flash

Sunset watching is a popular activity here, typically enjoyed with a glass of rum in hand. The other night, someone at the beach bar mentioned the green flash and I was asked for an explanation of this rare phenomenon.

I have met two people who claim to have seen it, a brilliant green flash of light at the last moment of sunset, caused by a refraction of the sun's rays. It is said to occur only when atmospheric conditions are right and you are lucky to see it even once in your lifetime. For some individuals experiencing the green flash is an item on their life list and for others merely an excellent excuse for spending their evenings by the beach, drinking rum.

Mas Managua

I had just settled back into San Juan del Sur, but couldn't resist when an opportunity came up to travel around the country for a few days. In Managua again I had the chance to meet with Ramon Meneses, a Sandanista veteran of the '79 revolution. Like many who fought to liberate Nicaragua, he has become disillusioned with the direction that the country has taken and with current president Daniel Ortega. In response, Ramon has joined a new political party, the Sandinista Renovation Movement, in hopes of reviving the original ideals of the revolution. His opinion echoed what I have heard from several others, that president Ortega is more concerned with maintaining himself in power than with the best interests of the public.

Among other oddities, Ortega has formed a bizarre partnership with his main political rival, Alberto Aleman of the Liberal Party, a past president imprisoned for corruption and theft but then inexplicably freed by Ortega. The constitution currently forbids a president from serving two consecutive terms and it is suspected that Ortega has made a back room deal with Aleman to alternate the office between them. Since Aleman is wanted in several countries and would be arrested if he were ever to leave Nicaragua, his freedom is dependent upon Ortega's good will and presumably he will do whatever he is told, even if he is returned to office. This must just be a back up plan, since Ortega is trying to have the constitution changed to eliminate the one term limit. If he gets his way, it is possible the presidency could turn into an Ortega dynasty, as Daniel is said to be grooming his sons to succeed him.

In the meantime, corruption deepens and Ortega keeps thumbing his nose at the US by flaunting his friendships with Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez. Venezuela supplies Nicaragua with oil and financial aid, however, the government here will not disclose how much cash they receive or where it goes, leading to suspicions that the money is finding its way into certain Swiss bank accounts.

The newest political wrinkle is Ortega's move to have all candidates for the FSLN (Sandanistas) chosen by him rather than through nominations by the party rank and file. If he gets his way, Ortega will maintain the illusion of democracy without the inconvenience of actual responsibility to the electorate.

From Managua we traveled on to Volcan Masaya, where you can drive a car up to the crater rim of this active volcano. Sulfurous gases and smoke rise out of the crater and it has been known to occasionally expel Volkswagen sized chunks of molten rock. Warning signs direct visitors to park their cars pointing downhill in case a quick escape becomes necessary and that spending more than twenty minutes at the crater may risk them being overcome by the fumes. In safety obsessed North America, no one would be permitted within kilometres of such a site.

After another day of touring through the villages and countryside it was back to San Juan for a new week of Spanish classes.

Volcano Climbing

Ometepe is an island of strange beauty sited in the centre of Lake Nicaragua. Dominated by its two volcanoes, it is shaped something like a figure-eight. Life for the local people is simple, mostly agrarian and very poor, but safety is not an issue here in contrast to the rest of the country. Many of the plantations are worker owned co-operatives, no doubt founded in the heady days of socialist experimentation that followed the revolution.

Beyond the end of the pavement, my motorcycle's speed was reduced to little more that a jogging pace by the appalling condition of the roads, made of packed dirt that turns to mud in the rainy season, evolving ruts and wholes which then dry to the hardness of granite in the dry season. Near the village of Balgue I found the Finca Magdelana, a co-operative coffee growing operation at the foot of Volcan Maderas. Starbuck's regulars may know this, but it came as news to me that Nicaraguan coffee is considered among the world's best. A couple of decades ago, visitors to the island would stop at the finca after climbing to the top of the volcano, looking for food and lodging. From that beginning, hospitality has evolved into a very profitable side business for the farm and it is featured prominently in any guide book you may find describing the island.

The accommodation at Finca Magdelena is basic, as is the food, but a night's stay and three meals comes to less than ten dollars. Other than the volcano climb, activities amount to a large selection of hammocks in which to read or nap during the day and long conversations with other adventurous travelers at night while consuming vast quantities of the excellent local rum and beer.

It was eight hours of hard work getting to the crater's edge of Volcan Maderas and back to the finca. All seven of us were covered in mud to the waist and exhausted. Unluckily, the clouds that typically surround the volcano's top had not burned off by the time we reached it, so we only had glimpses through the jungle cover of the spectacular view across the lake to the line of volcanic peaks that reaches up through the country to the Honduran border.

Hilux Envy

Traveling around Nicaragua, you cannot help noticing the overwhelming preponderance of Toyota vehicles on the roads. Not just here, but anywhere in the world where rugged reliability is valued, the Toyota Hilux four wheel drive pickup truck is the gold standard of motor vehicles.

From Mongolia to Africa and throughout the developing world Toyota owns a dominant share of the automobile market. Not just trucks, but in small cars and family sedans too, the Japanese giant is the obvious top seller. Other brands are always available, of course, but anyone here will tell you that the Hilux is their dream car.

I recall once seeing a television interview with a sheep rancher in the Australian outback who explained that his sheep station is so isolated and the climate so harsh that a breakdown could easily be fatal. When you life literally depends on your vehicle, Toyota is the only choice.

On the British television programme, Top Gear, a Hilux was crushed with a wrecking ball, drowned in the ocean and then set on fire. When it survived all of that punishment, they collapsed an apartment building beneath it using explosive demolition. The truck was still drivable. Have a look, here and here. In another episode, two middle-aged, profoundly unfit Englishmen drove a Hilux to the North Pole in a race against a dog sled. You can see it here. The Hilux is apparently also the vehicle of choice for the Taliban in Afganistan, a fact that Toyota chooses not to use in its advertising.

Island Time

Getting through Managua the second time was a breeze. Recalling my first experience of the city, I was apprehensive about diving into the urban chaos of the capital again. Luckily, at the first gas station that I stopped at there was a helpful guy working the pumps who had a map and the blessed ability to give clear directions. In twenty minute I was through the city and back on the highway.

Having left Poneloya just after dawn, I was able to travel most of the way back to Rivas in the relative cool of the morning. With traffic light most of the way I was making good time. Just past Granada I came upon an intersection with a few houses scattered along the roadside. Slowing down to allow for any unexpected pedestrian traffic, I was thinking what a smooth trip it had been when an old man, teetering along the shoulder on a bicycle, suddenly decided to cross the road in front of me. There was no way to avoid him; my choice was to hit him and crash, or just crash. The front wheel locked up as I hit the brakes hard and the bike went down, tossing me over the handlebars. Looking up as I lay on my back, I saw the old man peddle away without so much as a glance backward in my direction. I couldn't help laughing. Checking myself for damage, no blood, breaks or abrasions were relealed. My hands had broken my fall and the right arm was sore, but it didn't feel serious. Barely a week old, my little Yamaha had earned its first battle scars. There was now a scratch on the front fender and the tip of the handlebar had been torn up a bit, but otherwise there was no harm done. I pushed it back up onto its wheels, threw a leg over the saddle and rode on.

Back in Rivas, I turned towards Lake Nicaragua and the small port town of San Jorge. Ferries run from the docks there to the island of Ometepe several times a day. I spent the hour passage sitting in the sun, watching the spectacular island slowly approach, with its two volcano cones topped with clouds that looked like picture hats. It was an image out of a science fiction story.

Aboard the ferry were mostly locals returning from shopping excursions in Rivas, with a few backpackers mixed in. While wandering the decks I had the chance to meet a few expats who are working on the island. Chris Pratt is a young agronomist from the United States who is helping the local farmers increase their yields and experiment with new crop types. Tall and wiry, with curly, sand coloured hair and beard, he wore the expat uniform of t-shirt, baggy shorts and flip flops. Chris is a lanky bundle of energy and talked non-stop through the crossing, providing me with a useful overview of the island and what would be worth seeing. A cheerful Australian blonde in her late twenties, Maggie, had given up a career in marketing to take up an often frustrating ambition to build an eco-resort on the island. After two years of work, she is still a year away from opening for business, but enjoying a life less ordinary on the island.

Mayagalpa is a small and quite forgettable little port town where the ferry docks. Within a few minutes of landing I was motoring down the only stretch of paved road on the island. My right arm was aching fiercely now, having worsened steadily since my fall, and I need a place to stop and tend to it. I found a little hotel with cabins by the water and filled a plastic bag with ice at the bar for my hand. As I lay in a hammock reading and icing my wrist, I wondered just how much of an inconvenience this injury was going to be. In the end it made typing a one hand job and occupied my time so much that I have not posted here in almost three weeks.