The Upside of Anger

If you have the gloomy feeling that humanity is uncontrollably spiraling down to disaster, Naomi Klein's book , The Shock Doctrine, will likely confirm your worst fears. However, knowledge is power and being informed is our best defense against the forces chipping away at the foundations of society.

The story begins with Chile in 1973, the overthrow of a popular, nationalist government and its replacement with the vicious dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet. Installed in power by the CIA, Pinochet undertook a radical. US designed economic programme that embodied the theories of Milton Friedman and his followers at the University of Chicago.

The public sector was eviscerated, publicly owned companies and public services were privatized, unions were broken and the economy was thrown open to foreign corporations. In just a few years, millions of middle class Chileans were cast into poverty, unemployment rose drastically and the country's resources were plundered by foreign multinationals. Those who dared to object were dragged off to Pinochet's torture chambers.

Argentina was the next target, followed by several other countries in the region. A financial crisis on Wall Street pushed interest rates to historic highs in 1980 and many developing countries, suddenly unable to finance their debts, found themselves at the mercy of the US controlled International Monetary Fund. As the price of providing desperately needed loans, the IMF demanded that countries accept Structural Adjustment Packages (SAP's) prescribing the same policies that had been so disastrous in South America.

In the following thirteen years, some seventy countries were stripped of resources and capital. These SAP's also fueled the East Asian financial crisis of 1997. As a Canadian former director of the World Bank described it, "Not since the conquistadors plundered Latin America has the world experienced such a flow in the direction we see today."

Astonishingly, the Reagan administration implemented a version of these policies in the United States. Corporations and wealthy individuals were given massive tax cuts while incomes for the majority stagnated or declined and the US went from being the world's biggest creditor nation to it biggest debtor. Emboldened by her post-Falklands War popularity, Margaret Thatcher imposed a similar policies in Britain. A newly free Poland was pressured into following such a plan in 1989.

The policies of what has become known as the 'Washington Consensus' are fundamentally anti-democratic, antithetical to the public welfare and would never be accepted by a democratic society. Ruthless and well prepared promoters at the White House and the IMF have only been able to impose them upon nations in a state of economic or political crisis.

The South American nations that first fell victim to this campaign have begun in recent years to recover themselves and are rejecting further extortion. They are once again embracing nationalist economic platforms with increasing investment in civic society.

The US government is responsible for immeasurable suffering as a result of what its adherents call "pure capitalism" and Americans themselves are are now seeing its more advanced stage, with the advent of the homeland security economy and a militarized society with a limited tolerance for civil rights, all justified by the War on Terror.

Don't think that you are safe because you live in a wealthy, democratic country with a strong liberal tradition. The sharp decline in recent years of government funding in Canada for health care, education and environmental protection has been the result of skillful campaigns waged by powerful, well-funded proponents with an aggressive agenda. Read this book. Get angry.

Sign Language

When I first saw it, the sign on the beach made me laugh, or more accurately, it was the tire tracks in the sand beside the sign prohibiting vehicles on the beach that I found humorous. Later in the day, though, I found myself thinking about those drivers' blithe disregard for local bylaws and what it represents. The tire tracks were laid down by the wealthy Nicaraguan politicians and expats who live in the enclave of big, razor-ribbon protected villas north of the town that can be seen in the picture's background. Not using the beach would mean a four kilometre drive along a dirt road for them, but leave the beach safer, cleaner and more attractive for residents and the tourists that the town's economy depends upon.

Nicaragua suffers from the same absurdly lopsided distribution of wealth that is common to most third world countries. A tiny local elite and a few wealth foreigners enjoy a lavish lifestyle with servants to care for their every need or want while the vast majority of people struggle to acquire the bare necessities of life. Unfortunately, this situation tends to breed in the well healed minority a sense of entitlement, as if their privileged lives are the result of some God given superiority rather than fortunate birth, or perhaps larceny.

Such delusions have consequences. The people with the resources and influence to bring constructive change to the country see themselves as detached from the majority of society and without responsibility, to pay taxes, respect the law or contribute to the betterment of their nation. They dismiss the situation of their less fortunate compatriots as inevitable and insoluble.

First world nations like Canada have a much more even distribution of income that Nicaragua, a gap between rich and poor that narrowed consistently in the first forty years after the Second World War. Over the past two decades, however, the neo-liberal agenda that has been gaining ground in Canadian politics resulted in a widening of that gap, as the rich have gained spectacularly while the rest of society have seen their incomes stagnate or decline, and shrinking social programmes have removed many of the supports that made life bearable for low income families. The people pushing for cuts in taxes and social spending are the same ones who benefit most from the former and don't use the latter. It is the kind of thinking that creates a 'Devil take the hindmost' society.

Rivas Road II

Passing the trudging oxcart was easy, but that maneuver put me onto a ten metre stretch of gravel in the middle of the road that had the little Yamaha's rear tire sliding out from under me. Backing off the throttle, I let the bike coast to the ten centimeter lip that led up onto the next section of asphalt. Giving the little 125cc engine a quick shot of gas and leaning back as it reached the blacktop to lighten the front wheel and soften the bump, I jammed the throttle closed. A rear wheel climbing up a ledge like that under power can launch itself into the air and catapult the rider over the handlebars. Grab a handful of clutch, blip the throttle to keep revs up, tap the gear lever down into second with the toe of my boot, let the clutch lever go and accelerate. Slipping around two potholes, I couldn't side step the third one and hit the brakes hard to lessen the impact, then needed a burst of speed to get onto the shoulder and out of the way of the oncoming pickup truck that was roaring towards me down the single lane of pavement in a flurry of dust and flying stones.

I have written before about the experience of traveling by taxi to Rivas on the crumbling, potholed road from San Juan. Now that I have a motorcycle, the trip has taken on a whole new dimension. Most of the pitfalls are committed to memory and my riding style has adjusted.

Maintaining a good average speed over this course requires a modified off-road style, standing up on the foot pegs over the unavoidable bumps and patches of sand, then steering with the knees to go around the rest, using body English instead of the handlebars to make quick, side to side moves.

Just to make things a bit more interesting, a project was started last month to resurface the entire twenty kilometre length of the road out to the Pan-American highway. Consensus opinion is that the six-month operation should take about a year and a half to complete.

In the meantime, the road is being torn up by heavy machinery, with sections hundreds of yards long left rutted and gravel strewn. Diversions take traffic around the areas currently under work. These can range from a brief detour into a roadside ditch to several hundred metres through the back yards of local farmers. Dodging errant livestock demands especially sharp eyes and quick reactions.

Safety men are placed at either end of these diversions to send traffic through in only one direction at a time, but they often seem to wave everyone through and sometimes I see them sitting by the roadside calmly watching the vehicles go by, oblivious to the honking horns.

The Tyranny of Stuff

If fortune smiles upon me, a fellow Canadian who is bound to return to Toronto following their vacation here in San Juan del Sur will carry back a bag for me. The bag is packed and ready, filled with all the extra things I brought here that I do not need and cannot use.

I should have known better. Experience teaches travelers to pack light, as normally I do, but I brought an extra bag because I was planning to relocate here and hated the thought of leaving things indefinitely in storage. It was a mistake. Trimming my belongings to a minimum would have made my travels here immeasurably easier and the extra things I brought have been of no real use to me at all, nor are they likely to be.

I can live happily for any length of time out of a couple of small bags, and often have. Even after a couple of years in one place, I had very little to dispose of before packing to leave. Of course, my experience is far from typical. Most people in our society are prisoners of their possessions. Home buyers place a priority on plenty of storage space and extra large closets. Cars are often left outside to be buried by winter snow storms because the garage is full of boxes. Self-storage lockers are a growing business, taking the overflow that people's houses can't hold.

Ask yourself the question; “What do I really need?” Could you eliminate enough redundant possessions to arrive at what you could easily carry? Consider too, how much cash you have invested in all of your excess stuff. Imagine what you could do with the money they represent.

Try this experiment. Take out a small backpack and a standard carry-on bag, the type with wheels that you will see flight crews pulling behind them at airports, or one of equivalent dimensions. Now, see if you can fit into them everything you would carry with you to travel for a year, less the items you would wear when you boarded the plane. Could you do it?

For comparison, here is my packing list:

* Barbour 'Lightweight Beaufort' raincoat (there is a rainy season here)

* Paul Smith stone cotton trousers

* Diesel jeans

* Speedo board shorts

* GAP Stretch T-shirts (blue, black, grey and white)

* Ralph Lauren Purple Label polo shirt (black)

* Dolce & Gabbana lightweight cashmere sweater (royal blue)

* Geox 'Snake' shoes (black)

* Oakley 'Split-Top' flip flops

* Nike 'Air Zoom Swift Vapor' packable running shoes

* Underwear

* Socks

* Belt

* Toiletry kit

* Nike baseball cap

* Persol 2244 sunglasses

* Compact microfibre towel

* Buff multi-purpose head covering

* Fujitsu N3520 laptop computer (excellent, but too heavy for travel)

* Plantronics 590 Bluetooth headset (for Skype calls, music)

* CD wallet

* Casio MTG-900 watch (preferred by the SAS)

* Motorola C122 cell phone ($20 in Nicaragua)

* Sony NW-E002F MP3 player

* Canon SD1000 camera (frequent choice for Best Compact Camera)

* Cambridge 'City' flip-top notepad (great organizational tool)

* Pilot G2 Mini gel pens

* Timbuk2 'Underground' backpack with built-in computer sleeve

* INOVA X0 flashlight

* Spyderco 'Native' lock back knife

* Sharpening tool

* Leatherman 'Juice' compact multi-tool

* Spare batteries

* First-aid kit

All of the specific items mentioned I have found through diligent research or simple trial and error. They all do there job exceptionally well, represent great value and I can easily recommend them. Some of the clothes are high-end, but have been acquired at GAP prices on eBay or trading boards. There are those who suggest buying inexpensive, disposable clothes and replacing them as needed. I believe that, if you are packing light, you should pack quality; it wears better and lasts longer.

Into the Jungle

If you can imagine a jungle encampment as a twelve year old might, it would probably look much like Sabalos Lodge. There would be a cabin made of bamboo with a palm frond roof set among verdant green foliage, built on a platform three metres or so above the ground. Inside it would have a comfortable bed swathed in mosquito netting and a couple of hammocks slung on a balcony overlooking a river.

At Sabalos there are also features that a twelve year old might not consider, like a modern bathroom with open air shower and bar service to the door. After dark, flaming torches line the path to the dining area. Of the six cabins, our was the only one occupied and we received the undivided attention of the excellent staff. We were tempted to spend another day luxuriating there, but we had a ship to catch.

After leaving Sloentiname, we had passed Sabalos during the three hour trip in a panga along the San Juan River from San Carlos to El Castillo. Almost four hundred years ago, the Spanish built a fortress in this remote jungle to avert any repetition of the pirate raids that had sacked the city of Granada three times in five years. It was an effective stratagem and the city was kept safe from foreign marauders making their way upriver from the Caribbean, including a disastrous British expedition in 1780 that could have been a career killer for the young officer who led it, Horatio Nelson.

During another British attack in 1762, legend has it that nineteen year old Rafaela Herrera, daughter of the fortress commander, assumed leadership of the defenses when her father was wounded and, still dressed in her nightgown, fired the cannon shot that sunk the enemy flagship. Hollywood, please take note.

El Castillo, strung along the river bank below the citadel, is a pretty little place with more activity than I expected in such a secluded location. One oddity I noted while walking the streets was the several signs indicating law offices, for which I can offer no explanation. A couple of hours was sufficient to see the town and another panga took us the few kilometres to Sabalos.

The trip back up river next morning was a milk run, stopping for anyone along the shore who waved us down. At every ranch and plantation there was someone heading to San Carlos to do there shopping, going up the river to pay a visit, or returning home. By the time we reached the lake, there just enough time for lunch before boarding the ferry. Departure was delayed for reasons unknown, not untypical for Nicaragua, and it was mid-afternoon when the ship eased away from the dock, navigated the narrow channel out to the lake and turned north.

End of the Road

San Carlos loomed out of the early dawn mist like a scene from a Graham Greene novel; the last, ramshackle outpost of civilization on the verge of a vast, trackless jungle. We were arriving after sixteen hours aboard a ferry from Granada, having traveled the length of Lake Nicaragua to its southern tip. Backpacking tourists and locals returning home packed the ship. On deck, hammocks strung from every available attachment point held the regulars sleeping there way through the journey. Inside the cabin were rows of thinly padded benches, although most chose to sleep on the floor. Mexican mariachi music videos played on a large television screen throughout the night.

My motorcycle had been left behind on the island of Ometepe, in lockup at the little port there where the ship had briefly docked around midnight. There was no point in taking it on, since there are no roads beyond San Carlos. The only means of travel out to the nearby islands or down the Rio San Juan to the Costa Rican border is by panga, the type of long open boat used for fishing, cargo and everything else in this part of the world. The plan was to return on the ferry in a few days as far as Ometepe, pick up the bike and ride it back to San Juan del Sur.

The town of San Carlos has little to offer and exists mainly to service the outlying ranches and banana plantations that have been hacked out of the dense bush. With the first available boat, we were on our way out to Solentiname, the archipelago of small islands that are home to a remarkable artists' colony. Some fifty years ago an idealistic young priest named Ernesto Cardenal arrived here to find the people of the islands desperately poor, but with an artistic culture in which virtually everyone is a painter, sculpture or wood carver. Cardenal brought their art to the outside world, built a church and preached revolution theology that made the area a hotbed of resistance against the Samoza government.

The exposure of their creations brought the islanders a new source of income and today many of the inhabitants make their living as professional artists. However, Cardenal was excommunicated by the Catholic church for his incendiary teachings and in 1977 Samosa's national guard ravaged Solentiname, burning every structure and massacring most of the population. The few who escaped fled to Costa Rica, slowly filtering back after the success of the revolution two years later.

During his tenure in the islands, Cardenal became an accomplished artist himself and still works today. While in Managua, I happened to come upon one of his sculptures in a gallery, selling for several thousand dollars. He also served as the country's Minister of Culture in the first post-revolution Sandanista government, but has lately become a vocal critic of Daniel Ortega's autocratic style. Today, at the age of eighty, he remains a force in politics and the arts, returning to Solentiname occasionally to write in the peace and quiet of the islands.

We found Sloentiname an incredibly beautiful and peaceful place full of very warm and welcoming people. Our cabin looked out onto the lake through lush greenery shaded by enormous trees hung with vines. Dozens of hummingbirds flitted between the huge blossoms that grew everywhere. As we finished breakfast our first morning a giant Macaw landed in the tree beside our table, its brilliant red, blue and yellow plumage dazzling against the green backdrop. Later, wading into the lake for a swim, I saw a large fish in the shallows. It did not bolt as I approached and, amazingly, allowed me to reach down into the water and stroke its belly.

Walking along the shore, at each house I saw people busily at work carving or painting balsa wood sculptures. We found a small gallery featuring the works of the islands' best painters. Their canvases may appears surrealist at first glance, but once you have seen the place, it is obvious that they are faithfully representing the astonishing flora and fauna of these islands.