Asked to dance by a War Hero!

Look at that! It almost looks professional! Yes, that’s the same room that last week contained religious ornaments and mattresses. I’m still unsure whether I’m the right person for this particular little venture, and even less sure whether I’ll get through a class of spoilt feral adolescents tomorrow but at least we now have the tools to try! The covers are essential – the amount of dust is huge, and damaging, and the procuring of covers was becoming yet another stalling point so plastico! was the answer. I was wanting to use the second hand clothes from one of the many shops that sell them which would have fit with my life plan of never buying anything new but as I’d just bought a mobile phone (boo hiss) I thought it was a bit hypocritical and I don't have sewing machine.

I’ve just got back from the big city, Esteli – more dust on the road up through Miraflor, you’re covered in it by the end of the 3 hr journey – where I spent a weekend being a gringo and procuring other English teaching work. Oh, and dabbling in a bit of volunteering consultancy with Juanita, not-for-profit hostel owner and Spaced fan.

Ah, the wonder of being able to utter a phrase like “Tim got a miniature drumkit for his 5^th birthday” and have someone understand… Also met a couple biking round the world, fascinating conversations ensued about the world being broken and one half of the couple teased my woolly new-internationalist outlook so just like home really!! Aaaahh.

And, my first DISCO. After an evening of acoustic café activity largely without electricity, a group of us head to the Pan American Highway in the pitch black to find a cab to take us to a disco out of town. All the discos are out of town, because of the noise apparently but that’s hilarious as everyone in town plays music louder than this disco! Mobile adverts, Gyms, you name it they are all pumping the music out! Anyhoo, some shockingly bad 80s pop and some fair to middling Latin stuff accompanied my friends while they danced, and me while I drank rum. I was not for dancing that night, and even declined the offer (politely of course) of a very sweaty, enthusiastic war veteran.

So, back in Yali after some space, and yet more music blaring as I finish sorting the computer place. A selection of Ennio Morricone, Richard Clayderman and Acker Bilk is what has been assumed we all (the entire pueblo) want to listen to today. Blimey I’m starting to sound like my Dad. At least I can console myself with the fact that he hasn’t visited a Disco on the Pan American - yet…