All in the past...

I went to Nicaragua for 5 months in 2008 to teach English and computing, for communities working to establish community tourism. I also asked lots of questions about coffee and Fairtrade. Along the way I found out more about cows and political nonsense than i expected too...

This blog is over - but may be useful to you if you are thinking of volunteering in Nicaragua - with the Nest Trust or any other organisation. If you are already teaching in Nicaragua or another Spanish speaking country the links on the side may be of interest. There are also entries about Fairtrade and about coffee growing in general if that's something that floats your boat. Scroll to the bottom of the page to start at the beginning, or click on a title in the blog archive: all the ones about coffee have coffee in the title if you wish to avoid personal nonsense!

Friends of mine I made while I was there also made a radio documentary on a similar subject: it's a very accessible introduction to coffee and politics in Nicaragua. Download Shane and Claire O'Connell's Coffee Documentary here
If you ever get a chance - Go to Nicaragua. It is a fascinating, funny, infuriating place and you will leave enriched. Honest! And stay here. It's brill. http://www.cafeluzyluna.com/

Email me on rebecca (at) rebeccatully . co . uk
Work in the UK: http://www.rebeccatully.co.uk/

It wasn't extreme...

...But it was Kayaking.

Rio Istiam is essentially the cleavage between the twin volcanic peaks of the Island of Ometepe. I can legitimately call them breasts as legend has it they are the boobs of a lady from a Romeo/Juliet style love tragedy who flung herself into the lake while killing herself. And, I kayaked over teh top of one breast and down the cleavage, seeing as I went turtles, a cayman, many birds and guided by a fresh 15 year old. He reckoned I was beautiful. And my name was beautiful. That's the last innane ill- thought-out latin compliment I'll be getting for a while I reckon... I drilled him on some pronunciation while we were paddling, he now knows the difference between bird - beard - and board... it was really doing my head in him pointing beards out all the time. This is probably why I missed the first Cayman sighting - I'm no crocodile hunter! I didn-t takemy camera and apart from Norlan (15 and three quarters) no-one was with me so it well seem like a dream in a few weeks I reckon!

One last anecdote

When we were in the bus close to Yali a while ago, the bus had to stop for a bit because there was an ox in the way. Why? Well, there was a chap herding his 2 oxen back from his field... No-one has tractors up there, they use 2 oxen linked by the horns with a piece of wood- to plough, or pull stuff. (This is the most I've used the word oxen ever outside of a scrabble game.) So this guy's already spent the day ploughing, in drizzle, and now he's untied his oxen from their shackles, hoisted the huge long block of wood onto his shoulder, hoisted himself onto his horse, and he sets off down the track to his tiny wooden house, herding his oxen as he goes. (I'm filling in some gaps here but I've seen alot of tiny wooden houses now...) And the bus waits a bit as it passes, so as he and the oxen can bumble past it. And then he has to make sure he's still got them under control on the other side. And a happy nod passes between driver and oxen man, and we all go on our way.

This way of life is so different from mine, and most English rural life to boot, that being part of it has made it harder for me to contemplate fairness, or poverty, or charity. It's just on a totally different scale. And it's hard to imagine that oxen man, however hard and grinding his life is, would want to swap it for my London turmoil. Hey ho.

What I will miss.

• Hopping on a bus. Snap transport decisions. No advance tickets. They`re like a very well organised lift.
• Looking at mountains for a whole 3 hour journey. Such BEAUTIFUL mountains.
• People grinning when they get on the bus
• Being able to make empty promises and know you probably won't keep them and you'll get away with it
• Cheesy 80s music cropping up everywhere
• Having time to mull; getting a good 10 hours sleep whenever I wanted
• Talking to people I hardly know for hours on a local bus ride
• Cuajada (curd cheese ish) and Corn tortilla. Hmmm. They are made for each other.
• The friends I made and the happy appreciation they showed for the small things that I did.

What I won't miss.

• Bites. all kinds of flying insects, ants etc. Everywhere.
• Being a novelty on the street. Silly comments from pillocky men.
• Everyone throwing rubbish.
• Unending dampness in rainy weeks
• Having no control... or kitchen
• The con of a mobile phone company that expires your credit in the blink of an eye!
• Not knowing when the water will come back on
• Never really understanding people's values
• My dictionary falling open at the page that says 'vagina' at the top... I'm bored of the joke now

Not me aswell...!

It's true, it really is a country that gets under your skin.

I popped to Leon for a little jaunt this weekend. Lovely, colonial, hot, full of history. I found out the times of the buses back to Esteli, and did the usual "putting out to tender" checking information with more than one person to get round the whole telling-you-what-you-want-to- hear business. 3.30 the bus was going, the last one back to Esteli. Get a lovely cab driver to take me there, arrive 10 minutes early.

The annoyance....

It's gone. Oh no, that bus goes at 3.10. WHAT!! Oh yes, hasn¨t gone at 3.30 for ages... WHy do people lie! grrrr! I'm standing in what is essentially a mud/dirt field (yes, it does look a lot like Glastonbury) deciding what to do next.

The goddamn endearing part...

As well as being the cause of aggravation, they always seem to sort it too. Some dirty looking mechanic guys who I ask about the Esteli bus start giving me advice about the other options... get a bus to a crossroads and then stand there waiting on the Panamerican for another coming from another city.. hmmm. I get on the bus, see a nice enough lady with her son and get her opinion on the whole sorry affair. She seems to thing that standing on a crossroads on the Panamerican at 6pm in the dark isn't too bad an idea but her husband happens to be picking her up, they live in a town a bit further up and can drop me at a proper bus stop. So I stay on the bus, exiting only to get a cheap enchillada from another very sweet lady in the bus station.

And after one of the smoothest bus changes in history I´m in Esteli by dinner time. Fall into the arms of Juanita

at her hostel weeping "I don't want to miss this place but I will" unable to stop crying til a beer is placed in my fist.

Nothing changes guys, don't expect a more zen Rebs. Same old hormonal nightmare... and not looking forward to the first journey on Virgin Trains! Unless they¨ve started selling cheap corn products in place of focchacia and pastrami and stopped wearing red waistcoats.