Mini gay pride festival - Nica style

Sitting working on my laptop on Nick's kitchen table in Leon along with the other Rachel and Carmela, we heard a great commotion coming up the street. Our Nica friend Carmela informed us that it was yet another saint celebration, this one for San Jeronimo. In Nicaragua, this means street processions and then on to the church. The San Jeronimo day has been adopted by the gay pride movement, albeit subtlety by the standards to which we have become accustomed. Still, amongst the dancing bulls, drums and marchers in matching t-shirts there was the odd cross-dresser. Impressive for a country in which a macho-culture is still so firmly embedded.

Genitalia, HIV-awareness and art therapy

A couple of months ago we participated in a workshop on self-esteem in Sontule. It was organised for local youths by an Esteli-based feminist organisation called Xilonem. We were impressed at the content and how it was facilitated and offered to get involved. It's taken us a while to sort ourselves out and work out which days we'll be in Esteli, but for the time being, whenever we have a Monday or Friday free, we're popping down to their office to help out in any way we can. So far, it's involved us preparing posters for use in workshops in rural communities. On Monday, male and female genitalia posters were required. Rachel's lady bits

Fortunately, we had the help of a few text books and we were quite proud of our genitalia by the end of the day. Simon's man bits

We thought we performed fairly admirably given the presence of teenage boys in the room looking over our shoulders inquisitively (they were supposed to be preparing a theatre drama in the room next door). The finished article ready for action

Today, we've been designing posters on HIV and AIDs awareness. We're going to be participating in the workshops on this in Sontule next week. Despite the therapeutic nature of our art, we're excited by the prospect of getting out of the library and into the classroom.

The lovers are pretty impressive on this, although the man in the hospital bed was free-styling, whereas the rest were based on drawings.

Worth noting in this stunning poster is the huge, menacing mosquito, which may well suck your brains out, but won't give you HIV.

We're looking forward to going back on Monday and producing some more fine work around the themes of domestic violence and challenging gender roles for children (think boys playing with dolls and girls playing with hobby horses, which is a particularly boyish pursuit here).

Our base in Leon and our friend Nick

We keep mentioning that we have a friend called Nick and that we are in Leon, so we thought it would be good to put a face and base to the names. It's a fun place to be, there have been a fair few parties and gatherings, the one in the photos below for the arrival of Nick's mum, who came to stay for a few weeks. The parties, amazingly, materialise from thin air. Nothing is ready, and nobody, including Nick, is there an hour before. But then, suddenly, the hardcore friends arrive and get out the brush, mop and bucket for a clean, re-arrange the furniture and bring half the food. All other guests, which include neighbours, Leon socialites, long-standing friends, and anybody else who fancies coming along, turn up with food and drink at generally the same time as Nick arrives home. It's a system that works remarkably well and all due to Nick's charming laid back hospitality and fantastic network of friends. We're here now for odd weekends and occasionally for a few days during the week. We're rarely the only people Nick has staying. He has worked with rural communities for many years, and anyone from these places that comes to Leon for work, pleasure, meetings or whatever, turns up at the house to stay. It's been lovely for us as we've met so many people and been invited to go and stay with them in their communities, such as Melana in La Rinconada. Nick and his girlfriend Rachel

We love having access to the kitchen and the opportunity to cook food, as everywhere else, we're staying in hostels or with families. Our biggest success so far has been a huge shepherd's pie, which had the Nicaraguans asking for thirds. Unfortunately, we have no photographic evidence of this. This photo features a delicious bean soup, cooked by Nick.Sobeyda (an actor and dancer) with her two boys, Bryan and Fabrizio.

Nick in his favourite hammock with Ale and one of his most impressive organising friends, Carmela.

Ambling around in Miraflor

For the first time in a while, we spent a whole day walking in the countryside in Miraflor. We had been set a task of sorts by our friend Nick, to visit a coffee cooperative in Cebollal, a few miles from Sontule, to find out a bit more about the work the cooperative is doing in the area. We had some vague directions and got lost a couple of times, which was absolutely fine, as the high plateau of Miraflor is a beautiful area of cloud forest, farming and quiet, rural communities. After a couple of hours wandering along tracks, we came to the community of Cebollal where several tourist ventures have been set up with lovely cabins. It's worth mentioning that these would be highly suitable for any family or friends who want to come and visit us from the UK (we're still waiting for offers). We had a yummy juice at one place and then got shown around another, where we were too stingy to spend £3 each on lunch (the local rate is 50p), but did climb up a rickety wooden ladder to its view point.

All the farmers we were hoping to track down in Cebollal were in Esteli for a meeting, so we just had a little explore ourselves around an environmental centre, an orchid garden, a coffee tasting lab and a beautiful area of coffee planted beneath tall native trees. The coffee cherries were abundant on the trees but still green. They should be bright red and ripe for picking come December. Luck was with us at lunchtime, when we stumbled not only upon the perfect house for a delicious, locally priced lunch, but also the home of the only coffee farmer, Luis Romero, in the village that day. He had stayed behind because he was overseeing a workforce fixing the road. On his patio, flanked by coffee and banana plants, flowers and herbs, we chatted to him for an hour or so about the coffee cooperative and the traditional medicinal plants which he is researching and has re-introduced to the area. With Luis and his youngest daughter Carla.

We found a shorter but equally pleasant route back to Sontule, which was fortunate, since we arrived back at Rogelio and Lucia's house the very second that an almighty, three hour downpour began. Rather than sheltering from the rain, the family were outside capturing rain water in very high spirits, relieved that there was a reprieve from what has been an worryingly dry rainy season.

'Chilastra' strikes

This began on a Wednesday as an unconcerning tiny itch and a little red mark. It appeared after carrying a big log to be chopped for firewood from the hill across the road from the house in Sontule. Over the next two days, it spread around my neck and in patches on my face.
By Saturday my neck looked like a nasty, weeping burn. It was very sensitive and I couldn't turn my head for the pain. It did provide a point of interest for the locals in the village we were in, who turned up throughout the weekend to stare in a fairly horrified manner until we told them that it was 'chilastra', which seemed to make sense. We're not sure exactly what 'chilastra' is, just that it's apparently caused by the environment, it's not very nice and it usually disappears after a week or so. Several people in Sontule claim to have had it, and while all agree that it's painful and unpleasant, the point was also made that I was lucky I didn't have it on my bottom like some unfortunate folks who would not have been sitting down or dressing for several days.Luckily, I had a willing nurse on hand to administer a number of remedies. The leaves I was given to chew on then apply, made little difference, tasted horrible and stuck to my wound. More successful was the freshly cut aloe vera that Rachel smeared gently along my sore patches. A week and a half on, the skin on my neck has scabbed over, peeled off and is now fresh and smooth after the kind of skin peel you have to pay a lot of money for in certain clinics.

La Rinconada

La Rinconada is a community about an hour's walk from the nearest bus route. It is the home of our friend Melana who we have been saying we will go and visit. We were greeted by Melana on our first visit to Nick's house in Leon and have met up with her several times since in Leon and at the music festival we went to in Achuapa. Five years ago Melena had cirosis of the liver and was given a few months to live at only 35 years of age. She went with Nick to an alternative treatment center in Managua for acupunture and a consultation. After a complete change in diet and some medicinal teas, she's been in good health since and is going strong. Although she misses the odd bit of rum, fried food, salt or occasional cigarette, she loves to chat, dance, cook, clean, farm, look after her kids and campaign on local issues to improve the community. She also established the local nursery school where she continues to teach.

With Melana and Nino, who lives over the road and is one of Melana's pupils.

It was a relaxing place to be, which was lucky as due to my uncomfortable rash, I spent most of the time sitting or lying in the shade. The houses were built with the help of an international brigade, including our friend Nick and his parents, 18 years ago. They're nice and cool with brick walls and a tiled roof, rather than the more common wooden walls with a tin roof that gets very hot in the day. The house only has one bedroom which we shared with Melana and her two daughters. It wasn't luxurious but it was nice to be treated as one of the family.

The community has a plentiful supply of fresh water. All you need to do is wander 50 yards with a couple of buckets several times a day to fill them from the well.

On Sunday lunchtime the Sandinista party representative showed up to take photos and information from party members. The rep had travelled a fair distance on some terrible roads across the hills for the occasion, but after 5 minutes the camera ran out of battery and so it was game over for the day.
Having preened themselves for the party membership photos, the lads (chavalos) were keen to have a group shot, which we should be able to print out for them. Unfortunately, there is a decidedly macho culture in Nicaragua as the picture clearly shows. It's all about posturing and looking moody. Most of the lads above are perfectly friendly on a one to one basis and only act like moody gangster wannabes when they're together. The national chavalo uniform is simple to adopt - jeans, baseball cap, chains, with t-shirt and trainers for casual days and shirt and shoes for Sundays, or Rumdays, as they could be re-named here.
Sadly, we left a day earlier than planned, cowering in the shade as we waited for the bus, mainly to go and show my ugly rash to a pharmacist. Hopefully, we'll be back in a few weeks in good health and cooler weather to explore the area a bit more.

Tuna & a saucer; mayonnaise & a chair

There still aren't too many supermarkets in Nicaragua, refreshingly they're not that big a part of life here. While the UK has a highly organised system of 2 for 1 and 3 for 2 offers, the marketing in Nicaraguan supermarkets takes a different approach. There's a table at the front of this supermarket (called El Hogar, although it's difficult to spot the sign) in Esteli, where small items are sellotaped to larger items. These range from sensible offers such as small olive oil sellotaped to big olive oil; to a saucer stuck to a tin of tuna; and a doll-sized plastic chair available to shoppers purchasing a jar of mayonnaise. We were tempted but we didn't need either so we just took a photo.

A brief introduction to Simon's life in Sontule

Sontule is the name of the community in the mountainous national park region of Miraflor where I go for three days every week to teach English and learn about country life. Every Tuesday I catch a 6am from Esteli, which drops me off two hours later at a little village, from where I walk a further hour and a half along a track through the hills to the community. It's an early wake-up but a lovely, relaxing way to start my few days of work and to get straight into the pace of life out here - slow. I have a small and basic, but perfectly adequate room in the family house of Rogelio and Lucia.

There's lots of fluffy things around at the moment. The cat's had kittens and there are two sets of twelve chicks tweeting their way around the house and garden all day.

Lucia keeps a beautiful flower garden right outside my room. Last week I couldn't believe the number of butterflies darting around amongst the varied and brightly coloured flowers.

After a coffee and some sugary bread, it's time to head out and milk the cows with Rogelio. Rogelio's a good teacher and I'm getting a lot better, although this gets put into context when he starts milking, which is like a hosepipe to my weedy tap. This task is rewarded by my next breakfast of fresh, hot milk with the cereal I bring from town, much to the family's amusement, who cannot conceive how anyone can function on less than a big plate of fried rice, beans and tortillas for their breakfast.
So I help out in the local primary school every week, teaching Spanish to 7-year olds, and maths to 8-year olds. Although my Spanish is still rough around the edges, the content of the Spanish work is planned for me as I have half the class whilst the teacher has the other half. The teaching in rural Nicaragua is basic, almost entirely children copying from the board. I like to think I'm helping a bit by varying things at least a little with flash cards, re-arranging sentences, asking questions and encouraging as much participation as I can whilst helping little Cristofer, who usually gets left alone to scribble lines in his notebook.
Breaktime lasts the best part of an hour, during which, the children receive a tasty hot milk drink and some less healthy biscuits. The boys grab a bat and play baseball while the girls often playing a mysterious game, involving bouncing a small ball and picking up stones. The oldest boys seem pretty good at baseball to me, and all come to school with their own glove. I have tried to explain cricket several times to Nicaraguans and have completely failed.
Lunchtime is at 12 and after this I can be found doing any number of things, such as bathing using a bucket of cold water, fishing in a pond, preparing for a lesson, reading in a hammock, walking cows to a field or chopping wood for the stove. Jackson, pictured above, helps on the farm and is my teacher in all country matters involving manual labour. He is a fairly simple lad, with limited communication skills, but he's good natured and a dab hand with an axe, fishing line or horse.Jackson doesn't make quite such a good photographer - there is a log at my feet, which I managed to split.

Walking around the community is very enjoyable, soaking up the views, greeting passersby and enjoying the calm, friendliness of it all.

Professor Wallace at work.With my Thursday afternoon class who are currently learning about countries and nationalities along with the negative present form of the verb 'to be'. Everyone who comes to the classes is really nice and eager to learn, which makes the classes enjoyable and rewarding.

Right outside my room is a magnificent chile plant. This is a particularly fiery variety which I enjoy every night, pickled in vinegar, as an accompaniament, to my evening meal, which inevitably involves rice, beans and tortilla.

The people have welcomed me, the lessons are going well and I'm learning a lot about the farming here, which is all completely organic. I should be here until the end of November, with Rachel coming to join me for a day every week before we head back down to Esteli or another part of Nicaragua together for a long weekend. It's all working out pretty well at the moment.

The contrasting fortunes of Black and White

This is Negro. He lives near to the house of Fermin and Rufina in Lagartillo. He is allowed to wander through the kitchen and receives plenty of tasty food scraps. He is a happy dog.

This is Blanco. He lives in the street in Lagartillo. Nobody likes him and children throw stones at him. When I asked them why, they said it's because he's nearly dead. He is a sad dog.

There are Negros and Blancos in every rural village in Nicaragua. It comes down to survival of the fittest and luck.

The turtle's head. And nothing more.

We're not sure how this unfortunate fella met his end, but we found just his head lying on the beach at Las Penitas near to Leon. He still had lots of fleshy bits stuck on him. It could have just been an aquatic attack by a caiman or a carnivorous fish, or quite possibly, at the hands of local hunters - turtle meat is an illegal, expensive delicacy here along with raw turtle eggs.

Horses, rings and girls at the village fete

We were back in Lagartillo a few weeks ago for the annual village fete. It attracts quite a crowd from the surrounding villages who mainly arrive on horseback. We arrived in time for the main afternoon event - the Corrida de Cinta (Ribbon Race). This involved men mounting their horses, and galloping, one after another, towards a rope stretched across the road with a collection of loops of ribbon dangling from it. With a chopstick-style stick in hand, they had to spear a ribbon as they galloped past. If they slowed down, they were booed and disqualified. The rounds of galloping past the ribbons were repeated for around an hour until all the ribbons had been speared. Whoever collected the most was the champion and could choose a lucky lady to ride off with him on his horse. In fact, anybody who had speared a ribbon selected a glamourous lady from the crowds lining the track to gallop off back to the village with them.
Competitors gather ready for a round of high-speed horseback fun.

Oswaldo was among the least graceful but most entertaining and charismatic riders as he was mocked and jeered by the crowd as he approached at a relatively pedestrian pace every time but still failed to tag a ribbon.
Ker-pow. Got one!

Successful competitors with their dishy damsels.

The next day at the nearby viewpoint.