Christmas Day

It was a lie-in for us on Christmas Day. We opened a few presents from our family, including chocolate and toffee, which we got stuck straight into, before getting up and eating delicious papaya, the rest of the hen from the night before and a ginger pudding with rum custard, which we had made in Leon and brought with us. Diosmara and Carolina trying the pudding

A couple of hours later we set off with most of the kids from the village to a big pool in the river. It was the most refreshing swim we are ever likely to have on Christmas Day and great fun playing frisbee and leaping off rocks with the kids. On our return, we chopped up and scoffed an enormous watermelon.

We set off back to Leon after sunset, singing a few Christmas carols in the truck to relate to our UK Christmas. 'In the Bleak Midwinter' and 'Once in Royal David's City' seemed a little odd in context with the rest of the day.

Christmas Eve

The night of Christmas Eve is the big Christmas celebration in Nicaragua. We spent it in a remote community at Melania's house with Nick and Rachel. We headed up into the hills in a pick-up truck full of presents for all the kids in the village. They all had a little bag stuffed full of things like water pistols, marbles, glowing sweets, rattles, imitation barbies, toy cars, headbands with feathers and balloons. The night before, there was a bag-stuffing party at Nick's to get it all sorted. It's a fairly poor village so the kids wouldn't really get much else apart from this.

We arrived in time to witness the stuffing of the hens, which we were to eat at midnight. American Rachel took on the task of stuffing them which proved to be pretty tricky. Melania had removed all the meat and bones from the plucked hen but left the skin intact with just a slit down its breast. The meat was cooked and then mixed up with oiled, uncooked rice, vegetables, a version of Worcestershire sauce and tomato ketchup. The whole lot was then stuffed back into the hen's skin and sewn up. After four hours in a big outdoor clay oven, the rice had expanded and the hen emerged looking like a plump roast chicken. We had to wait until midnight to get stuck in to platefuls of tasty hen and rice.

The early evening's entertainment got all the kids and women in the village involved in singing, pinatas and water balloon throwing. Simon controlling the pinata string while the little lad tries to whack the star with a stick and make sweets fall out.

The water balloon game

Unfortunately, most of the men and older teenage lads were already drunk by this point having spent most of the day gambling on the cock fight being held in the village.

As the sun went down, a lovely old man with a crinkly face and a twinkly smile donned a flashing Santa's hat, seated himself under a tree in the dusty main street under a lone light bulb powered by a little battery, and proceeded to give out around 100 presents. After this, it was time for the disco, and the drunken lads and men swayed in to partner up with the ladies for a mixture of raggaeton, salsa and hopelessly slow ballads.

At midnight, we set off fireworks and distributed sparklers before retiring to Melania's house to finally tuck in to the hen.

Learning to kill a hen

We enjoy eating hen and vegetable soup regularly in Sontule. The hens are killed on the same morning they are served up for lunch. They spend their lives before this pecking and scratching at the ground around the house eating a diet of mainly corn and grubs. We hope to be getting involved in farming when we get back to the UK, so we were happy to have the opportunity to learn to kill a chicken and prepare it under the expert guidance of Lucia.

Firstly, the chicken is tied up by its legs to a branch and the wings are folded over themselves twice to prevent flapping. The hen is soon surprisingly calm.

The next part can be a bit tricky for an amateur: cut the skin on its neck, locate the major blood vessel, and sever it with the knife. Unfortunately, on my first attempt I chopped the windpipe. Not only that, but after I had cut the correct vessel and the blood started to flow out of the hen's body, it gave a last mighty flap. I had only crossed the wings over once, rather than twice, and Lucia and I were splattered with dark, sticky blood. The hen dies within seconds but continues to twitch for a while. It's left to hang for a good half hour to drain all the blood.

The next stage is to pluck it. To do this easily, the hen is submerged in a big pan of boiling water for a few seconds and then it's no problem to pull out the feathers.
Feather-plucking

There are still a few remaining bits of feather so the next step is to char the skin well over a flame. Next the chicken is scrubbed with soap and then rinsed thoroughly.

All that's left to do then is to cut the carcass into pieces. We were impressed by how efficiently and quickly Lucia did this, extracted the windpipe and the few bits that really are inedible (although the cat was happy to give them a go). The organs were kept, as was an egg, still in the hen, and a few developing eggs.

This hen (gallina) had clearly led a long and active life, as the meat was a little on the tough side, but it did taste good and for us it was important to know what goes into the process of killing, preparing and eating a bird.

Costa Rica visa run

We went to Costa Rica for a few days to renew our visas after nearly 6 months in Nicaragua. We only got as far as the northern town of Liberia where we spent an afternoon and evening wandering around before heading to the beach. The main square in Liberia, full of families wandering around and sitting on benches in the evening.

By night, the stalls lining the square opened up to reveal an enormous amount of Christmas tat, of the like we haven't seen in a good while - there's not much of it in Nicaragua.

We had taken a tent with us and planned to camp in a national park but it all seemed a bit ambitious when we were informed that the well had dried up in the campsite and the only option would be to trek for 20 kilometres with all the water and food we needed for several days. Instead, we found an air-conditioned apartment in the very touristy Playa Coco. We went to a couple of other beaches around the headland, saw monkeys swinging in trees, ate pizza, saw lots of Americans and had a very relaxing few days.

Playa Hermosa

Playa Ocotal

We liked what we saw of Costa Rica although we prefer Nicaragua!

Animal babies

A month or so ago quite a few of the animals in Sontule started popping out babies. Two pigs gave birth and no matter how hard-hearted a campesino, you can't help but smile at the sight of 21 piglets scampering around. Young piglets suckling an hour after being born.

The less cute side to it. The exhausted mother and the pile of afterbirth. Evidence of the fact that the last piglet had only popped out twenty minutes before this photo was taken.

Traviesa, meaning 'naughty', also had a litter of 5 pups. She hasn't been the greatest of mums as she ate some toads, got very sick, and ignored them for several days. Things were starting to look bleak but luckily she got her appetite for tortillas and bones back and started feeding them again. The puppies are now doing well and making a nuisance of themselves by licking our toes as we try to shower or drinking soapy water as we wash our clothes.

The piglets four weeks on. They tear after their mother if they think there is a chance of milk. The rest of the time, they could be anywhere around the garden, the fields or the road.

Last day at school

One of the highlights of my time in Sontule has been teaching at the local primary school. I mostly taught Spanish to the first grade, 6 and 7 year-olds, and maths to the second grade, 7 and 8 year-olds. I got to know the kids really well and we had a great time. This was the thing that got me known around the community as the whole school knew who I was and so all their families did too. Playtimes last a good hour and mainly involve the boys playing baseball or pretending to shoot one another, while the girls organise themselves into friendly team games. The views never got boring.

It was quite a change to teaching in England. Not only was I teaching in Spanish, but my only resources were a board, a pen and some paper. I soon adapted and definitely learnt as much myself as the children did.

Climbing on a ruined wall by the outdoor school kitchen. You would never get away with this as a teacher in the UK.

Loud speaker advertising

This is a fine example of why we so often have to ask people to repeat themselves when we are talking to them on skype. The pink building is Cafe Luz, the only cafe in Esteli with wifi and where we can often be found on our days in town.

There are all sorts of vehicles touring the streets with a variety of loud speaker systems strapped to the roof. They blare out advertising jingles at ear-busting levels for anything from pharmacies, to nappies, to events, to where you can get your tyres changed. It's a charmingly simple form of advertising if a little invasive at times, but nobody here seems to mind that.

Very small bananas

We've blogged once before about the huge variety of bananas available in Latin America, and Nicaragua is no different. Last week in Sontule we encountered what was definitely the tiniest to date. The one pictured was pretty much the same size as all the bananas in the bunch. That's just the way they are. They were very sweet but a bit hard in the middle, which made them just right for adding to our hot milk and oats each morning.

Baking day

Baking day is quite an undertaking at Lucia and Rogelio's in Sontule. We're not just talking about knocking up a quick victoria sponge or a batch of flapjack, there's a bit more to it than that. A large, igloo-shaped clay oven, a good two metres across, occupies part of the yard near to the kitchen. The oven is made from bricks and clay and requires a red hot pile of firewood inside to get the whole thing baking hot. The embers are then pushed out of one side and the baking is ready to be popped in the other side. The oven spends most of its time redundant, except for occasionally housing a laying hen, so baking day makes for a good spectacle.
Rosquillas were the main item for the oven, in their hundreds. These are small biscuits made from cooked and ground corn, cuajada cheese and a bit of margarine. Some are savoury and shaped like a little hoop, others are round and sweet, filled with an unrefined dark sugar and called hojaldras. There are always people selling them on buses and they're available in cafes and corner shops, but their quality varies greatly. They are definitely at their best when they're warm, but Lucia's rosquillas were particularly impressive and kept us coming back for more for a good few days. They go down especially well with a coffee.All the members of the house got stuck in to the baking process. Lucia and Endira did the preparations and Rogelio was in charge of the oven. Jackson did a bit of fetching and carrying, while we were taking photos and employed to clear the trays of cooked rosquillas and place them in a bucket. This involved plenty of sampling.

From one side of the oven to the other. It doesn't look hot in there, but it's baking biscuits in 15 minutes.
We took a photo of ourselves nibbling rosquillas in Esteli, which for some strange reason turned out like a promotional shot for a rosquilla company.

'Mmm...rosquillas'

Old Man's Beard

An old man and his beard.The forests of Miraflor are beautiful and on many of the trees grows this wispy plant, called Barba de Viejo, or Old Man's Beard, which gives an eery edge to foggy mornings and a touch more shade when the sun's out. It looks spiky until you touch it and realise it's very soft. Local uses for the plant, known in some Engish speaking parts as Spanish Moss, include mulch for plants and a natural, luxurious toilet roll. We are yet to test either claim.

Deer for lunch

Walking uphill in Sontule towards the cooperative building one morning after breakfast we heard a yelping up ahead and saw an Alsatian attacking something with skinny legs. As we approached and threw a stone at it, the dog ran off, leaving behind a beautiful, young, white-speckled deer with a mangled leg and blood dripping from its mouth. It is the first deer we have seen in Nicaragua and we were just thinking that it was a shame to see one in such unfortunate circumstances when Don Rogelio appeared on his horse, heading for the fields. He agreed that it was a shame for the poor creature but quickly moved on to the prospect of enjoying it for lunch. He was thrilled with us for seeing the dog off in time and asked Simon to pass the deer up to him on his horse. It was kicking weakly on the floor. Simon hesitated for a couple of seconds, but after a couple more 'pass it to mes' from Rogelio, Simon grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and its hind quarters and passed it up to Rogelio who slung it over the front of the horse and trotted back to the house with it. A few hours later, we were enjoying its tender meat in this delicious casserole with a beetroot and cabbage salad, rice, beans and tortilla. Sontule has been in a protected nature reserve since the 1990s and nobody had eaten deer for years. We were popular with the family for the rest of the week on the back of our deer discovery.

A funeral in Sontule

Last week we attended the burial of a local mum who died in childbirth after a complicated pregnancy with her third child. Her baby daughter survived and will be brought up by an aunt in Esteli. Her two other children, Walter and Juan Ramon, are eight and six, and in Simon's Spanish and Maths classes. At least for now, they are staying in the community with their dad.

Nicaraguans bury their dead usually within twenty four hours of them dying, and it is a big community affair. The evening of the death, the family holds an all-night wake. For this lady, over 300 people attended. Her parents' home is two hours walk through the hills from Sontule but over 40 people went from the village, returning in the early hours of the morning. That afternoon, friends dug the grave in the cemetery, a beautiful, shady spot in the mountains in Sontule. The next morning, the whole community headed for the cemetery, including lots of children, to await the arrival of the family with the coffin from the neighbouring community. Nobody knew what time it would arrive, and whether it would be carried through the hills or brought in a pick-up truck. In the end, it was a pick-up that appeared with around twenty people crammed into the back along with the coffin. We waited in the cemetery for a couple of hours, and were given a bit of a tour of the graves by our friends. Rogelio and Lucia's relatives are all buried here, as well as some notable locals killed by the Contra in the 1980s. Another little boy from the school matter-of-factly showed us his mum's grave. Next to Lucia's family's graves, including a daughter who died as a baby.

There were a few striking things for us about this funeral. Despite this being a really tragic death, the community was typically stoical about it. They had all visited the family already and offered their condolences. In the cemetery there was a lack of drama, collective grief and dark, formal clothing. There was more of a feeling of the community simply gathering to pay their respects, offer support and do what had to be done in putting the coffin into the ground. It seemed very natural to include children in the event. Many children had bunches of flowers from their gardens and either looked on curiously or played quietly in the background. Walter and Juan Ramon, her two sons, spent most of the time sadly looking on, but also looking round and showing interest in the whole event. At one point, Juan Ramon looked over, recognised us and gave us a big smile.

Lucia and Rogelio led a few prayers and singing before the local men lowered the coffin into the grave and took turns to fill in the earth. The family take no part in the physical act of carrying or burying the body. All of the community waited until the grave had been filled, sitting around in small groups chatting or gathered around the grave, before laying flowers on it and heading off to carry on with the day's work.

Tweeting to Twitter in Sontule

This is the only place in Sontule where there is a mobile phone signal, next to the school and ten minutes up the hill from Rogelio and Lucia's house. It's a nice spot for a Tweet.

Fifteenth birthday parties for girls

Fifteenth birthday parties (quinceneras) are the most significant ones for girls in Catholic countries. Traditionally, it was a coming-of-age, time to get married occasion. We've been invited to a couple now and they have both been quite different from one another.

Last night was party night in Sontule. For the first time since we've been going there, the entire family turned out: Rogelio and Lucia, with their six children and eight grandchildren plus a good turn out of local friends and neighbours. Marciel is their eldest granddaughter and lives over the road, as well as attending my kids English class, so we see a lot of her.They'd gotten hold of a pick-up truck in Esteli to bring up the family from there and the enormous birthday cake pictured above. We spent the afternoon making rice-crispy cakes, pop-corn and decorating the house, while the family made an enormous pan of rice and chicken. It wouldn't be any kind of event in Nicaragua without the speeches and Don Rogelio rose to the occasion with messages of love, God and happiness. After the speeches and food, the dancing got under way. In Nicaragua, people don't ask you if you enjoyed a party but rather if you danced a lot, which to them, amounts to the same thing. While dancing is obligatory, how much and how enthusiastically you do it is optional. Rachel stayed on the fringes while I did some hip wiggling and got challenged to a dance-off by Rogelito which was declared a draw after I replied to an impressive display of bandy legs and a bridge with my swallow-dive breakdance move. Rachel chose well to enjoy some calmer dancing later on.Our rice-crispy cakes turned out disappointingly crumbly but Rachel's brainwave of serving the mixture up in paper cones was a hit with the locals who luckily for us had mostly never eaten rice-crispies before so had no clue as to the poor quality of our party treat.

Conos en el aire!

It was great to meet the members of the family who live in Esteli and who we hadn't met yet and most importantly Marciel had a great 15th birthday party.

The other quincenera we went to was the city version, of the daughter of a good friend of our friend Nicholas in Leon. Firstly there was a church service with lots of smart people, the whole affair looking more like a wedding to our English eyes although we did only get there in time for the post-service photos. We managed to scrub up well for the do as is clear in this picture of Rachel looking fabulous, holding Naomi, a little friend in Leon.The party was quite a contrast to the Sontule celebrations- in a reception venue rather than a front room and with a higher budget reflected in the dress and cake and the dress on the cake.Of course material trimming really aren't the making of a party, that would be the people, the food and the music. And so it was that in both parties we enjoyed the company of friends, ate well, and danced to a mixed bag of Salsa, Reggeton and 80's pop (Oh for a night of good music!)Throwing some shapes.