last bits

4/04/12

I got into Masaya in the late afternoon. The hotel room I had reserved, it turns out, is in Managua. So I went to another. After dropping off my things, I went to find somethingto eat. My "Last Supper" in Nicaragua. On offer at the Central Park were expensive meals, pizza, and different forms of fried meat dishes. I sat down with a bag of cut mango to consider my options. On the bench next to me sat a young woman in very shabby clothes. She looked very dirty, quite pitiful and smelled incredibly bad, a mix of sweat, dirt and urine. An older woman sat down next to me. I offered her some mango. She accepted. I then took a chance and mentioned that I was looking for somewhere to eat. She said she knew just the spot. 3 blocks away and she would accompany me as she was heading in that directions. The smell of our neighbour was now very strong as we headed off together, me with my stick, she limping beside me. 4 blocks later, we are still walking. Eventually we reach a small plaza with many food stalls. Yes, she was right. The food here is more than adequate . Cheese dumplings, plantain, vegetable patties all deep fried with a coleslaw salad on top. I invite her to eat with me. We sit down at a table. The vendor brings us our drinks. Mine is a spicy ginger drink. I finally ask her her age. I figure she must be between seventy and eighty. She says that she is sixty years old. She was sick with arthritis but now she is cured, she says. She wraps up 1/2 her meal with the 1/2 plantain that I can't finish for her breakfast tomorrow. When we are done, we part ways.

My hotel room is a sweatbox. The fan on the wall seems to be going fast enough but the wind never seems to reach me. I lie awake most of the night soaking in heat for the return. I will be in Montreal tomorrow night.

almost home

12/04/02

Sitting in the vegetarian restaurant/yoga centre in Esteli. I have just finished my meal, which I heavily laced with a homemade chili sauce. I am waiting for my penultimate Spanish class. My teacher is a very sweet woman of 42 years. We discuss politics, religion etc. and she gently corrects my grammar mistakes. (I have just moved tables to get away from the cell phone music that started just behind me.)

Yesterday I came back from a 2 day visit to the mountains. Beautiful pine forests. Vistas of volcanos and distant mountain ranges. Hot in the day and cold at night. A preparation of sorts for the coming return to the cold. I sit here and reflect on the past 11 plus weeks. Lots of travel. Many buses and boats. Many hotel rooms. 33 to be exact. Lots of packing up and moving on. I saw beauty in so many forms: the enormous trees, the flowers, the birds. All the colours. Beautiful beaches, rivers, lakes. And such kind people. Such gentle sweet peope. Reading the Dalai Lama at this moment, it is easy here to recognize the innate Buddhanature of people. Returning back to the cold and fast paced reality, it will be a greater challenge to see inherent gentleness in all beings around me.

And what did I learn on this trip? That in stopping and staying, I get more rewards and understanding than in movement. That travelling alone has its benefits - I follow my own rhythm, I am forced to make an effort to meet others - and its disadvantages: The adventure is mine alone. No one to laugh with about all the memories. 11 weeks was too long this time. There is only so much movement, so much beauty one can integrate. I look at all these travellers I meet with their yearlong, 6 month, 2 year around the world trips and I don't envy them as I have in the past. I need to stop and give back. It is time to look beyond this solitary mind.

And of course, the body and its frailty. My assumptions of my strength, my capacity to endure and overcome were tested. Sure, I endured. Sure, I overcame. And I was not afraid. But there was alot of physical pain and discomfort. Lots of enduring. And then that night alone in my lovely room. Diarrhea and vomiting. Severe abdominal crampìng. Do I go and bang on the door of the tourists next door? I think they are German. We barely acknowledged each other today. It is the middle of the night. Am I sick enough to go and ask for help? I guess not. I endured and survived. And took the bus, boat, bus and bus the next day.

I guess from where I sit, it is the end of an era. I will be 60 this year. There are others older than me who travel in this way. But it no longer pulls me to take the tough route. Was it the length of time? Was it the solitary travel? Was it the body fragility? Perhaps a bit of all of it. Am looking forward to new possibilities. Other options.

And I have a Spanish lesson to go to.