Finally...I Made It!

Depicts CIA involvement in the Revolution 

After a full 48 hours of travel mishaps, although small but irritating nonetheless, I finally made it to Nicaragua. Dumped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, I am bombarded by some six taxi drivers  all vying for a chance to win my cordobas. And while I am honestly annoyed by the pushy sales pitches, I can respect the need to hustle for the traveler's dollar amongst the heavy competition. For the winner, it can sometimes mean the luxury of having meat with the typical rice, beans and plantains for his family. But I cannot complain for it was here that I met Melanie, a sassy young Australian, who also was dumped out in the middle of nowhere. We rode for many hours on the same bus together, and never spoke a word to one another, but were now teaming up against the riot of men to share a taxi into Leon.

As it turns out, Leon is a very charming college town steeped rich with revolutionary history. At every turn you'll find evidence of a proud people fostering their wounds with pride. Colorful murals cleverly located near the university remind its young people of a past they are too young to have experienced. As I studied each one to interpret its meaning, I stumbled across one "representing the "Sandinistas" armed struggle and the CIA's role (the serpent) to influence the Nicaraguan elections. The fact that I was not personally involved in this manipulation did nothing to deter my guilt or remorse for enjoying the interesting depiction. I was American and that was reason enough. Sadly, the rest of the city was not as well maintained as one could hope for. What remains of its colonial stature, colossal cathedrals and a vibrant art scene, made it a city full of substance, and that made for a stimulating stay. Melanie and I found great places to satisfy our hunger, one favorite of ours, Barbaro, was worthy of a second visit.  A great city to experience on foot,  and in hindsight, I regret not doing a guided tour.  My main purpose for my stay was to hike and volcano board down the infamous Cerro Negro, which I shamelessly accomplished while crashing out twice. Nonetheless, it was an experience of a lifetime, one that I will arrogantly boast to my nieces and nephews once I return home.

Next on the "Gringo Trail" was the Nicaragua's oldest city of Granada, which sits on the foot of the majestic Volcan Mombacho while simultaneously resting on the dark sandy shores of Lago de Nicaragua. It's beautifully maintained colonial architecture does well representing the Spanish empire of old, and it doesn't hurt that the cuisine was to die for.  From the grand central park, to the fabulous cathedrals and cobblestone streets, this was a luminous city to explore on foot. It also serves as a great base for other outdoor excursions like exploring the nearby islands of Las Isletas, the handicrafts center Masaya, and the towns of Pueblos Blancos. This part of my adventure holds a special place in my heart... as it marks the first time I ventured out of my "solo traveler mode" to travel with a group of complete strangers that made an already awesome experience, that much more incredible.  Melanie and I quickly grew to a group of eleven, consisting our four Australians, four Americans, one Spaniard and two Israelis who were quickly dumped early on.  The Israelis need mention, for if it had not been for meeting them on the street, and recommending their hostel to us, Melanie and I would never have met the others. Since we were all traveling in the same direction, it just made sense to combine our experiences.  It was also this group that would be responsible for breaking me out of my "private room-private bath" snobbishness to share a dorm room, which was another experience in itself. Not one that I was fond of at first, but they made a believer out of me, and I was able to save a few pennies in the process.  Who knew?

After exploring Las Isletas, sharing pizza and wine, and group breakfasts at the Garden Cafe', our group of now eight traveled onwards via "Chicken Bus" to the popular pacific coast destination of San Juan del Sur which used to be a sleepy little Pacific coast hamlet, until it was discovered by backpackers and surfers as the perfect spot for beach wandering, kite surfing, deep sea fishing sunbathing... and of course surfing.  There is a laid back vibe to this town, and what originally was planned as a two day venture quickly turned into four and our group of eight now split in half to stay at separate hostels. We happened into town during "Caravana del Caribe" an outdoor night festival of live beachfront music and dancing.  This made it easy for our now two groups to convene together at night, as drinking and dancing in the streets of San Juan were right up our alley.  One night while enjoying the local beer at a beachfront bar, we watched the ending to a spectacular baseball game. Nicaragua is playing Cuba in a five game series.  "How great would it be to catch a game while we are here?" someone from the group comments.  Just like that, with a bit of planning, we were off on the next "Chicken Bus" to Managua to see the next game in the series.  Not something I would have done solo, that's for sure, despite being an avid sports fan, but being part of this group made it so much more electric. Cuba killed it in this game against Nica, and I am ecstatic that I had the chance to experience it. Blessing to my new travel buddies, Melanie, Jemma, Makensie, Carlos, Jennifer, Alexander and Daniel. Keep on Travelin'!!!

So after globetrotting in Central America for the past eight weeks, it's back to the real world as I know it. Responsibility is calling and I have a dog who is in need of his mother. Do not think that for one second, that I didn't try to scheme a way to get my dog to Central America.  If he were small enough, it would have been as easy as paying a fee for him to fly in the cabin. Sadly, it's too hot for him to fly as cargo, or I'd be on the next flight to Panama.

Who says "... Men have all the fun?!?"  Not me... that's for sure!

In The Pursuit of Happiness- Forming A Great Offense... Part 1

This month I celebrate the blessing of yet another birthday.  

My Facebook page both proudly and humbly showcases over 100 birthday well wishes from friends and family.  And while they are each individually humbling enough to bring any girl to tears… there was one in particular that made me take pause.  It conveyed:

“So I see you still have a love of the water… Blessings to you on a wonderful birthday.”

It was sent from a dear childhood friend with whom I had known since the fourth grade.  It gave pause because her exclamation brought me back to a youthful time when my career dream was to become a marine biologist.  It was this, that would later inspire me to become both lifeguard and a water safety instructor. The third of these career steps would require future certification from diving instruction. In hindsight, I’m not exactly sure how my youthful brain translated that into a career in water sciences, but back then, I made perfect sense. I knew, in my heart of hearts, becoming a marine biologist would fulfill a life long dream… and thus produce a lifetime of happiness.  

In the spirit of birthdays and happiness… There’s something that magically happens once you are fully aware that you are about to enter your forties.  At least it did for me, and for a few countless others  whom I have promised shall remain nameless. 

I remember it like it was yesterday, although in hindsight it was almost 10 years ago.   At age 36, I made the life altering decision to not have children.  Fresh out of a relationship lasting seven years that I felt sure would end in marriage; the thought of being a single parent was never even a remote possibility.  Unless my prince charming magically entered my life at thirty-six and we could make a successful run at things before I turned forty, the possibility of becoming a parent would be gone like the wind.  I searched for him, even prayed for him... but all to no avail.  

As strange as it may seem, there was almost a metamorphosis unconsciously manifesting during the three-year period following my childbearing decision.  And with that came the realization that I was living life as it came to me instead of creating the life I wanted.  As a sports fan, this translated into living a defensive life, when the reality should have been that I should be creating an offensive life.  Sure it is true that defense wins games… but it is the best offense that sets the tone for the ENTIRE game.  Set a great plan in motion, and then defend, but only as the need requires.

So at age 39, it became necessary to inaugurate a new way to think about my life’s path.  Firm on my parenting decision, and now knowing what was now set before me, another inexplicable decision was made, which would unknowingly amend the course of my life forever…  I made the choice to be happy. 

Sure this sounds easy enough, but in order to make it happen, and then make it stick, the process one subjects them to is not an easy one.  It’s not just a decision, but series of decisions, that then are required to translate into repeated actions, which should then be performed over and over on a weekly, monthly yearly basis.  

Simply stating that you want to be happy would then actually require that you understand exactly what happiness is.   Then the act of manifesting happiness in your own life takes not just an understanding of how that translates for you, but an entire journey involving exploration, that in my opinion… never really ends.

I believe that happiness is much more than the many words that describe it. Contentment, pleasure, gladness, joy, bliss, delight, exhilaration, ecstasy and glee just begin to touch the surface, once the implementation of happiness begins.  Webster defines it as:

1-To imply an active or passive state of pleasure or pleasurable satisfaction.

2- A peaceful kind of contentment in which one rests without desires, even though every wish may not have been gratified.

Now, this is just my modest opinion, but to truly possess and retain these emotions is where the true occupation lies. Keep in mind that there are ebbs and flows in every life.  Considering this… How else can we expect to know what true happiness is, if we haven’t been privy to life’s sadness and hurt?  How would we begin to understand satisfaction, if we have never been through disappointment?  To expect to remain in a constant state of happiness is simply naive.  But at the risk of exploiting a further point… I would suppose that this is where defense would play a role.  A great offense is nothing without a great defense. 

So with that being said…  first know and understand what happiness means to you.  This is a big one so feel free to take your time with this one.  It’s important.  For with this initial step, as it then becomes the foundation to forming a great offense.

Without full the comprehension of what I have just described I began to comprise a catalog or a bucket list of sorts, of the items, things, accomplishments I needed to achieve in my trek to undertake the objective that is called happiness.  And while the record has been revised over the years, always remaining at the top has always been to see the world.  So this birthday, it’s Central America.   And since diving was previously on the infantile catalog… then why not knock off the adolescent aspiration as well?  As is my usual practice, I will be celebrating all month.  Most of the month will be consumed with travel, but I will make sure to close it out at the end of the month with family and friends.  It’s just a few of the many things that I know make me happy.  But since we are talking about it…

Exactly what does happiness mean to you…???

And The Beat Goes On...

After taking months off to be a virtuous daughter, and a dedicated new author, it was now cerebrally necessary to take my heart and my head back where it belonged… back on the road.  The urge to pick up where I had left off had been calling me for months, but it was essential for me to stand in for grander mission. One which had sidelined my road trip from the start.

During a stint through Guatemala, in mid-September of 2011, I received a dreaded phone call, informing that breast cancer struck again with a vengeance. It would be almost exactly one year to the day since the surgery of my mother’s original diagnosis.  Knowing there was no way to conscientiously continue my personal journey, I took time out to pause and handle business.

Today, I can thankfully report that Mom is now cancer free for a second time.  She has since been placed on notice to not accept or otherwise incubate any form of cancer at anytime in the foreseeable future. Eating in a more conscious manner, while engaging in a slightly more physical lifestyle than the sedentary one she had been used to, was no longer an option.  To insure this happened, at least temporarily, I left my beloved companion with her, an active but sweet two-year old Jack Russell mix, whose own lifestyle requires walking three times daily.  Not to insinuate that anyone would dare wish this dreaded disease on themselves or anyone else for that matter.  But making this declaration while taking my stance was my way of exercising my faith.  ("Faith without works is dead..." James 2:17 NKJV.) Throwing my demands out into the world to be heard and manifested, I have always believed in the power of words.  It is in large part why I decided to become a writer. ("The power of life and death is in the tongue." Proverbs 18:21)  But as an added insurance policy, a heart to heart with His Royal Holiness was needed. ("The effective prayer of the righteous man availeth much." James 5:16) And just like that in my heart I recieved, “the cancer will not kill her… although you just might.”  With my quick confirmation, I now believed I had permission to carry on.

I was lucky enough to catch the tail end of a airline fare war that required leaving out on the very day of my mother’s last cancer related doctor’s appointment. I’m not sure that sat well with her. I’m not sure that would have sat well with me either, had the situation been reversed. It bothered me to leave town on what could be a pending thought that implied I just had to take to first flight out to get the heck out of dodge.  This was not the case in the least, and a $150 savings in my flight costs partially justified my guilt. Nevertheless, this forty-four year old woman would succumb to the pressure, print the email, and explain my decision, all to avoid any drama that could potentially be lurking at some unknown point in the future. Luckily for me… the truth worked, at least for the time being.

With that being said, arriving on a flight that should have landed at 1am into San Pedro Sula, Honduras, didn’t until 3:00am, because of storms. The original plan was to get a hotel room for the night, knowing that there would be a bus at 9:30am. But under the current circumstances that didn’t make much sense considering the first bus out to Tela left at 5:30am.  Perhaps there was no need for a room, but was it wise to sit parked in the public terminal of an airport that was well known for it's  pick pockets and thieves, even despite the police presence with guns in tow? Surely there would be others that would be forced with the same dilemma until the bus and cab drivers were ready to report for duty. As I pondered my dilemma, a consoling awareness covered my body like a blanket, reassuring me that all would be well.  As luck would have it, a sizeable, yet amicable "gringo" by the name of Bobby, fresh from his American roots in Alabama, took a liking to me.  A 12 year resident of Talanga, just outside of Tegucigalpa, this formidable southern giant looked as mean as an ogre, but in actuality, was as gentle as a lamb.  It didn’t take long for me to comprehend that he was my blanket, but the irony here was, it was Bobby who was comfortable enough  to catch a hour-long nap, and I would be the one designated to watch over our belongings.  Some how, I was okay with that.  As I diligently stood guard, I noticed another less formidable gringo walking to and fro, but in a very unsettled manner.  I made sure to keep an eye on this one, as his clearly he was wrapped too tight.

As luck would have it, my less formidable gringo went by the name of Tony. He and Bobby were plane-mates a few rows behind me during our flight, and had already agreed to split a cab to the bus terminal. He too was nervous about the wait, and exhausted from the flight, he knew that if he sat down long enough, he would fall off to sleep. Tony decided the best way to not become a victim was to simply keep it moving. At 5:00 am, the  first cab drivers arrived to take us to the bus terminal, and as previously agreed by the two gingos, the three of us would split the $15 cab ride.  $5 per person was hard to refuse. As we parted ways at the terminal, it was my less formidable gringo, who took the second shift assuming the responsibility of my blanket.  It turns out that we were both headed in the same direction, and he promised Bobby that he would keep me safe.  God works in mysterious ways.

The guide book I am using for this trip called my beach destination, Tela…“a hot mess with sinister appeal."  As much as I hated to believe it, their description was sadly quite appropriate.  Barely on my second day, and I had yet to find anything to entice me to stay a third.  Void of all character, the town was divided into an old and new section, separated by only a bridge and the captains that parked their barges below it. To make matters worse, there was nothing "new" about its "new"section. Trying hard not to pass judgment so early on in my visit, I really searched hard to find the good within it. On the surface, it's beaches and town were both disappointingly dirty. My search to dig deeper uncovered only that's its people were cold, the food was average, and most of the service around town was marginal at best.  With two exceptions worthy of mention, Cesar Mariscos’ restaurant, whose ceviche was slammin’ and customer service was stupendous, and  Mango Café B&B, who despite the language barrier, made an effort to find someone whose English was just as bad as my Spanish and yet managed to make it work with a smile.  My travel guide made mention that English was spoken at most places.  Most of those people must have gone on vacation, knowing that I was on the way. I suppose this means that I must work harder on my Spanish to avoid the handicap. Oh well, lesson learned.

Next up La Ceiba and Utila Honduras…