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My First Six Months in Nicaragua

This is at my six month mark of living in Granada, March 2012.  It’s funny to look back in time at how your perspective changes and how some things stay the same.

Six months of nothing on my new blog having decided I didn’t want the “world” to read about my personal business and ups and downs associated with transplanting myself in a new country.  As of late, a change of heart.  I say enough on Facebook, why not share some more, I figure.

I guess I’ve come a long way in six months, but I never doubted myself (not much anyway).  Taking six weeks of Spanish class upon my arrival was one of the best choices I’ve made.  It took a few weeks but I then became more at ease and willing to talk with my neighbors, my cocinera, my new “Nica” friends and occasionally the random person on the street.   And, no one really cares if everything I say has correct grammar or conjugation, they all listen – they are patient and genuine.  They “get it” and help me along.  I never knew that plopping myself in the middle of Central America would be so easy.  These folks are the most welcoming and caring people in the world (in the world, really?  Maybe so).  Of course, the exception are the guys on the street shouting out “A-dios” – “Hola” or “Hey Mami” in an attempt to win my affection.   Ah, the Latin culture at its most stereotypical.  Though one afternoon a very polite construction worker gushed at me in a most respectful way: “Como estas mi amor?”  I couldn’t help but smile and reply myself “Bien, gracias.”

Oh, but the noise.  Part of me really believes there is an unspoken rule as to who can be the loudest.  From the ladies selling tortillas and fruit on the street “TORTILLAS! CUAJADA!”  (cuajada is a type of cheese which I have yet to try)  “TOMATES! BANANOS! CEBOLLA! REPOLLO! … it takes a few weeks of the yelling TOMATOES – BANANAS –ONION -CABBAGE to get used to things.  On the other hand, Chuy (my treasured Chihuahua) and I now have a song and dance routine to the Tortilla/Cuajada lady as we hear her coming down the street.  And there is no local newspaper, so advertisements are given via loudspeakers in the back of a pick-up truck, noise, noise, noise.  Funeral announcements work the same way, but in a more subdued fashion.  Did I mention the folks here love firecrackers?  Not fireworks, which could also be a pleasure to look at, but FIRECRACKERS… in the street, next to your front door and for any possible reason or no reason at all.  December was especially loud due to multiple religious celebrations and the parading around of the Virgin Mary.   All in all, I am glad my bedroom is at the back of the house and my trusty fan can block out the noise.  I don’t even hear my neighbor’s rooster anymore.

Nicaraguan food… some is good, some is not, and I still have not tried it all.  The cheese is… not so good, salty and weird.  My thanks to everyone who has visited and brought me packs of Laughing Cow.  Although, even that tastes different to me now.   I think my taste buds are changing.  I’m probably eating a lot better though.  The chicken here is awesome.  There is an abundance of fruit at really great prices (bananas are so cheap I consider them free).  The meat is not processed in the same way and there aren’t the chemicals/hormones in the food here as there is in the U.S.  However, refrigeration is not a priority, but I’ve learned that doesn’t really matter.  Who needs refrigerated milk and eggs anyway – not this girl! I’ve settled in now, finally understanding what I can and can’t get at the grocery store (and what price I am willing to pay for imported goods) and still knowing there is not much hope of me ever fully understanding all the food at the municipal market or what sort of concoction I could make of it.   But, back to milk, it doesn’t matter to me if it’s refrigerated (though once it’s open that’s where it goes) it’s the funny little things to me like the milk.  Many liquid things are sold in bags, yep, soft drinks even.  I’m not ready for that yet because I know it would end up on my face and down the front of my shirt.  But, the first week I was here I bought a carton of milk.  I needed help from someone because I couldn’t figure out how to open it.

My water delivery guy was here one day, took a knife, and sliced off the corner.  He said, “This is the Nicaraguan way.”  Ohhhh… I hadn’t thought of doing that.  Since I am now a “veteran” at living here, last week I bought my first bag of milk. I had some in my cereal and used a clothespin at the corner to close it up and put in back in the fridge.  Hours later when I went to get something else, milk was everywhere, from the top shelf to the fruit and vegetable bin.  I guess I am lacking in my knowledge of physics, but my good friend Diane said “It’s happened to all of us.”

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