And the rain it raineth...

Arriving, as I did, in the wet season of Nicaragua, I was surprised to spend two full months in rain deficit. Other than one or two brief sun showers, the Pacific coast has been a desert. That our little compound is graced by lush greenery is thanks only to hours of patient watering by Salvador, the cuidador.

Until this past week, I could only imagine a truly wet season, such as they have in Managua, but even there, the rain has not reached normal levels, I'm told. But last weekend, the heavens opened and we enjoyed our first torrential downpours of the rainy season. Rivers formed on both sides of the house, flowing down toward the sea. Palms bent under the weight of the water and wind. I sat on the veranda, bemused by the absolute roar of the elements pounding on the roof, cascading to the tile paving, and the raging river just steps away, carving away the soil and pouring over the wall.

As it happened, a crew of three young men had arrived earlier to install an antenna tower for our internet feed. They first removed the damaged framework, and then prepared the concrete base of the new tower, which involved cementing bolts into place to receive the bottom tower section. The cement needed to dry, so they placed a plastic bag over their work and waited as the storm rolled in.

Three hours later, when the rain had subsided to drizzle, they set about placing the lower half of the tower on the base. This went fairly smoothly, if slightly off-plumb, but with sunset approaching, they had little daylight left when they hoisted up the top portion. Then one chap had to climb the narrow tower to attach the antenna. The photo below shows the same veranda post as in the above pics, but looking toward the sea. (Those little white lights are very pretty at night!)  And what looks like a thick horizontal cable is actually a slim electrical cord that runs from the porch roof to the wall opposite and down to feed the antenna.

Unfortunately, the rain revived itself, and all the directional fine-tuning of the antenna had to be done in the dark, in another downpour, though not so furious as the first.

We have had a couple more cloudy days, with intermittent rain, more in one week than in the previous two months. Today, we are crossing our fingers that we shall enjoy clear skies tomorrow evening for the scheduled super moon eclipse over the ocean.

P.S. (Monday morning) Alas, after a sunny day, the clouds moved in just before sunset. Miraculously, a gap in the cover allowed a moon view at about 1/3  until full eclipse, but the window vanished, and the reemergence of la luna occurred unseen in La Boquita.

Nothing Doing

With one or two exceptions, the past week or so has not proven particularly eventful. Not only does this fail to inspire my typical (thus far) blog post—episodic, travelogue-ish, illustrated—it also fails to allow a more interior view of life here in La Boquita. My life, to be precise, which is that of a retiree with no real desire to structure my time in any deliberate way. That is to say, I regularly drift in the current of Nicaraguan time and space, remaining open to both observing and participating in the day's activities. I am retired—I am not obliged to do anything. So, for the nonce, or until I crave some actual structure, I sometimes do nothing.

Nothing worth mentioning, anyway. Of late, I have been fighting off an infection (successfully), vicariously both traveling through Italy via photos posted daily by a cherished friend as well as enjoying a family gathering in Las Vegas to celebrate the marriage of a much-loved nephew, and reading. I just finished "Brunelleschi's Dome," about the incredible 15th century architectural achievement in constructing the world's (still) largest brick and mortar dome for Florence's iconic Santa Maria del Fiore basilica, timing perfectly with my friend's visit to Tuscany! And I am 3/4 through Jean Jacques Rousseau's "Confessions," begun at the urging of Ivan, whose literary and philosophical chops are beyond discussion. Rousseau's memoir is a study of an accomplished thinker, writer, composer, and producer of extraordinary volume, whose outward sophistication concealed a childishly romantic, unfulfilled, discouraged, and lonely man.

(Pause here to regard the elegant flight of a dozen pelicans, cruising the shallows in formation. It is a cloudy day, so the ocean looks white. And just beyond the veranda, two hermit crabs are humpty-dumptying their way across the path to the wall. And here comes rain, blessedly cool.)


A few days ago, a real adventure found its way to my doorstep, quite literally. It was late night, and I awoke to the sound of something falling to the floor in the sala. Probably Beth's cat, who comes and goes through the wrought-iron gates, I thought. Still, I got up and turned on the lights and went to investigate. I saw a little statuette on the floor, having fallen from a shadow box, and as I stepped forward to pick it up, I heard a shuffling sound, and an ominous crackling noise, like slow static electricity. Just inches away from my foot in a box of CDs, was a coiling brown-patterned snake. I immediately stepped back as soundlessly as possible and grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen, then headed out into the night to wake up Salvador.  Brynn and the other dogs were all out sleeping in the yard, as usual, but they all woke up and followed me to the cuidador's (caretaker's) house. It took a few minutes to rouse him, but when I told him I had a serpiente en la casa, he grabbed a machete and came with me.

There was no sign of the snake when we entered the sala, but the flashlight beam shortly revealed it had coiled up behind a box. Salvador moved the box an inch or so, and aimed his machete. Again, that unsettling crackling noise. The machete came down a few times, and Salvador pronounced the snake dead, although the body and tail were writhing on the tiled floor. By now, the dogs were on the veranda, barking to be let in. I noticed the snake had a yellow underside, and a pattern of cream and orange-ish triangular shapes on the brown. As Salvador disposed of the still moving corpse, I immediately went to the internet to identify the beast. Almost immediately, it looked to be a fer-de-lance, about a meter in length, nocturnal, lives among humans, the right colors and pattern, yellow belly, and especially that crackling sound. The fer-de-lance makes that sound with its tail when it is agitated, perhaps as a warning, a la the rattlesnake. Did I mention that it is the most venomous snake in Nicaragua?




No more sleep that night, and I still look around for something, anything when I enter the sala. I gave Salvador 200 cordobas as a token of gratitude for dispatching the dangerous intruder. His eyes widened at the gift—a princely sum of almost $8. He suggested I allow him to give Brynn her monthly bath in exchange. Done and done.

Leftover Compost

It has been about three weeks since I saw my last cucaracha! I speculate that the cat lost interest in bringing those he killed to my attention, because  I have done nothing to assist in this happy disappearance. Mind you, I still check the shower before I step in, but not only roaches are on the wane; I see fewer mosquito bites, and the little beetles that alight on my reading tablet at night have all but vanished as well. Sadly, my morning butterflies are fewer and fewer. The so-called wet season has a couple more months to go. What is at work here? Did they all return to university?

A territorial dispute played out just steps from my veranda. Daily, a foot-long lizard appears from under the vegetation that hugs the low wall at the back of the property, and he climbs the little tree next to the porch. He goes all the way to the end of a slim branch and bobs up and down in the breeze.

Yesterday, when he spotted another lizard atop the side wall between this and the next property, he began furiously to nod his head, dewlap fully extended. The one on the wall did the same. The one in the tree leapt to the wall and was instantly rebuffed and fell off. He renewed his attack further down the wall, climbing up and falling again. The second lizard, presumably victorious, ran up and down the wall. They both disappeared. And... SCENE.

A pair of kiskadees live hereabouts. They have a lovely call in the alto recorder range, and have striking bandit masks. They are too small for me to capture with my camera, but here is an internet pic:

Below: This chap is a magpie jay, also a visitor to the garden.

The past week or so has seen a real hot spell prevail. It is impossible to keep cool, as even the fans blow hot air. I sit as quietly as  possible, and still the streams of perspiration trickle from every pore. I've taken to freezing wet dishtowels and draping them inelegantly over my head and arms. I also sit with my feet in a bucket of water and ice cubes. I imagine this is a zero-sum game, though, as the movement required to furnish these remedies just adds more heat to the quotient. But oh, how lovely to feel those frozen towels for a long minute...

There is an anomaly of sorts in Nicaragua, having to do with the vastly superior quality of fruits and vegetables in Managua, compared with that in more rural climes. In the States, it is often the case that the best apples, sweet corn, and fresh poultry are to be found closer to the source than in the city. Not so here; the fruit and veggie markets out in the country ship their produce from Managua, subtracting a day or more from the product's shelf life. There also is more diversity to Managua's offerings. I can never find the giant avocados or red onions or eggplant in Diriamba. If I do find avocados, they are already smooshy and turning black. I will say that the watermelon -- sandia -- is fantastic wherever I find it!  It has become a staple food in my kitchen. No seedless varieties here, but oh, boy, is it sweet and delish!

Hello mudda, hello fadda

Granada, Nicaragua bears the distinction of earliest city founding date in the Americas, 1524. Situated near the northern tip of Lake Nicaragua, Granada is a top tourist attraction both for its Spanish colonial architecture and for its high-end (and high-priced) amenities geared toward its growing norteamericano population. Boutique hotels, jewel box restaurants and specialty shops, parks and internationally-themed pubs and gathering places combine to create a gringo-friendly consumer economy unlike anywhere else in this country. For many U.S. expats, it is tropical heaven on earth. For me? Well, I did not come to Nicaragua to live in Fort Lauderdale. But when Beth invited me along to take her cat to be neutered by a Granada vet, I did not hesitate to hop in the car. Granada has the best-stocked super market in Nicaragua, and I needed to replenish some spices and scratch a couple culinary itches. Two months without Philadelphia cream cheese is just wrong.

The drive from Diriamba through Jinotepe to Granada is flat-out gorgeous. We passed numerous grand haciendas, a few of which we could actually see; most are behind high concrete walls. But the lush greenery and the shaded winding road create a separate universe from the coastal desert of La Boquita.

We dropped off the cat at the vet's office, and picked up Beth's friend Melissa for lunch at a local Chinese restaurant. "Chinese New Year" has not a single Chinese person in evidence, but it features most of the takeout items to be found in your basic Panda House or Great Wall of Pearls eatery in any mall in the States. Wonton soup -- here, it's wantan, fried rice, beef and broccoli, steamed dumplings, and chop suey. My order of the latter featured corn, lima beans, and a couple of mystery veggies, and no water chestnuts or bamboo shoots, but it was all very fresh and delicious.

We took a stroll through a pedestrian mall that connects the famed Granada cathedral and Lake Nicaragua. A bit too precious for my taste, but overflowing with darling-ness, as shown:

The twin bell towers of Granada's cathedral and its large dome are visible for miles around the city. The cathedral's  iconic yellow and white scheme, with the rust-colored domes is key to the city's identity. My photo from ground level didn't do it justice, so I lifted this one from a tourist website!

There has been a church on the site since the late 16th-century. This latest incarnation was completed 100 years ago. The large park opposite the cathedral is shady, but the heat is intense nevertheless. Souvenir booths line the perimeter.

And to one side is Independence Plaza, which was the scene for a corn festival. Difference corn-based foods were being prepared and agricultural displays were interspersed with my old friends from the Institute of Tourism, and their demon-eyed cattle!

                                                     Looking back toward the cathedral

We were due to collect the cat from the vet, so we returned to our car, walking past the Cathedral (and Convent) of St. Francis with its triple bell tower, below on the right. I'll share more from Granada in a future post. When somebody comes to visit me -- if anyone ever comes to visit me-- I will enjoy taking my guest on a water tour of the Islets of Granada, more than 300 tiny islands along the northwest shores of Lake Nicaragua. And I would like to see the inside of these two cathedrals. Work to do, work to do!

Back on Track

Just a quick postscript to the visa saga of the past ten days: the replacement documents with fresh dates arrived in just two days, thanks to FedEx (and the $92 fee), in time for my abogado (lawyer) to make copies and notarize each page. We revisited the Tourism Institute on Friday, and all the documents were declared to be worthy, and after a few signatures and a last inventory, my application for residence was accepted. I have a receipt that will enable me to receive additional 3-month tourist visas until I receive the residence visa; the process can take six to nine months, and will include an interview to be conducted with me at my home in La Boquita.

Attracting retirees to Nicaragua is the job of the Instituto de Turismo, and it must have seemed logical to someone to attach  responsibility of visa applications for this particular demographic to InTur as well. But it invites an additional level of red tape, as the Immigration Office is still involved in the process. I will say that the line for service at Inmigración is long, and there is no line at InTur, so I'm happy to go where I'm told. I live for hoops.






Afterward, I went with Ivan and Noel to La Plancha (The Iron), where steak is served sizzling on a hot iron plate, and we had some nice Chilean wine with our lunch to celebrate.

Hop on the bus...

Early Wednesday, I decided to divert my mind from its fraught focus on the documents in transit for my residence visa. I needed TP, paper towels and hueso rojo—scrap butcher bones—that I buy for Brynn. And cheese, and culantro (tastes like cilantro, but is a very different plant) for homemade ceviche. So I opted to visit the super in Diriamba.

I sat for a few minutes waiting for el buh (Nicaraguans usually drop an "s" at the end of a word), watching a trio of untethered horses moving along, looking for nonexistent forage. They crossed to my side of the road just before the bus arrived. All over this country, there are deep drain channels between the road and the buildings or properties, as you can see below.

This early bus was new to me, and it sported some bright metallic highlights on its exterior. I could not help but notice that the driver's cab had been upholstered in a quilted red material, maybe plastic, which was totally phat, in my opinion! Pretty buff transport.

I wanted to get some visuals to try and capture the landscape through which the bus travels en route to Diriamba. These are typical of most of the dwellings we pass on the trip.

A field of sugar cane that has doubled in height since I arrived in La Boquita.

 And right near La Trinidad, where the bus detours to a Catholic school to pick up passengers, is a modern solar array.

And more small houses with corrugated metal roofs, usually built of concrete block, some without indoor plumbing and electricity. Yet the families within go to work in clean clothes, ride the bus with me, and care for their kids, and generally do what they must in order to live their lives

Here's a pulperia—little convenience store—with satellite TV service... There's a street in Diriamba that has a half-dozen pulperias in a row! Often they are named after a woman, i.e. Pulperia Nancy, or Pulperia Rosita. One in Diriamba is Pulperia Carrion! Think I'll pass...

My camera battery died after this last shot, but I hope these images offer some idea of my new neighborhood. And, as it turned out, the supermarket was out of paper towels, and had no hueso rojo.

But for once they had pork, so I bought some to try. I've had no luck with beef, which seems as if it has been cut up with a broad ax—and it's tough. And I have just received word that the documents are safe in hand, a whole day early! Whoopee!