Currently listening to: "Black and Blue" by Miike Snow.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Mostly scents and smells.

Smells drive me crazy. There is something about them that, over the years, I have grown very attached to. When I think of Brazil, the first thing that comes to mind is the sweet intoxicating perfume that sneaks its way out of the sliding glass doors of one of my favorite malls in the town of Leblon. Indonesia - the sheets. So flowery and fruity, the smell stains your skin for the entire day. Nicaragua - the honey humid taste of the trees, the salty ocean mixed with the river water, fresh grilled red snapper, passion fruit pies, coffee (oh, the coffee). Nicaragua was my first destination in December, 2008. It has changed my heart forever. 

     I traveled with 2 bags and a board bag that contained 2 boards within it. I arrived at the Managua airport somewhere around 8 pm. As I gathered my bags I looked around for a cart to pile them up, but all the men working in the airport had taken them to help the Nicaraguan women. I dragged my belongings to the immigration officer, spoke my ridiculous portuguese/spanish with him, paid my fee and walked into the unknown country. I soon saw a tall, bulky Nicaraguan man with a mustache and a goatee holding a sign with scribbled crayon writing that read my destination. At this moment I went on trust. I was 22 and by myself in Nicaragua. Sure, I'll go with the bulky man with the sign. I came up to him and introduced myself, and he very shyly introduced himself as Juan. He quickly picked my bags up and started swiftly walking to the parking lot and I soon realized why. Small children covered in dirt with sorrowful eyes came after everyone exiting the airport begging for money, for anything. Grabbing onto my surfboard bags and my shirt, they pleaded and pleaded and Juan harshly commanded them away. I got into the car with a broken heart, like I always feel in situations like that. We started to drive away and I started a friendly conversation with him and asked how long the car ride would be. 1 hour and forty minutes. I had just gotten into a stranger's car, with a strange man in Nicaragua. I had no cell phone, no way to contact anyone. And I thought of all the scary movies where women get in cars with strange people in the middle of nowhere and die. And then I realized that I was doing what I've always wanted to do - travel, be lost and feel uncomfortable.
       We soon hit a dirt road and Juan informed me we had about an hour to go. All around us all I could see where sugar cane fields, and blackness. Soon we passed a lit area and Juan told me that is where he lived. He started telling me about his wife, his kids. He told me he had 4 children, but now he only had 3. One of his daughters had passed away when she was younger. 
     'How old are you?' He asked.
     '22,' I responded.
     'My daughter would have been 16 by now.' 
And for the first time the whole car trip we looked at each other. His dark soft eyes twinkled with the darkness and moonlight. I knew he wasn't someone who would ever harm me. He looked at me as if he saw his daughter 8 years from that moment. And then we didn't stop talking for the rest of the car ride. We discussed soccer and politics and freedom and beer. And surfing. Juan liked to surf. He dropped me off at the eco-lodge I was staying for 2 weeks and told me goodnight.
       Los Cardones was an interesting place. And when I say interesting I mean it was remarkable and amazing and humbling in every single way possible. There was no electricity here. Only candle light and small lamp posts that were solar powered. The bathrooms were out houses, and there were only two. The lodges were made with brick and hay ceilings where I was told I should watch out for snakes falling out of. There was a concrete path that intertwined all of the lodges and common area together and around it was all sand and small purple and orange crabs that took over as soon as darkness set in. When walking blindly through the paths, the air was filled with a mixtured of crashing waves and the clicking and hissing of the crabs scrambling in and out of their holes. During my first night there, peace was the most unsettling thing I have ever experienced. Not many people can say that they have slept somewhere that there wasn't a buzz of a street lamp, cars driving in the distance, water dripping, ticking of a clock, the sound of any type of electrical gadget plugged in, music playing - just anything. Here there was nothing. Nothing for hours around. And it was said that guests visiting here would leave with the memories of untamable dreams. People who have never dreamed before would find themselves at night riding wild horses, fighting dragons, falling through an infinite abyss of sky and morphing into butterflies. It was so quiet, it scared me and I spent my first whole night wide awake listening to the crabs and the hushing of the wind through the leaves outside of my window.
          The best experience this place brought me, besides the amazing perfect empty waves that I surfed every single day, was meeting the people that lived there, especially the younger generation. One Saturday I was lucky enough to be invited to go to a local school and teach an art lesson to children of all ages. School now has a different meaning to me. This wasn't a school that could have met any American standard. This was a room. It had about fifteen chairs. The roof was poorly attached and every now and then a strong breeze would blow shaking it like an electric rattlesnake. All of the foreigners (us) would jump, startled with the noise. The children just sat there, timid and impervious to the falling apart roof of their school. If I could live this day over and over again for the rest of my life, I would be one of the happiest people on earth. Most people might not be like me, I cry during commercials for the Olympics. My heart hurts when I see homeless, poor and sick families and children on the streets. When I go out to dinner I purposefully try not to finish my food so I can get in my car afterward and look for someone in the streets who needs it more than I do. But, the most phenomenal part of this day was that these kids, although poor and shy, opened up like bursting kernels of popcorn. Their pure happiness was intoxicating, and all we had for them were a couple of pencils, popsicle sticks, paper and glue. I looked at my own life and asked myself: what does it take to make me happy? And ever since then I strive to be like those children. To only want some paper, glue and pencils. To make art when I feel like it, and to laugh and smile and play. That's one thing I found most people tend to forget. Playing is not just for kids. 
Dear Nicaragua,


I truly miss you. Cannot wait until my travels take me to you again. I hope the coffee is still just as strong, the nights just as solitary in the most pleasurable way, and the smiles, laughs and waves are just as beautiful and potent as the people. 


Love,
Luiza


Here are some pictures that sum up that trip. Beautiful place and amazing new friends.
 
 

These next pictures I owe photo credit to Greg Glass:



3 comments:

  1. You are a wonderful writer. I am happy to see that you are doing what is in your heart. Can't wait to read more.

    Peace&Love my friend!
    Robin

    ReplyDelete
  2. all smiles lu lu belle....

    what can i say..you are a writer.

    love you,
    n

    ReplyDelete
  3. beautiful writing...randomly stumbled across this, and thanks for the photo cred! hope all's been well, gg

    ReplyDelete