Life in Granada
More diary entries. Blog is almost up to date!!
November 1st
Works going well. Worst part of the day is getting the bus. It’s always full but they never turn anyone away. It’s 15 minutes of
“Ow, that’s my toe!”
“I need to breathe!”
and
“Please Sir, remove that from my buttocks.”
The others seem to enjoy it but I don’t see the funny side. Just the other day two men had to take my arms and drag me through the crowd when I couldn’t shuffle my way to the door on my own.
Myself and Gemma have trained ourselves not to have to go to the bathroom during the day. It is really not a pleasant place. It’s pretty much an open sewer with a box on top which we are supposed to sit on. It’s emptied once every four years or something. How delightful!
Our after school activity is usually visiting the boys in the boys children’s home. It was opened a couple of years by some Japanese people for the lads whose parents are either dead, in jail, or unable to support them. We walk the boys home and hang out for a while before the head out to their computer class. Took me a while to get in with those guys, on my first day a kid called Kenner said I wasn’t allowed in his home (same kid who tried to strangle Jaime with a rope). He seems to have warmed to me a bit. He makes “grr” noises less often now while putting his hands in a throat-strangling position.
We like to hitch-hike home. Never did that before! We’ve found the easiest way to get a ride is to get one of the blonde girls to stick out their hand. Then we jump in the back of what is usually a pick-up truck (sometimes complete with tools and a ladder) and cruise back into the city.
Worst part of Granada is the men. I don’t quite know where to start with this. I don’t think I could do them justice with my words. Mostly because it’s not what they say, it’s the way they say things. Even when they utter things we don’t understand, we get the message. People told me it would be bad in India and Peru, but those men are absolute gents compared to this lot. It’s made a lot of female volunteers glad to leave. Only once has a guy actually jumped out at me, I think I annoyed him by walking past with my earphones in. So next time he leapt off the footpath, didn’t touch me though, and shouted that he loved me and wanted to take me home, while his friends egged him on. Other things that have been said aren’t suitable for my PG-13 blog.
Blonde girls get it 10 times worse though. I’ve had obscenities shouted at me, but they get grabbed. Guys on bicycles are lethal, slowing down to grab what the can. Body parts on females and cameras/wallets on guys. Sometime I wonder why we bother.
November 4th
When I first moved into my house it consisted of Shavi, Gonzalo, and Gemma from Spain, Michelle and Johanna for Germany and Marianna from Colombia. Then USA-er (we’re trying out some new names for them because American’s a little vague in Central America) Laura moved in and I got to speak the wonderful English language again! Never thought I’d say that about English. But by November we started losing people so we decided to head north to Leon for a final farewell weekend. I was very anxious to see Leon because that’s where the few other travellers I met in Central America told me I should settle down, that it was far better than Granada. Leon was nice, the rainy season seems to hang around there a bit longer then in Granada, so we spent our times wading through the streets.
The craziest thing that happened that weekend occurred while we were chilling on the beach. We were only about 20 feet from our belongings, up on a big rock thing, and had strategically left Michelle about 5 centimetres from our stuff so she could baby-sit it. While I was engrossed in a trashy romance novel Gemma started screaming. Everyone joined in so I did too, not quite sure why I was though. Then I saw a guy, strolling calmly away from our spot with my rucksack in his hand. All I could think to shout was
“Not the ipoooood!!!”
Completely forgot my passport, money, credit cards and clothes. I could have gone home in my swimsuit, if only I could get my ipod back. So Michelle eventually heard us and took off after the guy, not unlike the way the fake hare takes off in a greyhound race. Although she quickly slowed her pace down to a crawl so she could be at his pace while she eased the bag out of his hand and wave it triumphantly at us, clapping and cheering on our rock. The thief didn’t even seem to notice Michelle’s actions, he just kept moving like a sick tortoise. So, five months in I can still say I’ve never been robbed. Yippee!!
Tags: 6 - Nicaragua, nicaragua, Travel
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