I went hiking today! Sort of. Here is my day, delivered in numerical order.
I shall begin with a quote from Lonely Planet, a so called "credible" guide book.
"Today protected as part of Reserva Natural Tepesomoto-Pataste, the gorge is phenomenal, with steely gray cliffs and graded peaks carved from the dry forest and pockmarked with caves. It's a 3km hike into the canyon from a trailhead that leaves from a well-signed exit 15km north of Somoto. A taxi can take you there for US $4."
Hah!
1. Arose at 5:30 AM in Esteli, Nicaragua
2. 6:45 AM: begin 3 hour bus ride to the town Somoto begins
3. 9:50 AM: Find a taxi fairly quickly. By taxi, this actually means a random guy, his taxi ID and decals in absentia. However, I bargained him down from $6to $3 for a ride to the Natural Reserve. Indeed, he agreed far too quickly on the cheaper price. Relying on my intrepid instincts at this point, I get in.
4. Rode with sketchy "taxi" man for four blocks, where he stopped to ask two girls where the Reserva is. Upon discovering that he was not ripping me off, and actually had to go somewhere substantial, he told me he was not going to take me to said Reserve.
5. 9:55 AM: I exit. "Forget" to pay.
6. 9:56 AM: Begin a quick exchange of information with the women. They tell me I need to take a bus to Samoa to find the Reserve. I do not trust their advice. After all, no bus is mentioned in Lonely Planet. It clearly says taxi.
7. I wonder around Somoto, looking for someone to give me advice.
8. 10:05 AM: A man in a furniture store turns out to be the executive director of an ecologically minded radio station that does some seat-of-the-pants eco-tourism. He tells me to take a taxi to Uniles, where Santiago Rivera would take me up the mountain. As the word in Spanish for canyon has escaped me, I am unable to verify that is where I'm going. Yet, he does own a radio station. And knows a man named Santiago.
9. 10:35 AM: Find a taxi at the market place. It is not quite the price radio man told me, but I am indeed in a taxi.
10. 10:45 AM: Arrive at a pulperia. Taxi man leaves. Two girls approach me and ask if I am going to the mountain. Impressed by the ease of transfer, I begin walking with them.
11. 11:00 AM: Find Santiago. Establish that the spanish word for canyon is...canyon. Also establish that if I want to visit the canyon, I need to take a bus. Which leaves at 11:00.
12. 11:01 AM: Begin hike with Santiago up the mountain behind his house. This gentleman looks to be about 70, with the classical wrinkly face you see in small Spanish villages. He also carries a machete, which he uses more as a walking stick than to chop things. I did see him chop some grass at one point.
13. 11:34 AM: Santiago points out the canyon to me. I have to take his word for it, as I could not see it, the canyon resting roughly 30km away.
14. Hike continues, taking us through coffee fields, over a small creek, up rather muddy narrow pathways, and past some very pretty flowers. We would have gone to the very top of the mountain, but it was too cloudy to see what we could see, as it were. So we decided it was best to return. I also find out Santiago is in a fairly successful fair trade cooperative, and has even been to the US several times to promote mercado justo. He even has a medal.
15. 1:17 PM: Return to Santiago's house. He shows me his medal: a small gold medallion somehow laminated into a dusty picture frame. I drink half a cup of coffee, the standard brown colored sugar water, and take a picture of one of his grandkids shelling beans. Now I have documentation of where their beans come from.
16. 1:24 PM: A taxi-van arrives, part of it's daily route. I bid farewell to Santiago and his family, and ride back to the bus station.
17. 2:00PM: Express bus leaves for Esteli.
18. 3:14PM: I celebrate my day over fresh wheat bread, hummous, cucumbers, and tomatoes at La Casita. This is a cafè outside of town, with a cactus garden and very rambunctious adolescents who take gelled hair seriously.
It's the quintessential mix of what I've experienced in Nicaragua. Adjusted expectations, generally helpful and friendly people, even the cognates. And never trust Lonely Planet.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Good Central American news source
If you want to know what's going on around here, a good online magazine (in English!) is Envio Magazine
Currently, the articles focus on the (lack of) hurricane relief, penalization of abortion in Nicaragua, the Guatemalan elections, Hugo Chavez, and dirty politics. Good stuff.
Currently, the articles focus on the (lack of) hurricane relief, penalization of abortion in Nicaragua, the Guatemalan elections, Hugo Chavez, and dirty politics. Good stuff.
Unexpected events: an example
So, here's an event that happened this morning, one of those surprises I was talking about yesterday.
My goal for breakfast was to find cafè girasol, which is the money making part of Familias Especiales Julia Biliarte, an organization that supports disabled kids and their families. I thought I'd send some dinero their way by eating some gallo pinto and cafè presto (aka beans, rice, and instant coffee). I had success, then decided to find a cybercafè nearby.
Nothing turned up. Worse, the street turned into a dead end. But as I got closer to the roundabout, it became clear I was at Matagalpa's cemetary. It's this enormous complex of spanish-influenced, colorful, above ground grave things, not really sure what they're called, up on a hill. Great views, as usual. In any case, much different than the humble graveyard where uncle Tim is currently interred.
As I take in the sights, wishing I had brought my camera, a 20-something Nicaraguan asked if I came to see the Ben Linder grave. This is where it gets cool, because I had wanted to see his grave, but didn't think I'd have time in Matagalpa to go see it. Also, it's kind of creepy to ogle someone's remains. But Linder is a special guy. He was an American hydroelectric engineer and unicycle clown who was killed by the Contra forces in 1987. In Managua, there's an organization called the Ben Linder House, which sponsers events all week long, mainly for English-speaking volunteer groups. I still need to go there. But anyway, I got to chat about cemeteries in front of a clown/engineer's dead body.
Afterwards, I took a taxi to the Rubèn Darìo park, I think with the same driver who took me there last night. Matagalpa in the morning is tranquil. The clothing stores and their super sized speakers aren't open yet, the breeze is still cool, and not all the benches at the park are taken. And of course there are plenty of cybercafès nearby.
Anyway, I hope to write again next weekend. I'll be in Estelì. My plan is to got the Heroes and Martyrs Gallery, take a yoga class, visit an organic farming collective (anyone need medicinal herbs?), tour a Cuban cigar factory (I do plan on purchasing some), and take a hike in Somoto, a nearby village with an apparently spectacular waterfall called Somoto Canyon, birthplace of Central America's largest river. I'm salivating a little.
During the week, I plan on interviewing more of the women in the cooperative, as well as trying to rustle up some people who aren't thrilled with the organization, at least for a change of pace. This Wednesday, I'm going to move in with Mayrita, the president of El Privilegio. I need to take more pictures. That will indeed happen.
Until next week then.
My goal for breakfast was to find cafè girasol, which is the money making part of Familias Especiales Julia Biliarte, an organization that supports disabled kids and their families. I thought I'd send some dinero their way by eating some gallo pinto and cafè presto (aka beans, rice, and instant coffee). I had success, then decided to find a cybercafè nearby.
Nothing turned up. Worse, the street turned into a dead end. But as I got closer to the roundabout, it became clear I was at Matagalpa's cemetary. It's this enormous complex of spanish-influenced, colorful, above ground grave things, not really sure what they're called, up on a hill. Great views, as usual. In any case, much different than the humble graveyard where uncle Tim is currently interred.
As I take in the sights, wishing I had brought my camera, a 20-something Nicaraguan asked if I came to see the Ben Linder grave. This is where it gets cool, because I had wanted to see his grave, but didn't think I'd have time in Matagalpa to go see it. Also, it's kind of creepy to ogle someone's remains. But Linder is a special guy. He was an American hydroelectric engineer and unicycle clown who was killed by the Contra forces in 1987. In Managua, there's an organization called the Ben Linder House, which sponsers events all week long, mainly for English-speaking volunteer groups. I still need to go there. But anyway, I got to chat about cemeteries in front of a clown/engineer's dead body.
Afterwards, I took a taxi to the Rubèn Darìo park, I think with the same driver who took me there last night. Matagalpa in the morning is tranquil. The clothing stores and their super sized speakers aren't open yet, the breeze is still cool, and not all the benches at the park are taken. And of course there are plenty of cybercafès nearby.
Anyway, I hope to write again next weekend. I'll be in Estelì. My plan is to got the Heroes and Martyrs Gallery, take a yoga class, visit an organic farming collective (anyone need medicinal herbs?), tour a Cuban cigar factory (I do plan on purchasing some), and take a hike in Somoto, a nearby village with an apparently spectacular waterfall called Somoto Canyon, birthplace of Central America's largest river. I'm salivating a little.
During the week, I plan on interviewing more of the women in the cooperative, as well as trying to rustle up some people who aren't thrilled with the organization, at least for a change of pace. This Wednesday, I'm going to move in with Mayrita, the president of El Privilegio. I need to take more pictures. That will indeed happen.
Until next week then.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Life in the Highlands
Life has taken a turn for the strange. I started my independent study project roughly a week and a half ago. So, Wednesday morning I took a bus from Managua to Matagalpa, not really knowing where I was going to sleep that night or who was going to be my principal advisor for the study period.
I take a taxi to CECOCAFEN, which some of you might know about already. Suffice it to say, it deals with fair trade coffee initiatives, as well as social development programs in the areas that grow coffee. There, I'm met by a woman who tells me my advisor couldn't make it. So, we go to a bread store and buy a quick lunch, then she drops me off at the bus stop, giving instructions to the ticket vender to make sure I get off at El Roblar. Before she leaves, she tells me to ask for Mayra when I get there.
I got to enjoy the next couple of hours, bemused, watching the Nicaraguan mountainside roll by. The bus looks vaguely familiar, and eventually I figure out it is the exact same but Rachel and I used a month before when we lived in the campo to go to La Chocolata, that elementary school in the middle of nowhere. Even later, I figure out El Roblar is the last stop on the line, meaning Rachel and I indeed walked through the exact same town in which I was now going to spend the next three weeks of my life. Life is too weird.
Mayra turns out to be a very energetic woman in her 30s, who directs her son to take my bag and myself to Don Wilfredo's. Don Wilfredo turns out to be a 45 minute uphill walk from El Roblar.
He is also probably the luckiest landowner this side of Estelì. His farm is atop a mountain overlooking the surrounding area. It's absolutely incredible. Wilfredo himself is an outgoing sort of guy who is more or less willing to talk about anything. His life story is a bit like this: a coffee picker, he traveled all over Nicaragua (here I disbelieve his story a tad) to find the best farm land. It happens to be here, conveniently where his wife's father owned a substantial amount of land. He was also a guerrilla fighter during the Somoza dictatorship, and taught himself to play guitar. Please try and picture yours truly on a mountaintop, listening to a 60 year old ex-guerrilla coffee famer play ranchero music on his slightly out of tune guitar, illuminated by lamplight, crescent moon behind his left ear. Yeah, hard.
Anyway, I stayed with him and his family for a week, learning the ropes of coffee farming. More or less. So, you never know, some of your future coffee may carry the sweat of my fingertips. I did some coffee picking, and helped de-pulp and wash the beans. By help, I mean in some touristy kind of way, I partook in their daily routine. Nothing special by any means, just a way to get an idea of the way coffee is a part of their life, and who takes part in what stages of coffee production.
Every day, something new surprises me. The people here are generous with their time and knowledge, and I can turn nearly any misfortune into something worthwhile.
This past Wednesday, I moved to a new house, Doña Dionysia's. Her house is more typical: the husband abandoned her for a new wife, tons of family living with her, a bit less picturesque surroundings. But this is for the best: Wilfredo wasn't going to talk much about machismo and its effects, and that's really the heart of my investigation. She also has some incredible trails through her coffee fields. Coffee grows best under shade, so it's like walking thtough some jungle which just happened to grow a lot of coffee. Which I think I said about the finca I visited last time I was in the campo. So yes, that indeed is the norm.
I should probably say something about the cooperative. It's name El Privilegio. It got that name because the women who formed it believe it is their priviledge to empower themselves by leaving the kitchen (at least part of the time), becoming wage earners, and otherwise increasing their capacity as human beings (which sounds better in spanish). The cooperative holds a collective savings fund, which was started in part thanks to the above mentioned CECOCAFEN. They use this fund as collateral to make loans in order to produce coffee, grow basic food necessities, or fund small businesses. The cooperative makes funds through UCA San Ramon (where my advisor works), an organization that provides loans for 18 other cooperatives in the area (Yasika Sur). The UCA, whose mission emphasizes gender equality, also provides workshops and other programs to address problems prevalent to the countryside. Topics include sexual and reproductive health, women's rights, self esteem, literacy, how to grow crops, how to manage credit, etc. It's a wide range. The UCA also provides student loans to the children of cooperative members.
Everyone I've talked to has nothing but good things to say about the UCA and El Privilegio. I doubt I'll find anyone willing to critique the two organizations, expecially since they know I'm writing a report on the cooperative. There are some improvements El Privilegio is hoping to make, such as increasing membership (there are only 28 members), and garnering support from their children, especially their sons, as they empower themselves.
There's also an interesting twist: a new cooperative law passed in the national assembly of Nicaragua basically requires small co-ops to unite. The all male cooperative in El Roblar is therefore going to unite with the all woman co-op, so they can save overhead costs. However, the women from El Privilegio were originally the wives of the male co-op members, who decided to create their own organization because of the exclusion experienced in the male dominated one. So...now they're re-uniting, in a way. And of course by now all the men have new wives, which makes the situation a bit more tense. This is another topic few are willing to talk about openly. And I doubt it has a place in an academic work anyway. In the end, the only thing theý'll have in common is an accountant and board of directors--they will continue meeting separately, hold seperate savings accounts, etc.
Hopefully all this info will turn into a 30 page paper. Hard to tell at this point. In the meanwhile, I will continue to enjoy the crisp mountain air, the views, and everything else that will make everyone at home jealous.
I take a taxi to CECOCAFEN, which some of you might know about already. Suffice it to say, it deals with fair trade coffee initiatives, as well as social development programs in the areas that grow coffee. There, I'm met by a woman who tells me my advisor couldn't make it. So, we go to a bread store and buy a quick lunch, then she drops me off at the bus stop, giving instructions to the ticket vender to make sure I get off at El Roblar. Before she leaves, she tells me to ask for Mayra when I get there.
I got to enjoy the next couple of hours, bemused, watching the Nicaraguan mountainside roll by. The bus looks vaguely familiar, and eventually I figure out it is the exact same but Rachel and I used a month before when we lived in the campo to go to La Chocolata, that elementary school in the middle of nowhere. Even later, I figure out El Roblar is the last stop on the line, meaning Rachel and I indeed walked through the exact same town in which I was now going to spend the next three weeks of my life. Life is too weird.
Mayra turns out to be a very energetic woman in her 30s, who directs her son to take my bag and myself to Don Wilfredo's. Don Wilfredo turns out to be a 45 minute uphill walk from El Roblar.
He is also probably the luckiest landowner this side of Estelì. His farm is atop a mountain overlooking the surrounding area. It's absolutely incredible. Wilfredo himself is an outgoing sort of guy who is more or less willing to talk about anything. His life story is a bit like this: a coffee picker, he traveled all over Nicaragua (here I disbelieve his story a tad) to find the best farm land. It happens to be here, conveniently where his wife's father owned a substantial amount of land. He was also a guerrilla fighter during the Somoza dictatorship, and taught himself to play guitar. Please try and picture yours truly on a mountaintop, listening to a 60 year old ex-guerrilla coffee famer play ranchero music on his slightly out of tune guitar, illuminated by lamplight, crescent moon behind his left ear. Yeah, hard.
Anyway, I stayed with him and his family for a week, learning the ropes of coffee farming. More or less. So, you never know, some of your future coffee may carry the sweat of my fingertips. I did some coffee picking, and helped de-pulp and wash the beans. By help, I mean in some touristy kind of way, I partook in their daily routine. Nothing special by any means, just a way to get an idea of the way coffee is a part of their life, and who takes part in what stages of coffee production.
Every day, something new surprises me. The people here are generous with their time and knowledge, and I can turn nearly any misfortune into something worthwhile.
This past Wednesday, I moved to a new house, Doña Dionysia's. Her house is more typical: the husband abandoned her for a new wife, tons of family living with her, a bit less picturesque surroundings. But this is for the best: Wilfredo wasn't going to talk much about machismo and its effects, and that's really the heart of my investigation. She also has some incredible trails through her coffee fields. Coffee grows best under shade, so it's like walking thtough some jungle which just happened to grow a lot of coffee. Which I think I said about the finca I visited last time I was in the campo. So yes, that indeed is the norm.
I should probably say something about the cooperative. It's name El Privilegio. It got that name because the women who formed it believe it is their priviledge to empower themselves by leaving the kitchen (at least part of the time), becoming wage earners, and otherwise increasing their capacity as human beings (which sounds better in spanish). The cooperative holds a collective savings fund, which was started in part thanks to the above mentioned CECOCAFEN. They use this fund as collateral to make loans in order to produce coffee, grow basic food necessities, or fund small businesses. The cooperative makes funds through UCA San Ramon (where my advisor works), an organization that provides loans for 18 other cooperatives in the area (Yasika Sur). The UCA, whose mission emphasizes gender equality, also provides workshops and other programs to address problems prevalent to the countryside. Topics include sexual and reproductive health, women's rights, self esteem, literacy, how to grow crops, how to manage credit, etc. It's a wide range. The UCA also provides student loans to the children of cooperative members.
Everyone I've talked to has nothing but good things to say about the UCA and El Privilegio. I doubt I'll find anyone willing to critique the two organizations, expecially since they know I'm writing a report on the cooperative. There are some improvements El Privilegio is hoping to make, such as increasing membership (there are only 28 members), and garnering support from their children, especially their sons, as they empower themselves.
There's also an interesting twist: a new cooperative law passed in the national assembly of Nicaragua basically requires small co-ops to unite. The all male cooperative in El Roblar is therefore going to unite with the all woman co-op, so they can save overhead costs. However, the women from El Privilegio were originally the wives of the male co-op members, who decided to create their own organization because of the exclusion experienced in the male dominated one. So...now they're re-uniting, in a way. And of course by now all the men have new wives, which makes the situation a bit more tense. This is another topic few are willing to talk about openly. And I doubt it has a place in an academic work anyway. In the end, the only thing theý'll have in common is an accountant and board of directors--they will continue meeting separately, hold seperate savings accounts, etc.
Hopefully all this info will turn into a 30 page paper. Hard to tell at this point. In the meanwhile, I will continue to enjoy the crisp mountain air, the views, and everything else that will make everyone at home jealous.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
This independent study thing
Today my Independent Study Project proposal is due. I've signed an ethics statement, filled out a form about how I plan on researching human subjects in an ethical manner, made a budget, wrote an outline, and discussed my methodology methods.
My project is such: I am going to work at a women's coffee cooperative, El Privilegio, for three weeks. During that time, I hope to research how the women consider themselves part of Nicaragua's women's movement, as well as how this cooperative compares itself to other, heterogenous, coffee cooperatives. It's broad, but I'll narrow it down once I get there. Everyone will be happy to know the proposal is in spanish. Very special.
This possibly means lack of communication (more than normal, if that's possible) for the three weeks I'm gone. Then of course I'll be writing my ISP (again in spanish--this was a choice mind you, so everyone should be proud), so who knows if I'll ever use this thing called internet after November 7.
Other ISPs in the group include:
+ a project about the people who live and work in Managua's landfill
+ Public health in the Garifuna people (afro-indian descendents who live on the Caribbean Coast)
+ Studying the rebuilding efforts in the RAAN, where the Hurricane hit the hardest, and also where there's historically been the least infrastructure of any part of Nicaragua
+ The Russian diaspora to Nicaragua
+ How (international) funding organizations for non-governmental organizations in Nicaragua affect their mission and activities
+ The introduction of a police force into Orinoco, a 100% Garifuna community on the Caribbean coast that has never had police before.
+ The changes in teaching styles throughout the Sandinista revolution and the conservative period of the 1990s
I bet the people doing these ISPs would be horrified in how I summarized them, and of course there's loads of background information in all of these that is hard to project in a sentence. But it's an idea of how diverse the projects are.
The blog about sights and sounds of Managua is pending. So are more about El Salvador.
My project is such: I am going to work at a women's coffee cooperative, El Privilegio, for three weeks. During that time, I hope to research how the women consider themselves part of Nicaragua's women's movement, as well as how this cooperative compares itself to other, heterogenous, coffee cooperatives. It's broad, but I'll narrow it down once I get there. Everyone will be happy to know the proposal is in spanish. Very special.
This possibly means lack of communication (more than normal, if that's possible) for the three weeks I'm gone. Then of course I'll be writing my ISP (again in spanish--this was a choice mind you, so everyone should be proud), so who knows if I'll ever use this thing called internet after November 7.
Other ISPs in the group include:
+ a project about the people who live and work in Managua's landfill
+ Public health in the Garifuna people (afro-indian descendents who live on the Caribbean Coast)
+ Studying the rebuilding efforts in the RAAN, where the Hurricane hit the hardest, and also where there's historically been the least infrastructure of any part of Nicaragua
+ The Russian diaspora to Nicaragua
+ How (international) funding organizations for non-governmental organizations in Nicaragua affect their mission and activities
+ The introduction of a police force into Orinoco, a 100% Garifuna community on the Caribbean coast that has never had police before.
+ The changes in teaching styles throughout the Sandinista revolution and the conservative period of the 1990s
I bet the people doing these ISPs would be horrified in how I summarized them, and of course there's loads of background information in all of these that is hard to project in a sentence. But it's an idea of how diverse the projects are.
The blog about sights and sounds of Managua is pending. So are more about El Salvador.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
El Salvador: Or, a walk in the rain
We´ve arrived at Guazapa, one of the guerrilla strongholds during the civil war. To greet us are three youth in a youth-run eco-tourism organization, to take us on a tour through the ¨backyard¨of the community.
I should probably mention at this point it had been raining all day before and today, with no sign it would stop. No one in the group was discouraged by the drizzle and we agreed to take the tour anyway.
The kids were about our age, ready to answer any questions we had, although little was volunteered. I attribute this more to my bad spanish and the rain than their tourism capabilities. On the way up the mountain, we stopped at various points of interest.
First, we stopped at the edge of one of the cornfields. This is not a typical cornfield--it´s all generally on a slant, and an individual field was roughly an acre or two big. All the corn had been turned upside down on the stalk, as our guides explained, to keep the corn dry inside. The husk slid all the rain off this way. Also, the corn here is white. The legend is that long ago, a princess was seduced by one of the gods, and became pregnant. Soon after, the kingdom suffered from a famine. The king, believing her immoral act was the cause, said she must either rectify the situation or be killed. She went to the god, and told him the situation. He told her to tell the people to start plowing their fields--they would use her teeth for seeds. The ¨seeds¨took, and when the corn matured, it was the exact shade as the princess´s teeth.
Next stop was a large stone with a depression in the middle of it. Basically an outdoor pestle, it is believed indigenous people used the stone to prepare medicines. It´s a bit odd to see the stones apparently scattered around the fields, sometimes inside the corn rows, doing nothing but collect rain and mud.
Also on the walk was an indigo ¨bath¨. I didn´t get this part of the tour at all--the rain had picked up and the voices couldn´t compete with the various forest sounds. The place where the indigo was made looked like an old stone basement, open to the elements. The bark of indigo trees somehow gets processed in this stone-walled structure. Indigo plays an important part in El Salvador history. This blue dye was the country´s first export product, and colonizers moved all original inhabitants of the lowlands where the indigo trees grew best. This was of course the best land in El Salvador for cultivation, so the people were forced to the highlands to make a more difficult living there. The great irony is that when the indigo trade ended (after the germans created artificial paints), coffee became the new export product. This grows best in the highlands, so the indigenous people again lost their lands to the colonizers.
The land situation was this: land was divided into haciendas, enourmous coffee fields owned by a single person. Those who didn´t own the land could still live on the edges, provided they worked as coffee pickers. They were also allowed a small piece of land to grow subsistence crops. Basically slavery. In 1932, many coffee pickers attemped an uprising, managing to kill about 100 hacienda owners before the military came in and killed 3000 campesinos (literally, country dwellers).
This was the beginning of a brutal period of repression, which didn´t spark into actual civil war until 1982, exactly 50 years after the first uprising. During this war, at least 75,000 people died, 85% of them killed by the national army. Only 5% were killed by the FMLN, the guerrilla movement, and the other 10% cannot be determined. An additional 8,000 went missing, with another 1 million homeless and yet another 1 million exiled. The war lasted 10 years, with peace accords being signed January 1992. During the war, the US government gave roughly $7 billion to the government, beginning with Carter and ending with H. W. Bush. Reagan of course was an emphatic supporter of the aid.
It´s one thing to know these facts. It´s another to talk to someone who lost family members, eyesight, limbs, and more in the war. It´s another thing to see, during this eco tour, a small hole dug into the hill side to hide people from bombs the government would send down as part of a Scorched Earth campaign that did little more than kill innocent people. The hole was a small tunnel someone could crawl into, currently filled with water and the occassional bat. When in use, it was covered by bamboo and random detritus, and was a successful way to hide from the military and their weapons.
After looking at the tunnel, we went further up the mountain to a guerrilla base. We didn´t get to see where the ¨hospital¨used to be, because it would have requred two more hours in the rain. Which is a shame. But we got to see the kiosk, which was a cabin with large awning we could stand under, with a few old signs says ¨danger, mines¨in spanish. We were assured all the mines had been cleared away and the signs stayed only as a relic of the times. During the war, landmines were used to protect the guerrillas from the foot soldiers. On of our hotel managers in San Salvador, Damien, actually led a group of 15 guerrillas, and they engaged in the same activity, among other things. (Damien is a whole other story. I´ll see if I can get that up as well)
This was our last stop. On the way back, I admired the beauty of the land, talked to my friends about upcoming college registration, and tried to process just what exactly we had seen.
I should probably mention at this point it had been raining all day before and today, with no sign it would stop. No one in the group was discouraged by the drizzle and we agreed to take the tour anyway.
The kids were about our age, ready to answer any questions we had, although little was volunteered. I attribute this more to my bad spanish and the rain than their tourism capabilities. On the way up the mountain, we stopped at various points of interest.
First, we stopped at the edge of one of the cornfields. This is not a typical cornfield--it´s all generally on a slant, and an individual field was roughly an acre or two big. All the corn had been turned upside down on the stalk, as our guides explained, to keep the corn dry inside. The husk slid all the rain off this way. Also, the corn here is white. The legend is that long ago, a princess was seduced by one of the gods, and became pregnant. Soon after, the kingdom suffered from a famine. The king, believing her immoral act was the cause, said she must either rectify the situation or be killed. She went to the god, and told him the situation. He told her to tell the people to start plowing their fields--they would use her teeth for seeds. The ¨seeds¨took, and when the corn matured, it was the exact shade as the princess´s teeth.
Next stop was a large stone with a depression in the middle of it. Basically an outdoor pestle, it is believed indigenous people used the stone to prepare medicines. It´s a bit odd to see the stones apparently scattered around the fields, sometimes inside the corn rows, doing nothing but collect rain and mud.
Also on the walk was an indigo ¨bath¨. I didn´t get this part of the tour at all--the rain had picked up and the voices couldn´t compete with the various forest sounds. The place where the indigo was made looked like an old stone basement, open to the elements. The bark of indigo trees somehow gets processed in this stone-walled structure. Indigo plays an important part in El Salvador history. This blue dye was the country´s first export product, and colonizers moved all original inhabitants of the lowlands where the indigo trees grew best. This was of course the best land in El Salvador for cultivation, so the people were forced to the highlands to make a more difficult living there. The great irony is that when the indigo trade ended (after the germans created artificial paints), coffee became the new export product. This grows best in the highlands, so the indigenous people again lost their lands to the colonizers.
The land situation was this: land was divided into haciendas, enourmous coffee fields owned by a single person. Those who didn´t own the land could still live on the edges, provided they worked as coffee pickers. They were also allowed a small piece of land to grow subsistence crops. Basically slavery. In 1932, many coffee pickers attemped an uprising, managing to kill about 100 hacienda owners before the military came in and killed 3000 campesinos (literally, country dwellers).
This was the beginning of a brutal period of repression, which didn´t spark into actual civil war until 1982, exactly 50 years after the first uprising. During this war, at least 75,000 people died, 85% of them killed by the national army. Only 5% were killed by the FMLN, the guerrilla movement, and the other 10% cannot be determined. An additional 8,000 went missing, with another 1 million homeless and yet another 1 million exiled. The war lasted 10 years, with peace accords being signed January 1992. During the war, the US government gave roughly $7 billion to the government, beginning with Carter and ending with H. W. Bush. Reagan of course was an emphatic supporter of the aid.
It´s one thing to know these facts. It´s another to talk to someone who lost family members, eyesight, limbs, and more in the war. It´s another thing to see, during this eco tour, a small hole dug into the hill side to hide people from bombs the government would send down as part of a Scorched Earth campaign that did little more than kill innocent people. The hole was a small tunnel someone could crawl into, currently filled with water and the occassional bat. When in use, it was covered by bamboo and random detritus, and was a successful way to hide from the military and their weapons.
After looking at the tunnel, we went further up the mountain to a guerrilla base. We didn´t get to see where the ¨hospital¨used to be, because it would have requred two more hours in the rain. Which is a shame. But we got to see the kiosk, which was a cabin with large awning we could stand under, with a few old signs says ¨danger, mines¨in spanish. We were assured all the mines had been cleared away and the signs stayed only as a relic of the times. During the war, landmines were used to protect the guerrillas from the foot soldiers. On of our hotel managers in San Salvador, Damien, actually led a group of 15 guerrillas, and they engaged in the same activity, among other things. (Damien is a whole other story. I´ll see if I can get that up as well)
This was our last stop. On the way back, I admired the beauty of the land, talked to my friends about upcoming college registration, and tried to process just what exactly we had seen.
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