My new book arrived from Amazon yesterday. The Country Under My Skin, A Memoir of Love and War. It’s written by a Nicaraguan woman about the Somoza/Sandanista war in Nicaragua in the 1970’s.

Nicaragua has indeed crawled under my skin. The day we left there was already something tugging at me to come back. I often have this feeling when I return from a vacation. Usually after a few days I settle back into my routine and remind myself that I probably loved the vacation destination because it was just that, a vacation. Nicaragua is/was different.

The pace of life is what I miss. Things are crazy and hectic. Street signs are rarely obeyed. Cars, bikes, buses and horses are all jockeying for position on the road. Music is blaring loudly from shops and advertising vans. Vendors at markets are trying to sell their wares. Security guards with machine guns protect banks. It’s discovering the layer beneath this one that is so enchanting. Somewhere underneath yet within all this chaos lies a different world.

I’ve heard professional athletes comment on what it’s like to be “in the zone.” They say that everything slows down that the ball or bat or rim or defender becomes crystal clear amid the chaos of the game. That’s what Nicaragua is like.

Beneath that chaotic top layer I began to notice things:
*People working 12-16 hour days happier than most people I know.
*People, in poverty by our standards, smiling and waving as they daily sweep bugs and standing water from the dirt floor of their house.
*People in the service industry (waiters, cooks, hotel receptionists, bartenders), truly wanting to help customers and feeling good about it.
*People driving pickup trucks stopping along the road to pick up travelers, who then gladly accepted the ride and stood in the back.
*People you’ve just met telling you, “you are my friend, next time you come you can stay at my house,”

We left these things and landed at Atlanta airport to switch planes. Here is some re-verse culture shock I/we dealt with in Atlanta.
*A skycap attempting to push an elderly woman in a wheel chair not really caring where she was going while he talked on his cell phone.
*Cashiers at Atlanta Bread Company yelling orders to customers.
*Co-workers at Atlanta Bread Company unwilling to help each other.
*Constant media barrage from TV’s.

*And, our misfortune at sitting down across from a racist redneck. His true colors were not apparent until he spoke. He was reacting to an announcement that went something like “attention all passengers of flight 792, unfortunately, we have had to change gates for that flight.” This announcement was spoken by a Jamaican with a perfectly understandable “ya man” accent. The red neck looks right at Ann and I to offer his opinion (as if we had asked for it.) He says “I can’t believe it (I’m thinking he’s upset about the gate change), doesn’t anyone speak English here anymore.” This a-hole is exactly what gives us good Americans a bad name.

No amount of vacation could heal the damage done at the Atlanta airport.

All of todays pics were taken in or around Granada.