The Rest of the Trip, Literally

I didn’t want to post again because my experience for the past three weeks, like the rest of the world, basically revolves around me and my separate adventure with the exception of nights and weekends.

To start things off, here is a picture of the hand that touched Enrique Iglesias:

So Chris’s wallet gets jacked. That’s where I left off. I must admit, it is kind of funny because he told us repeatedly to take only the exact amount of money we need and not carry anything that you didn’t want to get taken, and then he left his wallet in his pocket with a ridiculous amount of cash. We lost a lot of respect for Chris after that.

We didn’t do much on Sunday other than rest and go grocery shopping. That evening, we went out to dinner with the directors of our organizations, though mine was not able to attend. I did, however, find out that my director was the only one who didn’t speak English. My professors are so kind to me.

Jose informed me that my school started at 7:30 AM as opposed to the typical 9:00 for everyone else. Another wonderful blessing from my professors. Kate laughed at me because she found out hers started at 10:00. I shrugged it off, and then laughed hysterically in return (in my head, of course) when we found out her director was crazy. Sweet revenge.

The best moment of the week was when I got dropped off at school the next morning. Dr. Albrecht, Liz, and David (pronounced Da – veed) followed me into the principle’s office to make sure that everything was in place for my arrival. We walked into the office with Jose and the director started talking to me—really fast and in Spanish. After a minute she stopped and said “Entiendiste.” I could not remember what this meant, but found out that she was asking if I understood. That question had an obvious answer. She was actually telling me that I was going to be a substitute teacher for the day which scared me to death. Picture the reaction on my face, and then the reactions of my other three “friends” when they laughed. Fortunately, I did not have to sub because the teacher actually did not leave. Nevertheless, I soon got my share of fun.

I went to help Luis with the fourth grade class, and as soon as I walk in the director comes and calls him out to talk to him. He left me in charge. Another priceless reaction. Well, I had one worksheet to give them, and it did not take them long to finish that. In no time paper airplanes were flying through the air and kids were screaming, and I was trying to find another sheet for them while figuring out how to say “sit down” and “be quiet” in Spanish. Luis was gone for nearly 45 minutes… When I finally got everyone calmed down, every boy raised their hand to go to the bathroom. Girls were annoyed when I wouldn’t let them sit next to their friends. One thing I want everyone to know: Don’t ever roll your eyes at a substitute teacher.

At lunch with Luis, I pulled out my bag and dumped it on the table. He made fun of me because he said it looked like a little kids lunch. It did. I had a bottle of water, a turkey and cheese sandwich, a can of tuna, two packs of animal crackers, and an apple. He made fun of me all week at lunch time.

In one of the more advanced classes (they all are required to speak in English, which is great), Luis told them to ask me questions. One kid repeatedly asked him if I smoked. I don’t think he was talking about cigarettes. Luis was surprised when he found out I was not 21, so he had every class guess how old I was. I loved the responses. The lowest I got was one 19, I got multiple 24s and 25s, but I even got a 28 and 29. I’m not planning on turning 30 any time soon, but it was still quite interesting.

My colleagues also made fun of me when they found out I went to an Enrique Iglesias concert. What a great way to make new friends when they think I’m gay. I explained to them that David and I were the only guys and that we were forced against our will. I definitely didn’t tell them that we had a good time or that I touched Enrique. If I did, I would have no chance of shedding the homosexuality from their view of me.

The next day I played soccer in many of the P.E. classes. After the first class, there was a 45 minute break in which the P.E. teacher decided to give me a personal training session. I was awful. To top it off, he speaks no English. The first thing he did was hang a tire in the middle of the goal and told me to kick through it. After 8 tries, I got it. I tried to explain that I haven’t had much practice lately, but it’s very hard to make excuses in Spanish. I threw a homerun in baseball frisbee later so I made up for it.

You can imagine how the rest of the week went. I was planning to go easy on the younger kids in soccer, but they killed me. I got slide tackled by a 6 year old. Little bilingual students helped me understand the P.E. teacher. I got so sunburned that I smelled like a busted bottle of lotion for the rest of the week. One day, I noticed the janitor was carrying a machete across the playground during recess. There are obviously not as many laws here.

On only the second day, kids were screaming my name when I walked into the classroom. I don’t know why they like me. I tell them answers sometimes, but only by accident because it’s difficult to make explanations in Spanish.

I started riding in a teacher carpool on Tuesday or Wednesday—I can’t remember—with two English teachers and two other guys. Most of the time I have no idea what they are saying but my Spanish has improved just by listening to them. They teach me new words and laugh when I say them every day. I even got invited to go with them on what I call “Paycheck Day After School Coffee” on Friday. This was such a good time that they invited me to go to a movie, but I thought that would be advancing our relationship too fast. They even mentioned that the movie was in English. I did not give in. I did, however, go with them to get sushi the following Monday without ever agreeing, and they almost made me late for class. But it was great sushi. I found out that my favorite one, the Managua roll, was mostly fried chicken rather than fish. I didn’t care. It was good.

Isaac and Roger,

two guys from the

teacher carpool

We had the opportunity to hear the directors of Feed the Children speak. As we were looking for the house of Ardeshir Asgari, an expatriate of Iran and a former professional wrestler, we drove past the sweetest house on the block overlooking the city. I told everyone in the car that it was the sweetest house on the block, and then we made a u-turn and pulled into it. The directors were very personable. We felt lucky to meet people that we always see in TV commercials. I must say, however, that as impressive as the house was with its waterfall and chickens in the backyard, the bathtub was quite disappointingly small.

On Thursday I drank cucumber and lime juice when we went out to eat with Mike “the man”. Kate lied and told me it was great. It tasted like liquid salad. Mike was as awesome as he was the first time, though he got consumed by a conversation with Carla while we at the other end of the table talked about what we would do if we knew it was our last day to live. I thought very deeply about this question and then wisely responded, saying that I would go skydiving, rocky mountain climbing, go 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu, love deeper, speak sweeter, and watch an eagle as it’s flying. It’s true.

That weekend, we did a sweet zip line canopy tour. I flew like Superman and screamed like a girl, but it was awesome. The construction of the place looked a bit sketchy, though. It was quite obvious that neither the building codes nor the safety regulations were strict, but that added to the excitement. We then drove to San Juan del Sur, a quiet beach with surprisingly massive waves that took us off our feet and sunglasses off Lindsay’s head. I went bodysurfing and almost smashed into Dr. A. I definitely thought Melanie was a sea monster also when I backed into her with no idea someone was behind me. That night, I tried to write a journal before going out. David and Chris tried to help me. They didn’t, but that’s when I realized my name wasn’t Gringo.

We went surfing the next day at Maderas, a secluded surfing spot that seemed to be out of the movie Blue Crush. I can’t tell you how many people I almost hit whenever I’d catch a wave.

On the way to Masaya, we made a quick 45 minute bathroom stop for Melanie. I ordered a sandwich at Tip-Top “Express” and got it 30 minutes later. I made my walk of shame to the car as I was the last one out and everyone so kindly booed me and honked the horns. Awesome friends, guys.

In Masaya, nobody would bargain with me because they knew I wouldn’t be able to do it in Spanish. I paid full price for everything. Surprise, surprise. I got some cool stuff though.

Another fun week at NCA: I finally got to stop bringing my lunch because I ran out of food, so I got to eat the wonderful school lunches which are actually pretty good. I played soccer and basketball in kaki pants nearly every day and was drenched in sweat for hours. At one point in a fourth grade class I stood under the fan for 30 minutes and the boy sitting in front thought he was in trouble because I was behind his desk for so long. In multiple soccer games, I set up awesome plays for the other kids to score - plays that you would see in the Euro Cup.

In the fourth grade English classes, one girl gave me a poem and another gave me a picture. The poem was a class assignment and I have no idea what the drawing was a picture of, but it did say “English the Best.” Close enough. In the seventh grade class, there is a group of girls that are incredibly annoying because they cry every time they have to do work. I can’t stand it. The last class of the day is a little better, in spite of the class clown that sits in the front of the room and the girl that sits behind him and stares at me. She tries to use her eyes to get me to give her answers, but I don’t give in.

On Tuesday of that week we met with Kim Brown at the Nehemiah Center. We had a great time with her and took her out to dinner while half the caravan managed to get lost along the way. After I asked her, she told me that she knew the husband of my childhood babysitter who moved to Nicaragua when I was 3 and would give me the contact information, though she never called us back to give it to me.

This past weekend we all got placed at different houses of Nicaraguan families. Gabby told me she knew that I would get lucky and have a family that speaks English. I laughed, and then Jose told me the next day that I got lucky because the three boys in the family speak English. Ha. Then she added that they were under strict instructions to speak Spanish. Thanks, Jose. She told David that he was going to be with a family that has three girls, while I was with three boys. Thanks again, Jose.

I talked with the parents, Sonia and Luis, for 2 ½ hours Friday night in Spanish, about sports, life, and pets. They told me I was going to a pineapple farm the next day. This was cool, I thought. We woke up at six on Saturday morning, made what should have been a 45 minute trip in 2 hours NicaTime because of multiple errands, and got to la finca at about 9:00. It was gorgeous. We drove up onto a plateau of grass surrounded by valleys and mountains on the other side encircling us. Pineapples, coffee, and other fruit were growing all through the valley. Luis, Adolfo and I explored the area with Cody, the dog, and found two coconut trees in the middle of nowhere that looked like the perfect place for a hammock and a Corona commercial. We nearly got lost on the way back and we though we lost Cody and left him behind, but when we got back up on the plateau Cody was sitting by the bags in the shade.

A mission team arrived while we were gone (this is when I was really surprised) because it was a busload of Americans. I believe the ten girls at my placement beat David’s three, especially since one of his is stalking everyone on facebook. We did have a Bible study which caught me off guard, but I got to sit on a swing with a blonde girl from South Carolina. After a very American-style cookout at the farm, we went back to the house and passed out.

The next day after arriving back at the hotel, we went to a puppet show at the Ruben Dario National Theater. I didn’t realize it was children’s event until everyone was staring at us as the tallest people in the room. Nevertheless, it was still pretty good.

The final week has been great. I got out of school early everyday because of final exams, but I stayed busy anyway. We had a cookout at Uncle Yuko’s on Tuesday, a sweet steak dinner on Wednesday, and a cookout with Jose on Thursday. I got myself into a project that took much longer than expected with organizing and doing a basic remodel job of the library, but I managed to get it all done with the help of Dr. B and David on the last day. I also want to thank Jose and Chris for helping me buy the stuff even though we didn’t find much other than $80 bean bags.

Also, I did get some free time by myself with Uncle Yuko and Aunt Jose in our shopping spree all over Managua, both Monday and Tuesday.

Before

After

I had to say goodbye to all of my pupils and colleagues at NCA and I took enough pictures on the last day to satisfy myself for the whole trip. Because it was also the school’s last day, the best part of the day was the free pizza at lunch.

Chris and Jose came by the hotel that night to say goodbye to us. Luckily, I was in a towel and I think David was in his boxers, which is just how we would have planned for seeing Chris for the last time. After an emotional discussion circle later on that included affection eye contact with David, Kate left her mark on me by which I will remember her until she returns from Barcelona. Although it is a scar on my leg, it is an accurate illustration of our relationship throughout this trip.

I enjoyed the four hours of sleep I got last night due to packing and waking up at 5:30 (I was supposed to wake up at 4:45) and running through the airport after we waited in a massive line that was determined to make us miss our flight, while Dr. A casually returned the rental car and got past us because she was on a different flight. We made it though, and then I had to say goodbye to Kate and Liz in Atlanta as our paths parted. I am now sitting in the food court of Concourse E typing this when I should be doing my other paper which, needless to say, is nowhere near as long as this blog. I just ate a huge Qdoba burrito with hot salsa that I believe is going to hit me about when the plane is over South Carolina. It’s great to be back in the states though where I am not the center of attention simply because I am the biggest gringo in Central America.

"no hay agua"

I first heard this phrase one day at work when David and I were supposed to go help at the Acahualinca school, the public school near La Chureca. But we couldn’t because there was no school that day. There was no school because “no hay agua”: there was no water. Evidently the city only runs the water during the night so that people must collect water then in order to have water during the day. The school collects the water in a tank so that they can run the sinks, bathrooms, and lunch program during the day. But the tank is not collecting as much water as they need and it will cost 3,000 to fix.

Next at my homestay with Miriam from the Vive Spanish School, I asked her why the sink wasn’t working. She responded “no hay agua” but helped me get a bowl of water from a basin that she kept some water in, so that I could wash my face and brush my teeth. I thought the city ran the water during the night, but I guess some days there is no water at all. Here, it is common here to see little baggies of water sold on the street. This is an unneeded worry for the people.

I went to Miriam’s mother’s house for dinner last night, in the very poor Barrio El Recreo. Her mother lives in a decrepit house on a dirt street. She has a list of health problems, one of them being some leg infection that has made her whole leg and foot swollen and discolored. She obviously cannot get the medical attention she needs, but instead of complaining to the government she has portraits of Sandino and Che Guevara on her wall, right next to Jesus Christ. But today’s FSLN is not her FSLN, and it is not serving her anymore.

I used to think that the Sandinistas were inspiring revolutionaries. And at one point they were, when they were fighting for the people against the tyrant Somoza. But now Daniel Ortega and the FSLN are failing the people. Ortega used to be a hero, an icon of resistance. Since his reelection he has not helped the long-suffering people of Nicaragua as promised. There is extreme poverty, still visible devastation from the hurricane, a shantytown of protestors outside the National Palace, and 2,000 people living in the city dump. Oh, and they don’t even have one of the most basic of needs: water.

¡Ey, friends, welcome to my country!

As a contribution to our stay here in Nicaragua I wanted to take a moment and give commendation to all of those who have made our experience what it is:

One of our first local interactions happened seconds upon exiting the airport where we were accosted by all the ‘good Samaritans’ offering to take our bags and ‘watch our car’ of course expecting a few cordobas in return. However, the only lucky individual was a little boy in an at-one-point-in-time-white Indian Jones t-shirt who had puppy dog eyes that would melt at least Jay’s heart. After zeroing in on the biggest Gringo in the bunch (sorry Jay) he proceeded to follow Jay down the street tugged on his sleeve and whimpering “un dolar, señor, un dolar”. To his pleasure the big American softy gave in and gave him a dollar—earning immediate gratification from the boy and an exasperated “donnnnn’ttt do that” from Chris. Some lessons you’ve gotta learn on your own.

Due to our entrance into the voluntary sector circle here in Nicaragua we have been lucky enough to meet many others with the same general mission as our own—to promote development in anyway that we could. Depending on how touristy the place we visit is we often run into groups of individuals wearing matching t-shirts promoting a similar idea of “only God will save you”. With the help of a Spanish-English dictionary these volunteers know just where to start: “¿Crees en Dios?”.

On day one of our trip we went to visit a vocational blacksmithing school run by Chris’ friend, Mike (1) and I was lucky enough to get my butt kicked trying to forge a simple metal hook. My instructor – Jader. Jader was a 26-year old Nicaraguan who looked like he had at one point been a practice piece for a butcher. During a brief leave from the vocational school he was stabbed 10 times—“they got the wrong guy”. Upon his return he sliced his chest open, requiring 8 stitches, when he slipped working with a sharp piece of metal. Tough life. His only advice to me: “no tiene miedo” and “¡más fuerte, más fuerte!”. (Don’t be scared and stronger/harder!)

That afternoon we went to go visit Mike (2) at the Jubilee Center, a sustainable development community that he has lived in for over 30 years—since his move from the United States. He loves his work and put all his heart, soul, and life into it which you could tell as he enthusiastically showed us his ecologically sustainable outhouse. He later saved the day when he took over Dr. Brower’s car in order to forge the standard 2-wheel drive car up a river upon our return from the health clinic in Nueva Vida. We were lucky enough to have him come to speak to our class a week later where he explained his values and purpose in creating the Jubilee Center. He did not even attempt to disguise his hatred for the red-tape that often comes with government funded or based NGO’s: after the destruction that Hurricane Felix caused he made an effort to work with a large U.S. based NGO to provide relief to the devastated communities. A large fund had been given by the U.S. government ($5 million?) and after 6 months it had all been spent on planning. The director of the program had the nerve to tell Mike that she couldn’t discuss relief with him on a Friday afternoon because she had a conference to get to at San Juan del Sur about how to deal with natural disasters. Mikes response: “Lady, you’re in a &$%^$&@ natural disaster!”

On day two of our trip we went to Granada to see the historical sights and explore the local market. It was our first Nicaraguan market and we stood out as much as 10 pale gringos would. Needless to say, we held our purses tight and gingerly tested our knowledge of Spanish market vocabulary. But there was really no reason to be scared, Nicaraguans are quite friendly as we saw when a market man unabashedly yelled, “Ey, friends, welcome to my country!” – Gracias señor, we like it here.

Later on the second day of our trip we took a Gringo moment and went to a local resort at laguna Apoyo, a gorgeous volcanic laguna located right outside of Managua. While we were there we were approached by an Iranian born-American educated-Nicaraguan local who recognized Chris from the gym that he owns. Upon hearing about the goals of our trip Zak immediately invited us to his house to meet his friends, John and Cathy who worked for the international organization, Feed the Children. A week later we pulled up to a gorgeous mansion on the outskirts of Nicaragua to be greeted by Zak, his wife, Diana, their friends John and Cathy, about 6 dogs, African chickens, and a rooster. After listening to John and Cathy talk about their mission here in Nica, Zak entertained us for the next hour and through dinner with his mammoth repertoire of stories, some of the best:

- He is wanted in Iran for defecting from the army to go to the United States and wrestle.

- He was framed prior to the 1988 Olympics with a suitcase of heroine, mistakenly jailed, and then given a $5 million payment when the government realized their mistake—he says it still doesn’t make up for missing out on the Olympics.

-He had a chicken that thought it was a lap dog, only problem: it wasn’t house broken. They had to give it away because they couldn’t eat it—it was too human like.

-He got threatened by the captain of a plane because he was (1) crying (2) writing a letter and (3) Iranian—all at the same time. Little did they know, his favorite dog/best friend had just died and he was so broken up that he couldn’t stop crying, to help himself he decided to write a letter to his dog/God. Apparently you are not allowed to cry and write letters on a plane.

This is only a small example of his stories—I could go on.

To fully understand our experience I could not leave out all of our wonderful directors of the programs in which we have been placed, I apologize in advance because I do not know all too much about every director:

- Carla Fjeld, my director at Ola Verde, is using her phD in nutritional development perfectly here in Nicaragua. Her restaurant, which promotes locally and organically grown products, might be one of the best places that we have eaten here during our stay--lucky for me I get to eat lunch there!

- Diana and Escott (who wanted his name to sound Hispanic), Liz and David’s directors at NicaHope, are the epitome of a painfully perfect couple. Both gorgeous and way too intelligent they have taken all this talent and entered into the voluntary sector. It’s just not fair.

- Chris Bagwell, Lindsay and Gabby’s director at the orphanage, has sadly been MIA for the duration of our stay here but her goals of maintaining a semblance of organization among 45 kids (most under the age of 2) have been perpetuated by the hard/exhausting/dirty work that Lindsay and Gabby successfully do on a daily basis.

- I am sorry to say that I don’t know very much about Michelle, the visionary for Tesoro de Dios (Melanie and Lisa’s placement), but from the wonderful success stories that we hear about the work done at both the vocational school and among the children I would say that she has made a wonderful mark on the sustainable development community in Nicaragua.

- Finally, while I don’t exactly know who Jay’s director/principal is, we have certainly heard about a number of Jay’s esteemed colleagues who have welcomed him into the NCA community—and into their teacher carpool. They even invited him to pay-day coffee, a movie, and sushi; lucky for Jay at least one of them is an English teacher.

There is one last person who has been essential to our trip and I would not be doing this experience any justice if I didn’t mention our fantastic hotel-owner, car washer, technician, informant, and food preparer/orderer, José. Because he spent 10 years in the States due to the civil war in Nicaragua he is fluent in English, which makes our stay here in Nicaragua infinitely easier. He is always looking out for what we could need and all too often goes way out of his way to help us, he even lent me a dollar after he called me a cab to work and I forgot that I had no money—oops. Anyway, I could tell thousands of stories about what José has done to help but I would inevitably forget something crucial so I will leave it at there could be no better service if we were staying in that 5-star hotel in Dubai.

This is only a small sampling of those that we have met during our trip to Managua, and I am sure that there are others that I should add to this list (like the revolutionary poet that I met last night) and more that we will meet in the coming 4 days but if you actually read all of this then I am sure you have had enough for the time-being!

P.S. If anyone has pictures of the people I couldn't find, please put them up!

Nota Cultural 3.0 - Adverts de Danny

El Presidente Daniel Ortega understands the importance of advertising. Advertising himself. Getting people to like you has never been easier with the classy and understated medium of billboards. The saturation of Ortega billboards is to me reminiscent of the ever-popular "Dockside Dolls" billboards every few miles on I-85/95 S in North Carolina. Continuing his attention to nuance and complexity, he slogan is "Nicaragua gana con voz!" (Nicaragua wins with you!). This seems a tad trite to me, but hey, whatever helps little league teams win games should work for a nation-state, right? Of course these signs all over the country are largely defaced by adolescentes maleducados, "terrorist" organizations, and small children with paint, graffiti, etc.

Another thing Danny seems to do well is to market his feminine side. Ortega's signs all over the country are pink. In his billboards he convincingly wears a pink shirt, no easy task for most machismos. This immediately convinced me of his liberal attitudes and staunch belief in gender equality. His androgyny further wins me over as he is not ashamed to whisper sweet nothings in Hugo Chavez's ear (below). Beautiful.

Should active presidents in the U.S. should advertise themselves? Have you ever seen George W. on a billboard? In pink? What is better, leaders who actively propogandize, or those who don't need to? (very suave, Silvio)

down in the dumps

Last Friday was the perfect ending to David and my first week of work at Nica Hope, a non-profit that provides vocational training and other services to the community of La Chureca. The week started out rough with our visit to La Chureca, the city dump that two thousand call home. Suffice to say it was an emotional initiation to our work at NicaHope. One of the women who cleans the office, Alejandra, brought a handful of her children (she has about 10) to work with her on Friday because they did not have school. From morning until afternoon we played educational computer games, read books, jumped rope and kicked some balls around; even the staff and guards joined in the fun. They were beautiful children, albeit a little dirty and mysteriously damp. It is hard to believe these bright and happy children live in a three-walled shack toward the front entrance of La Chureca surrounded by mountains of steaming garbage, a toxic lake, and the fumes from arbitrary fires of burning trash. David and I saw their shack on our visit the first day. For me; Olandra, Juliette, Britany, and Reinaldo put a human (and endearing) face on the trash dump community. Their holey clothes, dirty feet, blonde-ish hair (a sign of malnourishment) impart an image of the poverty one encounters in a community that lives off others waste.

If you are looking to donate to a great organization: Check out NicaHope's website: http://www.nicahope.org/index.htm

Nota Cultural 2.0 - Oranges are Not the only fruit

Orange is in... in Nicaragua.  As you can see, my favorite political party MRS uses a lovely shade of orange to color in Sandino's hat.  Never a bad choice, orange abounds in Managua.  "Hombres trabajando" signs.  Construction worker uniforms.  But orange is really worn here in a way it is not in the states--in actual clothes you might wear places.  Year before last my Dominican friend Juan Esteban gave me a bright orange shirt (bottom pic).  Was it hideous?  Yes.  Did I wear it?  Of course.

Orange things found in Managua:

• basketballs (though the one I played with today was more "rust" colored)
• cones
• clothes (some)
• political signs (a lot)
• some fruits that you don't know what they are or how to pronounce
• construction worker uniforms (worldwide??)

Interestingly, perhaps the most famous Orange thing (besides oranges), telecom company Orange does not offer service in Nicaragua.  What is going on here?  Can there ever be such a thing as too much orange?

Driving School like no other!

Today was the first day where Jane Albrecht and I actually drove the students to each of their placements--without help! Yesterday we did practice runs and wrote out directions and landmarks. There are NO street signs in Nica, so the directions go something like this: Take a left at the blue wall; go straight through the traffic circles, hills, potholes, etc. to the dead end at the Chinese thingy, go left. Go to the yellow wall at the cemetery, turn right. At the baseball stadium, take the second dirt road to the right, backtrack to the Alka Seltzer sign and go right....you get the idea. The directions are not that difficult as long as no do-gooders come and paint the walls, remove the fruitstands or change the billboards, BUT you are sharing the road with the multi-rider bicycles you've read about, ox carts and horse carts, dogs of all breeds (that are the skinniest imaginable), pedestrians, ice cream carts parked in your lane, cars that choose to stop in the lane at any given moment to drop someone off or pick someone up... It's an adventure and I praise God that everyone is at their placement today and there are no new dents in the rental car --that I know of. We did have a discussion in my car about why our parents don't think their cars can be used as 4-wheel drive vehicles on bumpy, dirt roads--they just haven't gotten the most out of their Toyota Corollas! For the cherry on top, all of this maneuvering is done while driving in a very hilly country with a manual transmission! What an adventure.

Vocabulary word for the day: "Random" You know how teenagers like to use the word random these days and those of us of the older persuasion sometimes wonder exactly what they mean by it. Well, random is large speed bumps placed in the most unexpected places (even made out of mud on dirt roads). They are not painted a different color than the rest of the road and appear at no regular intervals. They are often covered in dust and dirt and you may not notice them as you are dodging the oxcart on your left and the swerving bicycle with 3 full grown adults coming at you from the right. Random.