Campesino Life

"Eso es la vida campesino," Marlon says as the countryside of the Miraflor reserve races past us. Taking a sip from a bottle of rum he looks out from our post on top of an old school bus (the words "Baptist United Church of Chapel Hill" are barely painted over on the side) at the pastoral mountains pocked with small herd of cattle surrounding us. "Ese no es un acedente".

Campesino life is tough –long days toiling in the fierce Nicaraguan sun, limited access to modern conveniences such as running water and electricity, all the while trying to provide for one's family– but given the freedom and peace inherent to the lifestyle, Marlon would not give it up for anything. We are returning from Estelí, the nearest city and a Sandinista stronghold in Nicaragua, to check email, pick up supplies, and talk with local and international organizations about collaborations. While walking the streets of Estelí, the theme of dreams came up.

"Tranquilidad y liberdad" was all Marlon said. Tranquility and liberty.

Love

I'm engaged. We dated for 5 days but our history is longer. Here's a love letter I wrote Aria two years ago to the day of our engagement 6/6/07.

"There exists in some of us the desire to create problems for ourselves
when the ones life dishes us dont seem like enough. Large eyes for the
gluttons of punishment.

As with any problems, the primal choice of flight or fight instantly
presents itself.

While flight is the more cowardly of the two, the true coward never
looks back. Reflects. Even the shadow of the fight is too frightening.

The flight has given me plenty of time to look back. Reflect.

It´s also given me time to catch up on some reports and writing Ive
been putting off. I also started my novel on the corporate wars of the
future.

But I digress.

I have written this in the field before reading any messages you may
or may not have sent. I need not read your words to read your
thoughts. I have the same ones.

That said, I´ll head to the coast to procure a vessel (a 15-footer
aught to be a fine enough start) and you load up on the reading
materials (obviously a good selection of the classics, but dont shy
away from the trashy romance novels as well) and Ill meet up with you
at the to be agreed upon location shortly.

Take care,
Tim"

Summer Research Begins

"My country is very happy" Luis tells us as we zoom through the streets of Managua. Judging from the kids playing in the street and the families sitting together in front of their homes he seems to be absolutely correct.

The group of us, myself, Aria (a good friend from the University of Michigan), Scott (a law student from Fordham law and a good friend from our trip here together last summer), as well as two other law students Jenny and Katie, is here researching access to justice in a country with a long history of exploitation, war, and extreme poverty.

Despite this past of violence, Nicaraguans are some of the warmest and most open people I have ever met. (Case in point, as I write this the woman we are staying with just brought a plastic pail one of my favorite Latin American soups, mondongo, from a few towns over because she knew how much I enjoy it).

We're done in the capital of Managua for now as we head up into the hills of Miraflor to work with a coffee cooperative.

Street Art: A Portrait of Main South

This Friday, Main South Speaks is presenting an art exhibit featuring the street photography and graffiti of local youth we've been working with for the past few months.



Food from one of my favorite restaurants, One Love Cafe, music from a handful of local bands, and the chance to talk with the artists themselves!



What:Gallery of Main South Speaks graffiti and street photography. Catered by One Love Cafe.
When:December 14th 6-9 PM
Where:Dana Commons, Clark University
Cost: Absolutely nothing

I Am Wendy

"Do you want to do a Wendy's commercial?" my buddy Dennis asked me not so long ago.

He's the guy who directed that genius set of Buckley's ads where people are taste testing Buckley's and foul tasting substances like "Public Bathroom Puddles" and they are unable to tell the difference. (There's a set just online if you can't get enough of them).

I figured it would be a good time. Sleep in a hotel, hang out with an old friend, not compromise my integrity. Really, how bad could it be?

This idea is that I run around like a crazy person at the Michigan v. Ohio State game at The Big House to get people to cheer "Hot, juicy burgers" with me while Dennis hides in the bushes watching it all unfold.

It wasn't too bad, except that there were a hundred thousand drunk Michigan students just looking for a reason to tear apart anyone wearing red or had anything to do with Ohio (the late, great Dave Thomas' home state).




Even with the odds stacked against us, we had fun and had some amazing seats in the front row behind the goal post. Too bad we don't really like football and left around halftime.

One big perk is that we get our meals comped. Detroit is home of American Coney Island, where Dan Dan the Hot Dog Man proudly displays an award for the nation's best chili dogs.


After a quick break at home for Thanksgiving we were off to Cleveland for a Celtics v. Cavaliers game.



Another great time, plus I got to meet the Cavalier girls!

Mountain Clowns Part 2

Here's a photo gallery of our underground adventures in flash or html for more photos.

Mountain Clowns: Part 1

We sit crammed into the BMW mini cooper practicing Japanese lessons racing past cow-filled fields and rusted out trucks. It's the only two door without a flat bed on the horizon. The close quarters don't bother us; we've spent 14 hours in them to get here. The closeness is almost comforting in the strange countryscape.

The day before we had tried to meet some of the locals and were met with the mixture of terror and skepticism one conjures up when seeing four oddly dressed urbanites step out of a clown car in the mountains.




"Mountain Clowns" Jurek calls us. Not far from the truth.



The clowns pulled up to the entrance to Scott's Hollow Caves looking for an escape from the office, the city, the banality of urbanity. We decided to seek it underground.

We were greeted by Mike and Jan, the husband and wife operators of the Scott's Hollow Caves, along with Mike and Alex, the guides that would be leading us through part of the 28 mile subterranean labyrinth.

"Have you ever lost anyone?" I joke.

"Naw," Mike said. Then after a moment of thought, "Well, there was that one time Mike lost someone and we had someone go back to find them. But that's not really lost."

This clown was not laughing...

We get our gear on and go through the procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary except we sign away any liability suits we may file in case of injury or death. My mind flashes back to the lost caver wondering through the absolute darkness resigned to eat cave newts until death wraps her thin fingers around the already emaciated throat sucking the last whisp of...

"Down ya go!"

I snap back. Down?

Mike lifts a piece of plywood to reveal a rusty tube pointing into the ground.

Our companion Rob bravely struts over to the tube and halts. Looking down the hole his eyes go wide, his face pales. I start to sweat. I'm not crazy about heights and I'm than a little claustrophobic. Nothing like a 50 ft tube point into darkness to stimulate both these fears. I go next.

I race down the ladder as quickly as possible kicking myself for not having written my will yet. I reach the bottom rung and put my foot down onto nothing. I missed the clown car. Was this really what I am here for? To scare the shit out of myself? After I reach bottom and untuck my coveralls from my boots just in case.

Once every makes it to the bottom, all fears disappear. With the six lights combing the walls everything is well lit and the beauty of the place overcomes me. We walk comfortably into the darkness.



I'm in great spirits and ask about everything from the effects of water on limestone vs. shale, how many years of caving experience these guys have, types of animals we may encounter, etc.

We are moving at a pretty fast clip. On our first water break our guide Mike mentions that he is actually breaking a sweat and we might try some of the tougher parts of the cave.

"Apparently he has not made it to the stage of hallucination that comes with over-exertion," I think staring at bright lights down an endless crevasse. The day has only begun.