Dance Class Revelations!!

I decided that only one post on the dance class that I am currently taking was not at all enough and that it merited a second. I am in the mood to make lists so I have numbered some of the more memorable events.

1. I would say that about a quarter of all the moves Michael teaches us end in what I have dubbed the 'All Body Rub Down'. This movement consists of your hands on either side of your head and running them all the way down to your hips in a sexy way. He stopped me in class one day and said that my 'All Body Rub Down' was not sensual enough. He then showed me the formula for how to make it more sexy. Apparently I was spending too much time rubbing my hands through my hair and not enough time rubbing my sides. While we are doing this movement he is usually screaming something like, "Touch yourselves more!!" "I'm not feeling the sensuality!!" and, "More sexy!!".

2. Michael says things like, "You're gum with no sugar" to our class when he's exasperated. I'm not sure what that means, but I think it's bad.

3. The best moment of my week came when Michael told me I was doing well while shaking my butt and shoulders at the same time. I live for that small nod of approval.

4. Sometimes, when I think about what it must be like to watch a room full of women do complicated serpentine movements with their torsos (badly!) I begin laughing so hard I cannot continue. Michael does not approve.

5. Even though Michael wears tight magenta wifebeaters and socks with sandals I still think he's the cat's pajamas.

6. I wish I could explain to you the fantasticness of changing in the bathrooms while watching a room full of chunky Nicaraguan women wrap each other in giant plastic sheets, like an oversized tensor bandage, before class to burn more calories.

7. Not all the floorboards in the room are even. So just when you think you've hit your latino body groove you trip over the floor and fall on your face. It's like immediate karma for thinking that you're better than you actually are.

8. A Dutch man came to film our class yesterday to do a program on Nicaraguan women's exercise habits. Everyone dressed up for his arrival. My friend Isa took the opportunity to dress sexy in an attempt to snag our teacher as her boyfriend. I tried to tell her that anyone you humiliate yourself in front of 4 out of 7 days a week is beyond trying to date.

9. MICHAEL IS NOT GAY!! I realized this when we started talking a lot after class. Although he dances like a gay man, he is not actually gay. I do have consensus from other class mates that to get a class as good as this one in Canada the teacher would for sure have to be gay.

10. There are usually a couple of guys who stand at the door and watch the class, shouting encouragement to the ladies. I don't worry that they're looking at me, they're for sure looking at the girls at the front of the class who are actually good. As a side note, I spend so much time concentrating on Michael's bottom half to get the steps right, I've probably spent more time staring at his butt than anyone else's.

We had a party last week for Micheal's birthday. We all chipped in to buy a couple of cakes. I didn't realize at the time that no one knew how to spell his name and they wrote "Maki" on one cake and "Maycol" on the other. It was so cute. For Nicaraguan women, no excuse is a bad excuse to throw a party.

Magic Markers Aren't Really Magic

This post is dedicated to every Nicaraguan person who excessively uses Magic Markers (or permanent markers) to correct mistakes made. Here are a few examples of what I mean...

1. Walking down the road I spot a woman wearing a t shirt with a scripture passage written on it. The book and passage are written below it, obviously being a mistake, there is an X through what was printed on the shirt. The X, done in Magic Marker, is followed by the correct scripture written by hand.

2. While returning a plane ticket, I tried to explain to the employee that writing a 3, in Magic Marker, over a 2 to make the penalty rate 35% instead of 25% is not contractually binding. Especially since the change was made in front of my face on the cancellation form and probably only happened because I'm white.

3. Marking an X over the timetable of a ferry that sank recently to indicate it is no longer running.

But really, what can't Magic Markers do?

You Just Can't Find Places Like This in Canada

The best part about reading through a Nicaraguan guide book is that occasionally you find pasages like this, that just make your heart sing. Behold, on page 197 of the 2005 Moon handbook to Nicaragua.

"La Trinidad, named for the three hills that cradle it gently in their arms, is a festive town of bread bakers, bus drivers, musicians, and cowboys. Its unhurried and friendly populace can often be found hanging out in the lush park, a well-tended central plaza--green even in the height of the dry season--and home to Kameleon, La Trinidad's pet tree sloth, who lives untethered in the park's canopy. The Catholic church, although decidedly ugly and non-colonial, may be worth a visit during mass to hear the dueling mariachi choirs."

If that doesn't make you want to come here, I don't know what will...

RIP Ometepe Ferry

I realized today that I had promised a ferry story in my previous blog and failed to deliver. Ometepe is a reasonably big island made out of two volcanoes in the Lago de Nicaragua. To get their you have two options; medium sized boats used by fisherman, or lanchas, and the ferry. The second time I went to the island Heather and I took the lancha back because it suited our schedule. Later, several Nicaraguans nodded in approval of our transport choice saying that if the lancha was damaged, it wouldn't sink because it was wood, whereas the ferry goes straight to the bottom since it is made out of metal and considerably larger. I, at least, laughed it off as more off beat comments Nicas had made to me. Until I found out that, at the beginning of February, the same bad weather that stranded me on a Caribbean island had also created waves so big in Lago de Nicaragua that the ferry had sunk!! When I went back a couple of weeks after this happened the billboard with the times for ferries 1,2 and 3 had a giant magic marker X through ferry 2. So it goes.

Rest in Peace, Ometepe Ferry.

Also, to preface the post below, a quote from Wikipedia: "Quinceañera" is also used to refer to the young woman whose 15th birthday is being celebrated (analogous to the word cumpleañera for "birthday girl"). Other cultural equivalents to the quinceañera in the United States are the Bar or Bat Mitzvah celebrations for Jewish boys turning 13 and girls turning 12, the debutante ball, the cotillion and the sweet sixteen birthday parties.

When I asked why the age of 15, I was told she would probably be pregnant at the age of 16. Sadly, there is some truth to that...

The Prettiest Story Ever

This is a story that began in November, but ended just recently.

I spent some of November and most of December on the back of a motorcycle, or some equally unsafe mode of transportation, heading all over the Pacific side of the country with my fellow intern Heather looking for sesame producers to interview. On the Isla de Ometepe, a large volcanic island in the Lago de Nicaragua, I met a woman by the name of Nubia Ampara Chavaria Jimenez. She and her husband, Juan, produce organic sesame for a living. Although this year they had planted extra sesame to help pay for their daughter's 15th birthday party or Quinceañera. As it was only our second interview, and the first one had gone really badly, Nubia seemed especially nice. The couple took us to see their farm and explained all the crops that they grew. They even took us to see our first sesame plants at their sister's farm and listened with remarkable patience to our stupid questions in terrible Spanish as we 'oooed' and 'awwwed' over the crop. After that we chatted some more over freshly roasted corn with a great view of Volcan Concepcion. When we told them there was a photo contest for the best photo of an intern working (with a prize of $100USD) they began suggesting all kinds of strange poses which we reluctantly agreed to. One of them went like this,

NUBIA: Go over there and pretend to interview that cow!!

LAUREN: Okay... (Thinking: This cow is huge and holy crap could he hurt me if he wanted to)

Nubia

Heather knew she'd be leaving at the end of January, but I was interested in staying longer and thought about going to Elva's Quinceañera if I was in Nicaragua during February. I jokingly told her that if I won, I'd bring her half the prize money when her daughter turned 15.

Christmas came and went and I submitted some photos, completely forgetting about the cow one, and thought nothing more of the contest. As luck would have it, Heather submitted the photo of me and I got an email in January saying that I'd won. So, on February 21st I found myself on the ferry *** (see end for funny ferry story) heading towards the island for a party I knew nothing about and $50USD in my pocket.

The winning picture

So as I found out, the reason Nubia and her husband had to grow extra sesame to pay for the party is that this birthday party was nothing sort of a wedding themed pink. It started with a service in a church decorated by swathes of pink fabric and a ton of balloons. The birthday girl herself entered the hall preceeded by about 15 ladies in waiting with their boyfriends all wearing matching dresses and suits. What I found the most impressive was that the girls were not just wearing matching dresses but had matching gloves and fans and some serious salon hairstyles. Elva, the guest of honor, came in wearing a pink gown that looked like it came from a fairy tale with pink flowers in her hair as well as a pink shawl and bouquet. During the ceremony they pronounced her a woman and changed her flower crown for a sparkly tiara and her old shoes for new silver pumps while her parents watched wiping tears from their eyes. The silver pumps really got to me. They somehow were the perfect, most Nicaraguan thing, they could have given to her to symbolize her newfound adulthood. Probably because, even though they're heels, she'll wear them whether she's walking 3 km along a dirt road, or to go to the corner store for eggs. I love this country. I really do.

The dress and procession!!

After the church ceremony was finished, the procession left the church and walked around town while on lookers clapped. Eventually we ended up at their house where a DJ had set up (of course!) and their small front yard was crammed with more tables and chairs then I though humanly possible. The ensuing party was filled with endless amounts of food, machata dancing and choreographed dances, as well as plenty of toasts. There were no less than 5 cakes, all with multiples layers, connected by plastic bridges and figures of little people. I couldn't get over how much money they had to be spending on this party. These are farmers from humble backgrounds who bend over backwards to give their daughter the best party possible.

The famous cakes with Elva herself.

It was fantastic!! I had the best time. It was an even greater pleasure to give her the prize money and send a ton of pictures in an album for her. She called me this morning on my cell phone and we spent 5 minutes trying to figure out who is more grateful, me for being invited to one of the best most personal moments in her life, or her for having recieved pictures and money. The conversation ended in smiles.

Isn't that the prettiest story you have ever heard?

Nubia and I

For more pictures see this album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=110401&id=502260179&l=a04a9

Exactly the Conversation I Love to Hear

Last weekend I went to the town of Rivas to attend a friend of mine's 15th birthday party. The party itself is deserving of its own post. However, this post is about mangoes. It is currently mango season in Nicaragua, my most loved of all Nicaraguan seasons (although closely rivaled by avacado season). To get to this birthday party I had to pass through the port town of San Jorge. San Jorge just happens to be the mango capital of Nicaragua.

Lauren: So how much are your mangoes?

Mango Seller: $0.75

Lauren: For one?

Mango Seller: For a dozen.

Lauren: What if I don't want a dozen?

Mango Seller: We don't sell less then a dozen.

Lauren's Brain: This is a serious mango seller, oh well, 12 mangoes is better than no mangoes, right?

Lauren's Stomach: Hells yeah.

Lauren: I'll take 12.

They were worth every last juicy drop.

Pink Spandex, Plastic Suits and a Whole lot of Butt

A couple of weeks ago I took my friend Andrea up on an offer to attend a dance class with her. It was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. Later, I found myself at a loss for words when descibing it to my friend Julia.

Julia: So what kind of dance class is it?
Lauren: Well, in theory it's 'Latin Rhythms', but I've been told it can spontaneously turn into an aerobics class.
Julia: Nicaragua is a strange country, isn't it?
Lauren: Yes, yes it is.

Later, as I stood in a brightly lit room in the Academia Nicaraguense de Danza, staring at geckos on the wall, I was no closer to a description. To begin with, it is taught by a flamboyantly homosexual man named Michael (not Miguel). If I hadn't already been convinced by his preference for men by the expressive gestures, tight shirts and incredible hip movement, I would have know for sure the day he blew himself a kiss in the mirror. It was that day I decided that, I too, needed to start blowing myself kisses in the mirror. I digress.

I began this class because, despite living in Latin America for over 15 months, I still don't know how to dance salsa, cumpia, machata or merengue. I'm not sure if I'll be able to dance any of these when I finish, but, at the very least I'm sure I'll be able to better shake my butt. The music is blasted so loud that I can rarely hear what is being shouted by the teacher. I'll normally just invent something I think he should be saying, like, 'More hips!', 'Shoulders!' and 'Lorena, what the hell are you doing?!' Michael also won't accept that people who are not Latino are not born with the ability to move their hips and shoulders in opposite directions while moving across a room. I used to try and stand in front of the mirrors along the wall to improve, but I stopped when watching myself dancing became too depressing. I'm sure at some point, after a lot of practice, the movements I am learning will look attractive, but for now they just look spastic. Still, I persevere! Four days a week I can be found learning to shake my new found Latino booty with the help of Michael and a room full of encouraging women.


Can you pick me out of the group picture? I'm the one who's skin tone is reflecting light.

Andrea and I with the famous Michael.

Freestyling at our Valentine's Day party. Apparently I was supposed to dress up, but I though it was a regular dance class. These types of mis communications are commun when you rarely understand what is going on.

This Post is for Kristen

This post is dedicated to the only person I know who always reads my blog; Kristen McNeill. A faithful friend and library buddy from the times when she had hair so long it went past her bum.

An archive photo from the Festival des Nuits d'Afrique last summer in Mtl.



I have not eaten mangoes off a stick with a better friend. Also, Kristen is coming to visit me at the end of March!!! This also makes her my first friend to visit me while travelling. Hooorah. Despite our repeated fights over who will marry Julia in our old age we have decided to settle our differences and live in happiness together over corn and chocolate in Central America. Since I know that Kristen will be reading this to Cal, I say hi to Cal as well. That is all.

25 Random Things About Me

1. When I was 7 I asked my Dad if he though I was pretty and after a long pause he told me I had a nice neck.
2. If there was only one thing I could change about myself it would be to have been born an amazing dancer of every style.
3. Over the past 10 years, one of my biggest regrets was not buying Napoleon stickers at Les Invalides in June 2005 because they were too expensive. Frankie bought some. I will always have to live with that.
4. I prefer sculptures to paintings. My favorite sculptor is Rodin.
5. My favorite countries are Colombia and France.
6. I have always felt that I led a boring and tragedy free life. To compensate I like to make up elaborate stories of more interesting lives. These include being adopted from a war torn country, having black skin or being hired as a soloist for the Moscow City Ballet at the age of 14.
7. I have really expensive taste. This is a problem since I do not make very much money and do not expect to make any kind of significant salary in my lifetime, thus, I am left with no option but to marry a very rich man.
8. I am allergic to the cold. When I go outside in the winter my legs get really splotchy and ugly.
9. I am a persistent abuser of punctuation rules. Why put only one exclamation when you can put three???
10. I blush really easily.
11. I do not take compliments well. I’ve never sure what to say afterwards.
12. I constantly embarrass myself by bursting into rooms yelling things like ‘BOOYAH’ or ‘SHAZAM’ but I can’t seem to stop.
13. I personify everyday objects. If the refrigerator is not working anymore it’s because we’ve broken up, but we’re thinking of getting back together once the repairman comes.
14. My favorite singer is Jacques Brel. His songs have made me want to learn the acordion. As a side note there is a famous Colombian acordion player with the surname Lallemand.
15. I have always wondered when the saxophone was invented but never bothered to find out. This stemmed from a dream I had where I was trapped on a pirate ship but was able stay alive by amusing the crew with ska songs played on a sax.
16. I have always wanted to make short films to show people how I see the world.
17. After my family, I am most grateful for my friends who tolerate my insanity with amazing ease.
18. Answering these things always makes me nervous because everyone else’s answers are so much cooler than mine.
19. When I was in elementary school I went over to my friend Julia's house with a Laura Secord chocolate bunny that I had named Petey. When Julia and I came up from the basement, we found Petey hung from a noose from the upstairs banaster courtesy of Julia's sister Catriona. I went upstairs to find Catriona hiding in a closet. I then kicked her. I don't remember any of this happening. Julia told me years later. Sometimes I wish I still had that kind of anger in me.
20. My Dad is always telling me to calm down. It drives me nuts. What if I don’t want to be calm?
21. I never admit to crying, I just say that my eyes are leaking.
22. I am a picture fanatic.
23. I am secretly 80 years old. I enjoy pastimes like listening to the CBC, rocking on rocking chairs, sewing, general crafting and wearing cardigans. My next life goal is to make a quilt.
24. I can only remember being really angry 4 times in my life. Most of these instances involved technology, including my arch nemesis GoogleDocs.
25. I simultaneously have a really great and really terrible memory. For example, I can remember entire conversations years after they happened, but I cannot remember where things are in my kitchen.