La Churecathis is at the entrance to one of Managua's dumps, home to 1500 people, mostly children
Chapter One (because I think it would kill me to write about it all at once)** Thinking about my first day in Managua makes me want to cry, get sick and cut myself open. My emotions are too intense. I want to share with you what it feels like, but I'm not that talented. On the bus on the way to the volcanic lake, you'd never know that the little boy clinging to you, fitting his body into your lap as though he was made for it, all cleaned up in a little orange shirt, smiling and sweet, you'd never believe
[View Full Entry]
I like to travel creatively. I ride the chicken buses. I cook meals and play guitar or draw portraits in exchange for hospitality. I talk to strangers. I am aware that being a young-white-girl-travelling-solo has its dangers-- but it arguably has more benefits than drawbacks. My goals in life are to have no regrets and to contribute more than I consume. I'm studying social entrepreneurhip. If you know what that is, message me, say hi. When I graduate I'd like to do Peace Corps in Latin America. Then grad school. Then who knows. I'd like to do what I was born to do, whatever that is. I'm listening.
