Nicaragua's best kept secret: Bluefields

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Although I am posting this entry a few weeks after being back in the United States, I still feel it is important to share with the travel blogger world my reflections and experiences. The entry was written at the time, in early May. Sit back, relax, and enjoy learning about Nicaragua's best kept secret: Bluefields.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. That’s all I have left of my time with the beautiful children on my tropical island of Ometepe. In these last moments, I have been trying to really tune into life here, to take it all in, as I know that in an instant, it will all be gone. I decided it would be a good time to visit Bluefields, where I have a few connections. Although the city itself is not pretty and the ride there is not so fun, I decided that it was better not to have regret.

I had to spend some time in the office and also head over to the home near Jinotepe, to profile the kids there. Plus, they are really fun to hang out with. But, the trip took a turn into Managua first.
After a full day of working at the office where there was good food, air conditioning, fast internet, and purified water, I was ready to trek to some more places.

Helping the directors wife do some shopping for the kids, we stopped in Mercado Oriental, one of the busiest markets in all of Managua. For me, it was a new experience. I had never been to this market. Mercado Oriental is a busy and dangerous market where there is a lot of action. Like all the others, it is also dirty. Just parking and finding our way through the maze of vendors was complicated enough! We had a full list of clothing and hygene products to buy and only 3 hours to do so. I was grateful to have been with Tia Marciela and Tia Marta, as they were locals used to this place. I was called upon, dubbed chele (white skinned person), and asked what I was looking for. They just want to get your attention so you will buy at their store. I was amazed at the size of the place. It was as if we entered into a hole and once inside, found a city, complete with tiled flored stores and florescent lights the length of your arm.

I was hoping to look for a dress to wear to the 15th birthday celebrations and 15th house anniversary this May, but there was no time. I was the go to person who fetched lists and other things from the car. I also guarded the stuff while the others went on shopping. This was probably good, as I am not good at bartering prices as a foreigner and do not know compatible prices. As I was guarding the stuff, I took it upon myself to take some pictures and talk with the store workers. I always try and take it upon myself to talk with the locals so as not to appear like I am ignorant of them. I have a genuine interest in knowing about their lives. It put your preconceived notions out the door.
The small talk was going well until the man I was talking with threw his plastic bag on the floor. I was offended (really) and asked him why he did that. He mentioned that there are hired garbage pickers who clean all the garbage up. I expressed my tidbit in saying that it is highly unlikely he will be able to clean up all the garbage and on top of that, why would you want to make his job more difficult? I told him that today was earth day and that he should treat his country’s beautiful land with some respect. Inside, I felt like I stepped the line and then apologized and told him that littering was something I felt very strongly about. Then, it was time to leave, thank goodness.

At the other stalls, the same type of behavior prevailed: demanding where I was going, what I was looking for, being called at, and also some people literally grabbing my arm. If anything, I will just have to laugh at this. I will remember the plentitude of people trying to help me now when I am in the USA and nobody comes to help me. Too bad it has to be annoying. Nicaraguan’s are very eagar to help you, of course, and even if you are not sure of if, they will take their best products out from storage and out of their plastic just to show you. Then, it makes you feel even worse if you do not end up buying from them.

At the next stall, I just stood and watched the action going by on the dirt path the width of 2 feet in between stalls. My favorites were the men selling lottery tickets and also the guys selling soft drinks and juice from carts.

When the day was over, I sat down on the parking lot curb in intense heat. Sweating in the shade, I ate me .25 cent mangos from the not super sticky plastic bag. The NPH driver dropped me off at Casa Padre Wasson. As there are no lights, as I made my way to dinner, I slipped into a hole and cut a chunk of skin off on my ankle...but, when I came into the comedor, the kids welcomed me in with shouts and hugs. "Teacher!!!" Yup, I am pretty lucky to be so popular...

As a journalist, it is often necessary to go on fun trips in order to document them. Patrick, one of the gringo pastors working with NPH, was taking our kids on a trk through the jungle to reflect on how disciples often walked and waited on God.

The journey started at 5am. Our breakfast was last night's cold enchalada and luckilly, some fresh fruit. After reading the passage in Luke we were reflecting on, we started to walk. Nobody had any idea where this place was...we just knew we were walking to a church. We passed through a national park, up dirt hills past bamboo trees, waterless river beds, and past screaming howler monkeys. When the little chapel was finally in site, I almost died of heat. Gosh, back in the day, the disciples would often go on these missions with little to no water with no shoes!

The church community was really nice to us and the pastor was full of life and passion: just how a pastor should be. The chapel help a out 50 people, only 2 benches wide and 5 benches back. The walls were painted with scenes from the Garden of Eden. After service, being spiritually full (which hasn't happened for me much here in Nicaragua), our group reflected on the Bible passage. Walking up and down the dirt streets in pairs, we reflected on it. Being in Spanish, I struggled, but it was the same familiar story so language was not too much of a barrior. At the end of the reflection, we walked back, oe hour, on foot. Only this time, having done it before, the hourney was much better. We passed the familiar sights and modest country homes with the women washing their clothing outside on the pilas (washer boards).
Now back to the island...

The week was pretty normal for me, having just got back from Granada/San Juan del Sur with my friends. I promised a friend in Granada that I would visit Bluefields to see her family and so I made preparations to travel there. This included some phone calling back and forth with my friends to arrange some stuff. And, then, while I was washing my clothes, a miracle happened: the Internet came back!!! After almost a month with none, it came! Gosh, it was like the biggest revelation to happen so far!

I went to the office to work half a day and then headed into Managua, as I would be heading to Bluefields the next day. But, before that, I had to make a pit stop in Granada, to buy my plane ticket. Granada is a much more tranquil city than Managua, a stressful city full of car horns.

After picking up my ticket, I visited some friends that live in this lovely city and enjoyed looking at Mombacho Volcano, which always offers beautiful views. I also took the time to sit down and eat a real meal, something that is impossible with the kids. After finishing a very large chicken salad, I was off, again. The day wasn’t complete until I fell into a flood of algae on the corner of a street with section eight homes. For the whole bus ride to Managua, I had a wet bottom. Oh, the life here.

Watching the sun set in Granada from the bus was just remarkable. This country will never tire me of its beauty or memories. I spent the bus ride smiling at the kid next to me. One joy in life is to make others smile. Gosh, there is so much power in a smile!
I arrived into UCA, the safer bus station. To my surprise, I was not bombarded by taxi drivers. I passed the bus people and the loads of buses and vans pulling into the small station while I walked un-noticed through the smells of sewer looking for a driver to take me. I actually had to wait for a taxi…something very usual in this country. I found a lonesome taxi with its light on and no drivers further down the path. I decided to wait for the owner to come back. As I was waiting, a very friendly and quite cute young man came up to me asking if I needed a taxi. He directed me to a safer and more reliable place to grab a cab. He instructed me to wait while he hailed one down, saying that he can tell by the look on their face if they are a good person or not. In the dark, I waited while this young man talked to an older taxi driver. As I got in, he gave me a hand- shake and wished me a happy trip. Wow. If only more people were as nice as him! I asked him what his name was; he said Jorge. How ironic.

I was given the price of 25 Cordobas, while is actually the cheapest I have ever taken a taxi for in Managua, ever. Even riding from this station to the girl’s home with a local, I have paid at least double this. I was just flabbergasted and surprised that I was not lied to or cheated by someone in Managua. I arrived at the girl’s home and was greeted with hugs and kisses. Those girls just bring me so much energy and love. It doesn’t matter how long I have been in their lives; they still accept me and treat me like an older sister while I am there.

I left the home at 4 am the next day, having to be at the airport at 4:30am for my 6am flight. I decided it was better to take the earliest flight, in order to enjoy a FULL day in Bluefields. I didn’t really know what to expect…this would be a new experience for me.

The airport was full of other foreigners, mostly traveling to Corn Islands. I was not impressed by the service at the counter. First off, the woman hardly smiled and she told the man that my bag was going to Corn Islands! If I hadn’t picked this up with my half-asleep ears, my bags would have gone to Corn Islands and by the time I would get them back, my vacation would be over. Then, I was given a large plastic card with Bluefields printed on it and a little ticket.

I made my way through the crowds to the place where they scan your bag: I was told that I first had to visit the little window where you pay an exit fee. Gosh, nothing is communicated here! I also found out that the little ticket was my bag identification. Once I put my bag through and after a second inspection, I paid double the price I normally would for a juice and waited my turn to board. I watched the people file into this little waiting room. I could see the large plastic boarding tickets and noticed that many of the foreigners were going to Corn Islands and those who definitely looked like an African American were headed to Bluefields. Some man carrying a pistol started to talk to me and I felt uncomfortable, so I directed my attention to my book…

The plane was a little late to board, but Bluefields was finally called. I gave my plastic ticket to the man and we walked through the lines of planes, all small. My heart started to throb…was I going crazy? At this moment, I remembered a friend telling me about her experience on a small plane from Miami headed to Cuba; it had run out of gas and had to make an emergency landing. Well, these planes leave all the time and I would be fine, I assured myself. Plus, it wasn’t like we were crossing the ocean or anything.

The plane had 12 seats, first come first serve. The luggage was loaded in the back and I was seated second to last, however, I could still see over the pilots shoulder, something I wasn’t sure that comforted or scared me. Like a helicopter, the blades started turning at the front and we got in line. As the plane was so small, that when it reached full speed, it was literally floating into the sky. We gained velocity and my stomach churned as the plane lifted into the air. I was a little worried about how high we would be climbing, as this plane was tiny!

One thing I love about traveling by plane is the birds-eye view. I looked out at Managua behind me, which seemed like a small city from this perspective. Pretty soon, Lake Nicaragua was in full view, spread out like an endless ocean, only dirtier. It was amazing how irregular the line of the lake was: little curves and inlets and even rivers decorated the lake. I saw the river that connects Lake Managua to Lake Nicaragua! I saw the little islands of Granada but not Ometepe Island. For what seemed like 40 minutes, the lake was in full view, reminding me how grand it is.

The landscape started to change around 10 minutes to departure: the landscape became greener and hillier and I saw tons of rivers. Perhaps one of these rivers was the one that connects Rama to Bluefields. The rivers looked like curvy painted lines amongst a landscape very thick with greenery; it was breathtaking. About 5 minutes to departure, I saw the Atlantic Ocean! Gosh, so much water! First the Pacific Ocean, then the lakes and rivers, and now the Atlantic Coast, all within an hour! The bay stretched out before me, more irregular than the bay of San Juan. When we landed, it was rainy and cloudy. The name Bluefields makes sense: lots of water and green fields make up the landscape.

There were no other planes landing at the airport and the place was deserted and as it was only 7: 30am, the sun was still hiding. My friend was waiting for me and we loaded a taxi car with no back. Old Church Street, my friend told the man. Here, directions are based on streets. You say the street, not the landmark, and from there dictate your direction.

I was led through very uneven terrain and saw shanty homes dotting the green grass. The sidewalks were all torn up and many people were walking. The only beautiful things were the colorful homes, all in bright colors and the green landscape, prominent here. The people were still sleeping, cousins of my friend. I was a little uncomfortable, as I really didn’t know anyone. In fact, these Nicaraguans were just so kind and invited me in as if I was family. Taking some time to look around the home, it was just like a typical Nicaraguan home, only a few changes: the water came from a well and therefore there was no running water for bathroom, shower, or washing dishes. Everything was done with still water. Every morning, the man of the home filled large containers for the bathroom and kitchen and cleaning was accomplished by throwing water in a pan over your body or dirty dishes. It was a new concept for me. In the volunteer home, there is at least running water, something I now have learned to appreciate. The other very remarkable impression was the colorful decorations inside the home: I felt like I had stepped inside my grandma’s home! The ceilings were lined with plastic fruits on string and the walls filled with pictures. The curtains and couches clashed with bright orange and pink fabrics. It was almost overload! The refrigerator was lined with a million magnets too. I felt like whoever decorated this home really likes colors! Even the table had clashing table -cloths!

The family was very nice, and they were definitely ethnically different, yet typical of this part of the country. Their names were something out of a tribal book, Keidal, Keiber, and some others I can’t remember. I honestly couldn’t comprehend that they too were Nicaraguans and that I was still in Nicaragua as well! I felt like I was either in Africa, the Caribbean islands, or a poor neighborhood of New York City. The family spoke Creole English, a very strange language I couldn’t understand. The language is full of life and the people there are not afraid to speak loud. Even the way of dressing was typical of this type of people: short shorts and skinny form-fitting shirts that show off the body. The more jewelry the better and things like tags, large tennis shoes, and baggy pants are in. As it was still rainy, I had to wait until mid -day for a tour. I was shown my room: a typical Nicaraguan room with a tin roof and very small. The door was made of cheap wood and only shut with a pin. While we waited, I saw the small backyard and the litter of smelly yet incredibly cute puppies the family was holding. And, to my surprise, two naked children! The neighbor kids were running around with no clothes on!

When the sun came out 20 minutes later, it was already hot out. My friend gave me a tour of the city, something I was very excited about! In my mind, I had pictured a city on a hill, with people wearing skirts and tank tops decorated with paint and bullhorns around the ankles. I also had the image of lots of sensual dancing around a pole, as the month of May is the Palo de Mayo festivities. Well, my image couldn’t be further from the truth. The people wore regular clothing, yet the women really liked to wear short shorts. Creole was around me and many people enjoyed the city on foot. Almost everyone I saw had the burly black hair and large lips, typical of this type of people. What was the most beautiful were their eyes and confidence. Their features were also very strong.

After five minutes of walking on the uneven sidewalks, filled with many dangers such as holes and cracks, we were in the city center, not so pretty. I would say that Bluefields had the size of Granada and is easily accessible by foot. However, I reminded myself that this was a city scarred by lots of drug trafficking and a few hurricanes and it showed.

The city center was nothing but a market, some ports, and many stores, all-colorful in their own way. My friend led me to the water, which smelled of fish and was dirty with trash. The port had lots of types of boats: pangas with motors that held 16 people, wooden boats meant to carry 4 people and perhaps some platanos, and large ferries, that went to Corn Islands and another small island, which is known for drugs.

There was nothing that I really needed to do, except buy a dress, food for the meal I would be cooking, and check into trips to Pearl Lagoon and the organic coffee farm my friend in MN started. I used the afternoon to rest and plan the rest of my days here in Bluefields.

We decided that a trip to Pearl Lagoon would require leaving on one day and coming back on the next. So instead, we arranged a trip to the organic coffee farm on Saturday, a family party on Sunday and leaving back to the other coast on Monday. Although things were tight, time seemed to take its time in Bluefields. Perhaps, it was because there was not a lot to do.

After walking through the market at least three times, visiting the ocean and bay, and passing the city center back and forth, Bluefields started to seem very comfortable. The only gringos I saw were 5, all headed to the dock for Corn Island. I spent a lot of time on the rocking chairs of the family, watching ethnically different people pass by, speaking in a language that was foreign to me. Although English, I could not catch a word of it! I enjoyed doing what many Nicaraguans do: sit back on their chairs and people watch and talk and have coffee.

Pretty soon, it was time for the evening activities. Since the family doesn’t eat until at least 8pm, the party didn’t get started until at least 10pm. We walked down the familiar path to the city center, about a 5 -minute walk. Oasis, a casino stood out from the rest of the beaten places. But, as it was still early, we walked to the church, a place that always makes me feel comfortable. The church was very impressive, standing tall and white with stained glass windows. Inside were 5 people practicing for the coming days. Just the sight of this masterpiece really made me feel comfortable, even amidst the rain that came. It was like a presence that cooled and rejuvenated my body. After the terrible heat, the rain was like a cleansing to the land.

After a little while, as it was later, we decided to go back to the nightlife. The other popular disco was open, standing tall and very pink. Once inside, I saw that it was full of hippies the men with long, braided hair, some smoking joints. It was like being in a totally different world. Even the music was different, not the usual regaetton. I liked the happy feeling the music gave me. Later, I found out it was soca music, a happier version to the heavy beat regaetton that I am accustomed to. The people out on the dance floor were really hitting the moves: there was a lot of hip popping, right in tune with every pop in the music. One girl was amazing, popping like a popper. The other area of the body these people liked to use a lot was their butt. I had so much fun watching these people dance and have the best time. After about an hour, I decided to go back, as we had to rest for the trip to the organic coffee farm the next day. We took a taxi back, but one that had a back end this time.

We were to meet David at the Santa Rosa Bridge, one of many bridges. Arriving, he guessed that I was the Michele on the phone, the only gringo present. He led me over the bridge, through a path lined with poor homes and lots of trash and into a non-distinct wooden boat with a tiny motor. This was no Venice, with its romantic bridges, canales, and artistic and majestic boats. Rather, it was quite dirty, filled with trash.

We putted out into Bluefields Bay. Smoke from burning trash, homes scattered amongst the docks with colorful clothing hanging from the lines, and lots of faces of people all staring at us became my memories of the first part of the journey. The waves were not so strong at first, just little puts. As we cleared the highway, lined with light-poles guiding the way out into the ocean blue, we started to gain speed. The waves grew and grew. David threw a plastic tarp our way. I actually didn’t mind getting wet; it actually felt good. However, being squired in the eye with water wasn’t so pleasant. After 20 minutes of great views of the way, the airport, and lots of green hills amidst cloudy skies, we reached our secluded far away destiny. With a wet bottom, I got out of the boat and was led up a huge green hill A very friendly staff greeted me with a cup of coffee and a rocking chair. My friend, Carol Bidon, bought property here and together with a team, is preparing this land to be a luxurious bed and breakfast/organic farm called Green Hill. It wasn’t opened up, but I was allowed a private tour. Once at the top, the views were magnificent. They don’t call this city Bluefields for nothing…. Lot’s of water and hills definitely matched the name. I actually felt I was in the Garden of Eden, on a hill. This was a very nice change from the filthy city that I didn’t find so pleasant. I would never live in Bluefields, but I could definitely live on this farm.

The journey back was better, as we took the river road. The journey through the mangrove trees reminded me of my journey through the island of Granada, Las Isletas. I didn’t see any moneys or alligators, but I was told they exist. The river spitted out into the bay and we saw the same things: lots of starring faces. I don’t know if it was me, the fact that I was a foreigner in Bluefields, or the boat. We got out and walked back to the home. Just as we got to the home, we passed a group of baseball players, dirty with mud and sweat. It was wrong of me to take a photo, because one of them started to yell at me in Misquito, a language I do not know at all. My friend later told me that the people here speak loud. What is just normal conversation may seem like shouting. The night was filled with card playing and TV.


I awakened to the most beautiful sound. No, it wasn’t the roosters singing this time. Rather, loud gospel music filled my ears. It was a Sunday for sure. It was like food for my soul. The family party was today! This was the big social event of the week. The family got dressed in their best clothes. The husband and wife and their little 8 -month rode in the motto while the brother and my friend and I rode in the taxi. I do not know why they insisted in riding in a taxi when we could have walked…I guess they were afraid of their own city, during the day. Take rides in this city usually cost between 10 and 20 Cordons, depending on where you are going. The airport ride is 30 Cordobas.

The home was like any home in Nicaragua: basic, small, a porch, garden, TV with a mantle around it, and tiled floors. The news was filled with this influenza breakout. Luckily, there were no cases in Nicaragua so far. The kids were running around while I was drilled on my politics. Of all topics, I was told never to discuss politics with a Nicaraguan. However, this guy didn’t seem to mind at all, In fact, that is all he wanted to talk about. I soon became bored and directed my attention to the children. I liked them…this thought I was Latina.

The evening was spent watching TV, a common activity here. It rained again. And, more card playing in the evening. In the wee hours of the morning, I left Monday.

Arriving at the port, this time not just to look, we got out our tickets. They were purchased the day before in conjunction with the bus ticket from Rama. The boat ride cost 200 Cordobas and the bus from Rama 150 Cordoba. Not bad. The only problem here is that it doesn’t matter if you have purchased a ticket. If the boat doesn’t fill up, it won’t leave until it does. We were lucky, as there were a ton of people. It was scheduled to leave at 8am. Before we left, the security team checked the luggage and you waited your turn. When the boat and time was called, you loaded up, first come first serve for seats. All luggage was put in the front, held down with a rope and secured with a tarp. You were given a life jacket and expected to wear it. About 16 people loaded in. The boat was slow going out through the highway built into the bay. We passed the light-poles until we were practically out into the ocean. At a split second, we turned left to head through the Escondido River. This is where we picked up lots of speed. The ride was so much fun! At full speed, the wind was with you and when you passed other boats, you battled waves. I would have paid for this ride even if I weren’t traveling to Rama. It reminded me of the many boat rides I took as a child on my grandfather’s boat.

After about an hour through the winding river, we arrived in the even uglier city of Rama. The last off the boat, we were stopped by the police. As I was obviously a foreigner with a Nicaraguan, I was suspicious, after having been in the land of drugs/Bluefields. They checked my cell phone contacts, looked through my bag that I packed ever so neatly, and studied my passport photo from 4 years ago, which didn’t look anything like me. After about 20 minutes and many questions, they finally let me go. And, they let me go just in time as the 10:30am bus into Managua was waiting for us. I hate being the matter of suspicion. However, many other people are targeted all the time for their race.

Looking out the bus window in Rama, I was so glad that I flew to Bluefields. Had a taken the night bus from Managua at 9pm, I would have arrived into Rama at 3am and forced to sleep in the bus terminal until 5am, the first panga.

On the map, Rama looks like a long journey into Managua. With no bathroom or TV, it would have been easy to be bored. However, I had a companion. This helped, as well as being placed in the first row for motion sickness. The road was well paved and the bus at AC, so it wasn’t so bad of a journey. Plus, it made 3 stops, one of them for lunch.

Arriving into Managua around 3pm into Mayoreo Market, we took at 40 Cordoba taxi into UCA. The journey was not so bad! That evening, as I was stuck in town unable to get into Rivas, I bought a dress for the quinceanera celebration the next weekend.

Reflecting on my trip to Bluefields, I was glad I visited. However, I would have never visited on my own and only for a few short days. There is nothing to do but study the people, eat some strange food, visit the markets and docks, or visit Pearl Lagoon and Corn Islands. I am glad I had a family to show me the real life there. However, even I was bored after three days. It is meant to be a city in passing. I would recommend visiting Green Hill, once it is opened in 2010. The place will hook you up for the night and feed you. However, it will be on the pricey end and it is meant more for married couples, being a bed and breakfast. However, I would visit just for the views.

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Photos

Da boys
Casa Padre Wasson. With the pulvo, I need my glasses

I'm So Tuanis
Yeah, Marlon, you are pretty tough.
Casa Padre Wasson

Dennis
Reflecting on the Bible passage. For many, this is the first time looking up a Bible passage on their own and reflecting on what THEY think it means...

Traffic in Jinotepe
Upon starting on our journey to the chapel, we passed traffic

Empty riverbed
Journeying through paradise, and on faith, we trekked to the little chapel in the woods
Cerca de Jinotepe

Boarding Passes
Instead of paper, they use reusable plastic!

Lake Nicaragua!
We flew over Lake Nicaragua for 3/4 of the 1 hour plane ride

I made it!
I arrive in Bluefields on a cold, rainy morning

Hmmm
Not my idea of a beautiful town, but interesting none the less

Built On Water
Well, they don't call it BLUEfields for nothin. From here, one goes to Rama, Pearl Lagoon, and Corn Islands

The people
They look different, talk different, and dress different, yet they are Nicaraguan!!

Green Hill Resort
My friend, Carol, from MN Project Leon, started this bed and breakfast in Bluefields, where her husband is from

Getting to Green Hill
The secret rivers of Bluefields hold alligators: beware!

Poverty Striken
The people in Bluefields are among some of the poorest; this town is drug-ridden

Boat taxi to Rama
The only way to Bluefields is via plane or boat from Rama to Bluefields. But, it's like a fun boat ride, complete with waves.

Comments

[caracola]

Nice
I have ben looking at pictures from bluefield and corn island i have some plan to visit there soon I like to experience other places i come from and island as well and so far i lke what i see in the island

[Betty]

heyy
i was born in Bluefields, and now i moved 2 new york a few years ago. i miss bluefields and these pics reminded me of back home. i soon go back down there thou.

[Nabiha Glennon]

Green Hills/Bluefields
Very interesting blog. I was born in Bluefields, but have not been back since 1979. I want to take my children to visit but have no family or friends left in Bluefields. We are going in August 2010 and would like to know if you could share your friend's Carol Biden's number/ email address. We would be really interested in staying at her farm. Thanks for the info.

[Carol Bidon]

Mic helle, Imagine, I am just now reading this great article! I am still not open--but am still trying to do so...the recession hit me hard and I have not yet recovered. I am thrilled with you reaction to the Coast and Bluefields. Let me know what you are doing now. Carol Also, I would love to get in touch with Nabiha Glennon (see her April 4th comment below.).