Wednesday, February 10, 2010
We struggled to retain a grip on reality as we ended our tour of Henry's tiny village and returned to his house. Everyone we met was very friendly; As in friendly like they were more concerned with the disposition and eventual destination of our everlasting souls and could give a rat's ass about us apart from that. So the ladies had prepared a big spread while we were walking, and though we longed for the cool embrace of the ocean, we felt obligated to eat. These are poor country folks with no electricity, no running water, no cars, nada fucking mucho. So when the women lay out a spread of mystery meat and homemade bread and beans and rice, you eat, regardless of how hungry you are or the fact that you are currently tripping balls. So as we ate, a wiry little dude walks up (pictured playing guitar with Paul in part 1) shouting Dios! Dios! Dios!. Fucking great, the preacher. He's over the moon with the two whiteys with biblical names right in his backyard. He asks me if I want to talk about the Word of God, and I reply, "No, I don't." The little man is dumbfounded, and Aura quickly informs me that I actually said "I don't believe in your sky god." The little dude is truly speechless and retreats to the corner where he proceeds to gossip quite loudly with the womenfolk about how sad we are. Well, an already uncomfortable situation has been made all the worse by a little communication fiasco. All these women and the preacher and Henry and a couple other dudes are looking at us like we each sprouted 7 heads. We all just kinda stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, until finally Henry picks up a guitar and strums a bit. Paul quickly picks his up, and they sorta strum along together. The preacher slinks over and the next thing we know, the boys take turns playing and singing all kinds of churchy songs in Espanole. The Preacher is a mean guitar player as well, so we sit there for over an hour while the women sing and clap and exhort us to change our wicked ways. The preacher, unawares that Aura practically speaks more Spanish than he does, whispers to his congregation that he will "have us" before another hour is out. Not fucking likely. I'm watching the sweat bead up on Milner's face as he struggles to play through the pain this is obviously causing him. Finally, we conclude that we have performed admirably, and Aura informs the group that everything has been wonderful but we really MUST be going. Due to the music, things weren't quite as awkward anymore, and we leave relatively unmolested. Although we discover that Paul's favorite sticker on his guitar case, a gem that reads "keep music evil", is missing! No joke! The sticker is gone.....Trippy, to say the least. We immediately head to the store and begin pounding beers. All in all, a truly interesting and uncomfortable experience I wouldn't trade for the world.
I'm tossing and turning in bed tonight 'cause my shoulders are killing me and this mattress is soft like concrete. Relentless surfing is starting to take a toll on the body. Anyway, while pissing away the night I uncovered an interesting fact on the interweb. Namely, today - 2/11 - is Burt Reynold's B-day. Burt, since we gave Aura a picture of you on her birthday, seems only fitting that we give you a picture of her: Here she is giving you the thumbs up!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
As posted earlier, we've naturally befriended all that come within a 40 kilometer diametre of our Can of Lard. Our buddy Henry, a local boy and our guard at the Coco compound, is a great guitar player. He plays the local genre, which is all 3-3 timing. He can make the guitar sing. Sweet melodies and interesting runs up the neck keeps us interested.
I've lent him my guitar a couple of times. He would take it home, about a 12km bike ride, into the jungle. For this simple favor he has been super friendly and most appreciative. He has asked to buy my guitar or have me donate it to his church. I can't do it because it's my only acoustic, one that my family bought me long ago. And sorry churchy people, I think the church, whatever denomination, are blowing it and the dark side has it's benefit's too.
So Henry - being a quality guy - invites us to his home. He lives in the jungle close to the coast, down a burly road with giant old growth trees and cattle patches. We eat some acid and mushrooms which we had smuggled into Nicaragua, against all common sense and guide book advice. We arrive. We meet some of his family, then go on tour into the woods to check out the sights and meet the rest of family, which, as it turns out, is the entire village. We see Howler Monkeys, which is delightful, because I can now communicate with them. I've trained one to get me a beer from the fridge, and another is now our driver. We also ran into a 3 toed Slough. He just smiled. Just like us...the trip was starting. Armando rolled on by with his mighty team of yoked up oxen, he carried the biggest chicken I've ever seen on the side of a belt strap. He told us that is particular chicken was a descendant of the most vicious fighter in all of the country. His name was Clubber Lange. While telling us stories of Clubber's greatest fights and that of his ancestors, the sky turned a blood red and thunder shook the ground. We knew the Beach Witch was close......
Janjaweeeeeddddd!....This image encapsulates the rum fueled vibe a couple nights back. Our merry band of heathens joined forced with a neighboring cabal of degenerates from the great Canadian North. Together we decided a wild night in town was in order. These boys are an interesting and well traveled lot, many of whom work white collar jobs abroad, as in Yemen or Saudi Arabia. They were understandably a bit leery about our drunken enthusiasm for nighttime high speed travel on poorly maintained dirt roads. "People get robbed" they said. Yeah, other people, not us, we replied. "If you get in an accident you will be responsible" they whined. Get in the fucking car and hold tight, we said! We stacked the land cruiser 7 deep and proceeded to town. As we rounded a curve a couple K's from the casa, the wheels came off. Not figuratively, literally......as in, the rear fucking wheel spun right the hell off and we were driving -skidding- on brake drum, till we ground to a stop on a downhill curve. Kind of a buzzkill. Our tiny jack was insufficient for the job, so we began to stack rocks and boulders trying to lift the vehicle enough to get the wheel back on. Short story long, a nice fellow came along with a second jack, Milner somehow found most of our lug nuts strewn out along the road behind us, and we managed to limp home a couple hours later. There was no pillaging that night. We licked our wounds and bided our time. Oh, and we got a new ride.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
We have been remiss in our blog duties! Please excuse our absence over the last couple days as things have been pretty hectic. In fact, we have much to report: a Christian evangelical revival featuring Milner on guitar (seriously); The wheel coming off our ride necessitating a skidded stop on the brake drum; Outstanding surfing progress; and last but certainly not least, the arrival of much needed reinforcements bringing us up to full fighting strength! All will be covered in due time! For now, though, just a quick note about Bob's B-day (Feb. 6), which we celebrated on the beach at a surfside reggae bar. Bob is truly the global icon of our time. I was reminded of this again last night as we chilled at the reggae bar, groovin to Marley videos. Lotsa locals enjoying the vibe along with the requisite gringo contingent of smelly Euros and vain Americans. On our beach, people from many nations and backgrounds gathered to groove, one more time, to a man long dead in body but clearly still vital in spirit. Last night, in South America, Africa, Europe, and even Asia, people gathered to pay their respects. Anywhere there is sand, surf and mellow times- or conversely - war, oppression and strife, his voice can be found! Here's to you Mr. Marley!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Rough roads shook us like no other tonight. Thanks to the BeJesus i heard the sweet sounds of REO Speedwagon to set my mind and rattled bones at ease. We drank a scrumptious concoction of rum and fruit mixed with rum and listed to power ballads in a cheezy little seaside bar. The sun went down.
Out of nowhere, with 02 seconds left on the clock, I decided to step up to the 3 point line and let 'er sail! Like a sky beast, Kareem launched from the shadows, beer in hand, and floated across the lane to soundly rejected my 3 point effort. For this Kareem will die!!! We met a woman who was poisoned by scorpions; we were not impressed, and proceeded to tell her thus. Afterall, we had felt the wrath of an angry stingray! The night deterioated from there. (Note to self: Morning rations of rum are ill advised!)
The decision was made right away. Abandon ship! We continued, Stagger Lee style, down the cobbled streets, searching for a friendly face or funky rythm or the chuka chuka of a reggae guitar. Clearly we are on the right track....
The FJ40 skidded a U, and we rallied down the costal boulevard, also know as cow trail. Cliff, El Hefe, burped a warning. We were taken aback, for this is the first burp in a the E tone that we've heard. Flatulence? No!
The cieling is tall, yet the rooms are small, and as I sleep, somebody creeps.....the rum is killed, the beer is swilled, the song is played, and we will live again..... tomorrow!
The battle between the 2 southpaws was an epic one. Both were vying for the right to inhabit our front porch and reap the tastiness of our carne leftovers! Since they are both missing their right claws, I'm guessing they are evenly matched warriors or offspring from the same inbred seabeast!
So today is the day when the rum consumption continues! We've made a tally and our sweet liquor tooth has downed 6 litre's of the finest Nicaragua has to offer! Down here rum is cheaper than water, so rum it is! We're heading to the big city of San Juan del Sur today for birthday festivities. Living 17km's away from town, down the knarliest dirt road, driving a beat up, somewhat sketchy, 1970's Landcruiser, with no suspension, makes one not want to venture into civilization to often. Ahhhh, livin' in the boonies is a good time!
I will leave this blog with a lovely picture of the harbour in SJDS, with my new boat, on which I will be hosting drunken nude yoga and various games of 'Hijack that Boat'! All the best!