La casa amarilla

May 21, 2012


Phew...what a long day. We got started at around 7:45. I had collapsed exhausted and sweaty, despite just taking a quick shower, into my bed at the hostel around 11 but kept waking up in the middle of night due to a) my tetchy biological clock b) the cat mewing outside c) weird monkey screeching noises that intermittently filtered through our window, and d) the unusually early sunrise. I was a little sad to leave the hostel, even after one night: 

A view of the central park in front of the yellow church, a popular tourist site that I pass every day on the way to Spanish class.

View from the second floor of the Spanish school, el Palacio Mundial.

La Iglesia Merced, still exhibiting burn marks from William Walker's revengeful exit from Granada. 

The hostel was beautiful at night. The open air courtyard became a gathering spot for all the students in the program, and we spent a few hours trading brain teasers and riddles, while a Spanish-speaking group next to us became steadily drunker and louder. We got our luggage sorted, and headed out for an amazing breakfast at a small cafe. The women serving us was incredibly nice and was spoke slowly, understanding that our listening comprehension wasn’t exactly up to par.

Beans with rice, scrambled eggs, maderas (fried, sweet plantains), a wonderful salad with avocado, and my favorite, a chilled glass of melon juice. I’m not sure how much sugar was added (Nicaraguans love their drinks extra sweet - mica was another favorite drink) but I went ahead and ordered two glasses. I think I’m constantly dehydrated here. 

Then came the boring part: about three hours of orientation information, which effectively meant sitting around in a stifling hot room in the English school across from the Cathedral. I’ve noted this before, but Nicaraguan houses (especially the fancier ones) all have very narrow or low-slung facades, which belie the vast spaces that they are entrances to. After entering the small wrought iron doors of the English school, we entered into a sumptuously decorated atrium with two stories and balconies (though if you looked the closer, the paint was chipped and uneven, with some of the woodwork looking in need of repair). 

The atrium of the school

After orientation, we went to a buffet type joint next door and then onto our Spanish evaluations a Nicaragua Mía, a small Spanish tutoring place a few blocks down. At this point it suddenly started pouring, and of course, I had packed both my umbrella and rain jacket in my suitcase. Still, the hustle and bustle on the streets (the Spanish tutoring place was right next to a busy market section) continued. The markets, our tutor warned us, are a prime place to be robbed and probably one of the most unsafe places in Granada, next to the lakeside of Lake Granada. Still, I highly enjoyed seeing the goods people were selling, how aggressive some people were (some man carrying a basket of cheese on his head, confronted each of us individually, asking “DO YOU WANT CHEESE”), and how savvy some others appeared to be (una cambista, the people who will exchange currencies for us, seemed to have near perfect English). 

Spanish evaluations began easy; our test asked us basic questions about verb tenses and vocabulary. I quickly realized however, that my Spanish oral and aural fluency were not quite up to the level that I desired, especially in comparison to a few of the people in my tutoring group. While I’m decent at writing, because it gives me a lot of time to think everything through, conversational Spanish seems beyond me at this point. I have to not only process what is being said to me (which is often beyond my concentration abilities; as soon as I lose focus, Spanish begins to sound like a lot of staccato-ed gibberish), formulate an intelligent response, and then fit that into the grammatical rules and vocabulary of Spanish. At this point, I’m despairing of the fact that I’ll ever be fluent in Spanish. I can’t even understand half of what my home stay mother is saying to me! 

My home stay is super nice, however. Unfortunately, I’m not very close to the home stays of other people, but the house I’m staying in is very nice compared to the average standard of living. My home stay mother is named Racquel and her two small boys are absolutely adorable. Horacio is the older one, I think, and he just snuck around a lot, making faces and coughing. Edgar is in the second grade and SO CUTE AND CHUBBY. We played soccer and volleyball for quite a bit, during which I slipped and fell on my butt (“nalgas,” or buttocks, as Edgar taught me). The small gifts I had brought for the family were seemingly well received. The house is a wonderful bright yellow color and quite large. I have my own room with a fan, and the house is furnished rather nicely. Interestingly, all Nicaraguan homes and buildings are open air. The center of the house is always an open air courtyard, usually with a garden, around which the rest of the rooms are oriented. Surprisingly, Nicaraguans are able to keep their houses very clean and tidy despite being open to the elements. I told my home stay mother that the layout of the house reminded me a lot of the open air atriums in Roman villas...I hope that came across as a compliment. 

Oh, there was also (surprisingly) another study abroad girl named Marisol who is staying here, though for how long I don’t know. She’s from Quebec, speaks French, but can understand English. We’ve done a pretty good job of conversing in Spanish instead of being tempted by our mutually more familiar of English. She’s going to teach at the local school and spent the past few days in San Juan del Sur, a beachside city, where she was teaching in a surf camp. 

A typical street, on the way to spanish classes.

My first impression of the house was one of business. Racquel has hired help, but they seem to be part of the family. Grace (I’m not sure what her role is) and her mother were here, and a few aunts and cousins also stopped by. I had an interesting dinner of fried cornmeal tortilla with bean paste and cheese, accompanied by squeezed mango juice, and then we were off to a concert being held at the neighborhood school (one of around thirty, I’m told). The singing was, frankly, terrible, and no one really seemed to be paying attention. I was fascinated by the complete lack of separation of church and state. The entire concert was dedicated to the Virgin Mary, who the largely Christian Nicaraguans consider a saint. At one end of the open air courtyard in the middle of the school was a huge image of the Virgin, on whose altar each grade placed red roses after they finished singing. 

Now I’m back here, typing away. Some things that I’ve observed about myself today: it’s okay to be pretty aggressive and forthright when interacting with people. However, I’ve found myself confounded by the Spanish spoken here. As I’ve said before, I’ve lost hope of achieving fluency, simply because of how hard it is even to comprehend what is being said, very slowly and patiently I might add, to me. In addition, I worry that I’m too shy, that I don’t engage or take on every opportunity to interact with my home stay family or that I’m not as curious as I should be. Then again, too much worrying with only create self-fulfilling prophecies. Hasta mañana!