San Juan del Sur
The drawback of living in a small town is the concept of walking on eggshells to protect one’s reputation. I cannot write about some of my experiences because it will take less than two days for word to get back to the subject of my rants, even if they don’t speak a word of English.
As an example, a few days ago I asked my Spanish instructor about a vendor who sells something that sounds like “lecheria.” He rides around in a bicycle cart screaming, “hay la lecheria” or something to the effect. I was told it was a milk/yogurt concoction. I asked the woman who gave me a pedicure later that day (for $3) if this concoction was sweet. “Si!” she said. The next morning, the vendor stopped outside my house and in a loud voice crooned whatever it is he is saying. It sounds like la lecheria, so I am going with that until someone corrects me. It was kind of odd because he actually stopped and yelled into the window, something he had never done before. I was still in bed, so no sale. He came by the next day and waited in front of the door, but I wasn’t dressed. He stopped by yesterday and I finally purchased this product, which tastes like rotten sour cream and is definitely not sweet. One bite was all it took for me to realize that I don’t like it and will never have a taste for it, but that’s not the reason for writing this. It struck me that all I had to do was mention my curiosity as to what this man was selling for word to get back to him so that he made a point of stopping by my house in the morning.
Yesterday was the Procesion de la Virgen del Carmen. Carmen is the Patron Saint of the Fisherman. The icon, was the same plastic mannequin of Mary and the baby Jesus used in the Purisimas (Immaculate Conception Celebration) in December. I am not sure why they didn’t use the plastic woman (sin baby Jesus) used in the Virgen del Carmen celebration last month. Maybe she was injured during the frenetic ceremony, or maybe she was hit by bombas. You know how crazy those Virgin Festivals can be!
There was a slight misunderstanding as to the time of the procession of the virgin’s route to the water, so we missed the actual ceremony. As the parade passed by my house (the second one of the day, the first one had taken place at 5:45 a.m.), I ran outside to – yes, of course - snap some photos. I marched in the parade for a while, but I didn’t continue to the end as I thought the procession on the boats took place in the evening. (That info came from my Spanish instructor.) As soon as I returned from the parade, Rob told me about the bullfight in the arena. Logic would have it that maybe these two big events would occur at different times of the day. After viewing the bullfight, I could understand why these two events were simultaneous. The church wants to keep the drunken men away from the virgins!
I have been to the Houston Rodeo three times, but nothing prepared me for the San Juan del Sur bullfights. It’s an actuary’s worst nightmare.
First of all, it’s not like the bullfights in Spain. No animals are gored. They are not injured. Any injury to the bull would be death by boredom. Most of the bulls were Brahmas, which have a huge hump of flesh above the rib cage. I don’t think there has ever been a rodeo with Brahmas because they are about as exciting as oxen in the ring.
The ring in this case was a large fenced in “arena” and most people either sat on top of the fences or peered in from behind the fence. If you see the pictures, you’ll understand. Another thing that differs from most rodeos/bullfights are the soda and cotton candy vendors who walk around inside the ring, sometimes during the actual fight.
The matadors are a group of seemingly random men and teenage boys who volunteer to taunt the bull. After each bullfight, they stop for a cerveza break. Some were stumbling toward by the middle of the festivities.
Unlike the United States, there are no liability issues, so when the call when out, “Who wants to ride a bull?” throngs of teenage boys desperate to show off their machismo ran into the ring and cued up for riding duty. There is no one to sue of you are stupid enough to ride a bull. “Splat!” Gee, sorry your head cracked open. Better luck next time. The crowd seemed to be cheering for the bulls, not the men.
I shouldn’t kid about that because one man did get thrown from the bull and knocked himself unconscious. The arena is strewn with rocks, candy wrappers, and soft drink containers. It was bizarre to watch people toss their litter into the ring.
One bull was so desperate to get out of the ring and back to his friends in the pen that he gored part of the holding pen gate. Some bulls were bored to the point they slowly sauntered directly to the to the exit gate, refusing to buck and ignoring the taunts by the amateur matadors. A few made some efforts to chase the drunken men around the ring, but it was more like professional wrestling, all for show. One man was gently slammed against the fence, but he crawled under the fence and walked away.
In a moment of unintended irony, a man pointed out my choice in T-shirts, a Face Up to Animal Population logo on the front, and “Citizens for Animal Protection” on the back. I wasn’t trying to make a statement when I put the shirt on that day.
Probably ninety percent of the rodeo/bullfight participants and viewers were drunk, the exception being small children who were themselves on a sugar high from the slurpee-like concoctions sold inside and outside of the arena. I think it must be the alcohol that made the men brazen enough to constantly point to the large testicles and the occasionally displayed penis of the bulls, telling me to take photos of such a grand specimen. Lots of men made these comments to me. It wasn’t worth saying, “I’ve seen bigger” (on bulls at the Houston Rodeo or elephants in Zimbabwe) because that would open up an uncomfortable conversation with a group of drunken perverts.
The celebration started Friday night, with non-stop bombas until 2 a.m. The bombas started up again about two and a half hours later, around 4:45 a.m. and continued throughout most of the day. The evening was strangely quiet. There was a celebration in the evening across from the Hotel Estrella where hundreds of people milled about drinking beer and listening to loud, obnoxious Latin techno with a way too heavy bass and reverb. No bombas, though. Those were resurrected this morning, before and after church services. They interpret God as a gunpowder freak. The gatos are getting used to the sounds of the bombas and no longer hide in the closet or under the bed when explosions rock the village. Good thing, as there will be plenty of explosions on Tuesday, which is National Liberation Day. My first non-religious holiday in Nicaragua!
It wasn’t until this morning that we realized the procession was in the afternoon. We asked some men at the rodeo what time the procession was to take place and they said 7 o’clock. (They were drunk, but there were no sober people to offer assistance.) We went down to the beach but saw no sign of activity. At 8 o’clock when the evening party began, we waited and waited. We asked several people when the procession would begin and it was “mas tarde”. In hindsight, I realize they were drunk and/or telling me, “You’re too late.” We figured the event ran on Nica time or the master of ceremonies was the man knocked unconscious in the bullring. At 11 p.m., we stumbled home, sleeping soundly for lack of bombas.
This morning I purchased my first CD from a street vendor: Lo mejor y actual de by Mana. It cost 25 cordobas ($1.50) and given the price you can naturally assume it is a knock off. I believe this is the first illegal copy I have ever purchased, but when I find an actual music store in Rivas, Granada, or Managua, I will buy the genuine article. Artists should be fairly compensated for their work, even if it means enriching some of the slimy characters (and their drug habits) employed by the record companies.
I first heard Mana’s music playing at a bar a few blocks away. (Okay, everything is just a few blocks away here.) I was a little buzzed at the time, but I seem to recall the lead guitarist and vocalist being kind of hot, too, though that makes no difference in my music taste. I would never see a band just because I thought one of the musicians was cute, but it is always an added bonus when they are aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. Mana’s music is kind of like the Gypsy Kings mixed with Dave Matthews mixed with reggae mixed with a little Peruvian flute mixed with Sting and Michael Bolton. I’m sure I’ve offended someone with that characterization and if so, I do apologize. The album I am listening to right now is an eclectic mix of sound; funk, rock and easy listening. It’s very cool and I highly recommend it for those looking for something a little different to add to their collection of classic rock.
Well, I should end this now so I can check my e-mail. My realtor is sending me a lease agreement for the bookstore to sign. Speaking of signs, this morning I met a local artist who is going to create my logo and make me a beautiful 2’x3’ sign for 900 cordobas ($54). The logo is a cat on a surfboard reading a book. I’ll sell T-shirts with the logo. Hopefully I can have some stickers for car window printed soon, but I’ll probably have to outsource that to Managua.
Hasta lluega!
See photos of the parade and rodeo here.
LOved the photo's of the bull fight-I think I could have handled that!You will have to be careful about the shirts you wear-We had a good time in Daytona-miss you! Love,Mom
Posted by: mom | July 18, 2005 at 09:16 AM