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Finally, on the move

We’ve left. It’s true. We spent two beautiful days in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua before saying goodbye to the country until the next time. It was a great country that treated us amazingly well. Really, I don’t think we could have asked for more from it. Two visitors, a small job, becoming more familiar with Granada in a way that simply passing through would not afford us, simply fantastic. I would highly recommend the country to anyone.

We left San Juan del Sur for the border, which wasn’t a very difficult process. Quick bus ride to the Pan-American highway, then a collective taxi (6 people total) to the border. Easy border crossing, then we needed to find our way from the border to San Jose, which we thought was about 3 hours. Well, it’s about 300km, which translates to about 5 hours. We managed to meet a couple of women travellers who were also going that way, so we grouped together and flagged down a passing semi. Yes. A full on 18 wheeler going from San Pedro Sula to San Jose, Costa Rica. We all four of us piled in, the three girls in the back, me in shotgun, cruising down the Pan-American highway 12 feet higher than I’m used to. Truly awesome. Just watching the road getting sucked under us made me feel like I was in some crazy spanish version of Over the Top (with Sylvestor Stallone, yes, that one). It was a long 5 hours listening to insanely bad spanish love songs at full volume, but it was definitely a memorable 5 hours. The girls got dropped off on the side of the highway by the airport, we drove through the industrial section of San Jose and got dropped off where we could get a ride into town.

It turned out to be more difficult than it needed to be. We walked down to grab a taxi, waited maybe 5-10 minutes, when a guy came up and started talking, saying we could share a cab into the city. We’re thinking, okay, that’s fine, he then proceeds to run up the streets where we just came from. He doesn’t stop, just kind of keeps going, we’re thinking, what’s going on? Sure, maybe he’s going to try to make sure we get a taxi up the road, but why run so far, when 2 taxis have passed us by? Doesn’t really make sense. So we felt really bad as we hopped on a bus and left him wherever it was he was going. In case you’re reading into this and thinking that he was setting up a con, then you’re thinking the same way I was.

So we made it to San Jose, checked in to the Hostel Pangea, which is a truly impressive hostel.  We were planning on riding motorcycles tomorrow, but the company has been really lax about keeping in contact with us, so we’re pushing that experience to the Andes somewhere.  Maybe where we have a bit more forewarning for the tour company.  Tomorrow at 11pm we board an 18 hour bus ride to Panama City.  Oh yeah. We’re so excited.  But it is nice to be moving again.

Horses, restaurants, volcanos

So, it’s been 11 days since the last blog. Quite a bit has happenned since then, as you might imagine. The last blog was about the running of the bulls on Sunday. So let’s just start from there, as best I can remember. Things have a certain routine here now, so remembering specifics of what we did on what nights, unless there’s a big event to tie it to, become pretty difficult.

The Monday after the running of the bulls (August 10th), Tobie came into the restaurant where we were working for a quick hello. Being the last night she was going to have in Nicaragua, we made it a late night, full of loud, american-style arguing about politics, women’s rights, aid development and, of course, the role of government in our lives. Clearly, these are the types of topics that are best discussed late at night over a few beers, when everyone is thinking logically. It was great to have the opportunity to discuss them, and we enjoyed ourselves quite a bit, if it was later than we were planning on staying out.

The next few days were spent working at the restaurant. Working on the website, tshirts designs, hotel flyers, labels for spicy peanuts and wasabi infused oils, and other miscillaneous activities kept us pretty busy. We managed to spend our off time recouperating through a couple jogs and a couple of marathon movie watching sessions. Just what the doctor ordered.

Dad's VisitThursday was the day my dad arrived from Washington, D.C. We took a taxi out from Granada to the Managua airport to pick him up. It was the second happy time we made it there to pick up a visitor from the states: such a wonderful moment to watch someone walk through the doors.  It seems like everything is built up to that point where you actually feel and touch each other, verifying that the situation is real. It’s such a satisfying feeling. That night we returned to the hotel, went out for a quick bite to eat and quickly fell asleep under an airconditioned breeze while reclining on a true, honest mattress.

Friday was the Carnaval. We still haven’t figured out how carnaval can be so far away from Easter, but apparently it’s tradition here to have it in August, so why not enjoy it while it’s here? There was a parade that was supposed to start sometime between 2pm and 7pm. The specifics were pretty lacking. Asking different people simply gave you different answers. So we spent some time walking around to the various churches, the markets, other sightseeing venues. Dad's VisitWe walked up to the top of the belltower and looked over the vista of the city we still call home. Then we parked ourselves at the local wine bar, tried some Argentinian champagne and waited for the parade. And waited. And waited. 4 hours of waiting later, it came! Phew! We weren’t worried about it not happening, since there were thousands of people jammed into the central park, obviously waiting with great anticipation about what was coming, but we were ready for it about three hours before it started. But maybe if it had come three hours earlier, it wouldn’t have been so satisfying. A parade of 2 floats, sponsored by Nicaragua’s crappiest beer “Victoria Frost,” is after all, not really a parade, but two floats going down the streets of Granada.Granada Hipica The “Queen of Victoria Frost” is quite a sight, after all, especially followed by the “Victoria Frost Girls” dancing their hearts out (actually rather half-heartedly). We went out for a quick dinner after at a local place where dad tried the first of his lake fish that Nicaragua is known for. Alright, but really boney.

Saturday was our designated market day. We headed down to Masaya, as we did with Ryan, for some classic artisan shopping. Afterword we went up to Lago de Apoyo, which is a volcano crater lake. We ended up at the Monkey Hut, which is clearly a hangout for expats. Terrasas of lawn for picnic tables, a basketball court, kayaks, a floating raft in the lake and, yes, a pizza restaurant. We quickly ditched our clothes and jumped in the beautiful water. Absolutely great to be able to relax without an agenda or the noise of a city under a carnaval craze. We had a date with one of my dad’s friend, George, who is head of Peace Corps Nicaragua. Stories about Peace Corps problems, meetings with Ortega and other interesting tales were real highlights.  Dad's VisitTalking with George’s wife was also fantastic, some of her experiences with George, who has lived abroad for 30 years (don’t quote me on that). They left around 5:30 or so, which was perfect timing for us to head to Imagine, where we would finally be able to taste the food we’d been promoting. It was wonderful. The lamb was amazingly tender, with a perfect mint sauce. I got the flaming duck, which was juicy and tender, with a great orange reduction complementing it without being overpowering. Dad had the tuna, which has an incredible presentation of white and black sesame seeds.  To finish off the gluttany, we indulged in the famous mango bread dessert.  Full on with ice cream and passion fruit sauce.  It was a wonderful night of good food and great company.

Sunday was billed as THE big day. The Hipica. What is it? It’s a parade of rich horseman coming in from the country to take over the streets of Granada. We went out to the stadium where they were getting setup for everything. We hooved it out there (Yes, I laugh at my own jokes) and were a bit taken aback by the ordered chaos underway. Horses, trailers, cowboys, Granada Hipicacowgirls, families, Hummers, Dodge Ram 350s, floats: it had everything. We watched from the sidelines as people rode their horses over to the food stalls to buy beer or food. Little girls of 2 years old on the saddle holding on. Fantastic! We stayed for awhile, then headed back to the central park to make sure we found a good seat to watch the line of beautiful horses pass by. Once in place, I went on an expedition to grab some street food for everyone. I managed to find some enchiladas (not like the tex-mex ones we know), some fried chicken, fried plantains, coleslaw, chicken kabobs, and monkey blood sausage. Yep. Blood sausage made out of monkey blood. It was very much like the Irish blood sausage I had in Dublin with the full Irish breakfast. I never knew blood sausage could be so good. So that brings us to the main event. The horses started more or less on time, Granada Hipicawhich was pretty amazing, given that we were in Nicaragua. There was a huge variety of horses coming down the cental street. Most were exquisitely dressed, with full regalia on. Some had highly agitated show horses sidestepping down the streets, the horses eyes wide open and blood shot, scared of the people, the music, the shouting, the other horses, but being spurred at every step by their riders. Some riders were pretty drunk. Some riders had handlers that walked their horse through the entire parade. Some handlers were drunk. It was crazy, pretty much all the way around.Granada Hipica

Monday we had decided to hike up the local volcano Mombacho (well, one of the many local volcanos). It was rumored to be an hour and a half hike. That is possibly true, or possibly not true. Apparently most people take a truck up to the top, then walk around one of the craters, which is actually only about a 45 minute hike, but with truck transport each way it works out to about an hour and a half, I suppose. But if you have a taxi take you to the entrance, then walk up from there, it is much longer. Granada is at 60m above sea level. The top of the trail is at 1150m above sea level. So that’s about 1000m (3280ft) of vertical rise, given that the taxi ride rose in altitude. The road is only about 3km long, so that’s a lot of going up. But we made it, “poli poli”. The reward was well worth it.  MombachoWho knew that there was a quality cloud forest hidden on the top of that volcano that’s always covered in clouds? It makes more sense when it’s worded like that. But it was a fantastic forest. There were a number of mirador lookouts that showed vast spaces of who knows what, since it’s a cloud forest and it’s always covered with clouds. It’s like looking for something in a steam bath, you just can’t see very far, let alone appreciate the vast beauty of Lake Nicaragua spanning the horizon. I’m sure it’s beautiful on the 6 clear days they have a year, though.Mombacho

We returned from the hike via a tuktuk driver and jumped straight into the pool, where we forced the hotel to open the bar early and serve us a drink in the swim up bar. We had just hiked a volcano, for goodness sake. There was a restaurant, Las Colinas, where the ex-president of Nicaragua used to eat that was well known for it’s seafood, so we decided to give it a shot. It was a huge restaurant, dirt floor, but certainly popular. We all order various items of the lake fish. I had had an unbelievably delicious dish earlier on Ometepe with Ryan, so I had hope we could find something similar.  MombachoWhen it came out, I was a bit worried, because dad, who had ordered the whole fish, received a head-on, tail-on beautiful looking fish, but maybe a little too black, I thought. I was also worried about the bones again, give the previous experience. Nope. They solved that entire problem by deboning the fish whole. Head, tail on, still attached, just no bones on the body. I never would have known if dad hadn’t pointed it out. It looked like a completely normal whole fish, except it was missing a major part of its skeleton. Conventient, eh? Huge success at Las Colinas. That night we had decided to do a tasting of the rum. Nicaragua has a line of rum called Flor de Cana, which has a number of different varieties. 4 yr, 5 yr, 7 yr, 12 yr, 18 yr, and then the grandadddy at 21 years. We sat at the restaurant and ordered three: a 12yr, 18yr, and 21yr. We shared in a circle, talking about what the rum tasted like, how it differed from the others, and basically just nerded out as only true wine nerds do.

Next morning we said goodbye to dad, shipped him off in a taxi to head back to Washington. If it’s any indication, my dad picked up a bottle of the 12 year rum on his way through duty free. I think it may be the first quality rum I’ve ever seen in his liquor cabinet, which speaks to how good the rum here actually is. So after he checked out, we went back to the hotel room, cranked the airconditioning as low as it would go, and didn’t leave the room until the maids kicked us out. We went to Imagine, touched base with Kevin and went back to Kevin’s mini-ranch to watch movies and setup the tent. The floor was particularly hard that night.

Wednesday and Thursday were pretty standard days at work, Erin had the joy of working fabric selection with Kevin for cushions and tablecloths. I spent 6 hours cleaning up his iTunes library from the mess that it was. Yes. That’s exactly why I spent 4 years in college studying computers. But it’s a job and I did it, no worries. Afterword on Thursday we met up with our friend Kami for another dinner. The initial plan was to cook, but the lure of ordering pizza delivered to the house was too strong, so that ended up being the theme for the night. The less movement the better. It was a fun night, we ended up crashing at her place in the comfort on a mattress. We’re getting spoiled, it’s true.

Little to our knowledge at the same time, my sister Lisa, all the way up in Idaho, was on a wonderful canoe ride in a late summer day, getting proposed to by Derek! We’re so happy for her and Derek. Congratulations!

Yesterday…. ahh yesterday. We had a table of 17 coming in to the restaurant. Which meant that we had to place them in the back room, which was currently in the process of renovation. No worries, it’ll all work out. And in the end it did, but not without a lot of headache. There were problems from the beginning to the end. The carpenter had raised a table 6 inches. Ok, fine, no biggie. We were putting new tablecloths and a runner out. But Kevin’s crazy psychedelic color schemes called for superman cushions, purple tablecloths and a blacklight. We managed to talk him out of that. But we didn’t manage to talk him out of painting the benches the people were supposed to sit on just 2 hours before they arrived. 2 hours is plenty of time for paint to dry, right? No. That is not a true statement. They were soaking wet even at the end of the night. I know because I had the opportunity to move them into the restaurant while service was going on. Fantastic. We were, however, successful in talking him out of spray painting the legs of the table right before they came in. But back to the prep. This was a single table of 17. He had 12 wine glasses in total. He had 20 chairs in total, including the main room, which takes 16 chairs normally. But luckily, we took one of the tables from the main room and put it in the event room, thus leaving a gaping hole in the main floor which, as Kevin pointed out, could easily be filled by this other table. The midget table, but a midget table with regular sized chairs. Hopefully you’re at least chuckling to yourself with that image. Kevin called any and all restaurant friends and borrowed chairs, 3 from here, 4 from here, wherever he could find them. They were still coming in 10 minutes before they arrived. But the chairs made it in time.

So the group arrives, shuffles into the room. My job in this situation is 6th man. Kevin’s working the bar, Mohamar the chef, Jose the assistant, Erin working the group, Flor (Kevin’s ladyfriend) helping Erin with the room. I’m sitting at the bar, staring at the temperature gauge on the refrigerator, trying to guess how many degrees the temperature would go up with every opening of the door. Everyone else is pretty much doing stuff, but I’m just the 6th man, riding the pine, waiting for coach to put me in. A couple of tables came into the main room, and I finally got to wait some tables! I hadn’t waited a table since I was 16, and I’m not sure I’ve improved much since them. Erin was in the back, drowning in bread being pumped out by Mohamar, who probably should have focused a little more on the apps and less on the bread. At one moment in the night, one of my two tables had been waiting a long while for a duck entree to come out. Erin’s duck entree was served at the same time everyone else was served dessert. I kindly asked if that duck was for my table, and Erin comes flying around the corner like a flaming banshee screaming “The duck is mine!” with a glint in her eye that was scarily similar to dirty harry. I’m sure Jeff and most people at Grand Street have seen that look, but it was a first for me, as I backed down like a scared doe and calmly retook my pine-riding position at the bar. I had 4 people the entire night, who I looked over from a large distance. It was a lot of fun to watch Erin in the heart of the mix, working in spanish and english, keeping things straight and generally just rocking it.  The finale of the spectal was watching Erin tally up the bill for them all, hunched over in a regular sized chair at the midget table, complete with midget calculator and nine hundred scraps of paper as Kevin asks, “Did you add on the cafe con leche?  I believe Kevin got the same banshee look I got earlier.

Kevin was in a great mood and wanted to hang out for awhile, so he cooked up some food for us and then we sat around talking. Mostly it was Kevin and me talking about music gear, amps, mics, guitars, keys, pedals, you name it. Erin and Flor looked incredibly bored, but I rarely get to the have those types of gearhead talks anymore, so I definitely dug it. We drove back to Kevin’s, where we shared a last beer and talked, mostly in spanish, about Flor’s insights into Nicaraguan culture. It was fantastic, as Erin was now more comfortable speaking in spanish and actively getting into the conversation, both from a listening and a talking aspect. It was a first, a real breakthrough. Some days are better than other for languages, feeling comfortable, and it seemed like yesterday and last night was one of the best nights I’ve seen for Erin’s spanish. Fun to watch.

Today we’re relaxing, catching up on some internet, talking to family. Tomorrow we’re leaving for San Juan del Sur for some beachtime. It’s been a great time here in Granada, it’s treated us really well. Can’t complain, really, but it’s time to move on. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover still.

A fractal of lives and perspectives; One incredible conversation

It was with a local Nica named Lenny. Erin and I met a fellow traveler named Toby who we meshed well with, so we invited her to meet up with us to grab a drink before the running of the bulls on Sunday. We were thinking about a local bar called Ranchito Escondido, not far from the house we’re camping at. So we met up and headed in to the dive bar, Erin and Toby being the only women in the bar. Because of this and the fact that they were foreigners, they were showered with attention, which left me the opportunity to get to know the people at the table next to me.

GranadaLenny is a seventeen year old from the barrio with numerous tattoos: one large number 12 on the forearm; his date of birth on the back of his neck; the grim reaper on one calf; a shield and sword on the other. The interesting thing about the tattoos is the fact that there are very few people in central america with tattoes. The ones that do are generally well known as belonging to a gang. If you see someone with a tattoo on their face, it’s a pretty sure sign they’re an assassin with more than a few marks on their tally pole. These are the gangs that enforce curfews in small towns. If you’re out past 9pm in some gang-controlled barrio, then you’re likely to get shot, no questions asked, unless you’re with the gang or pay them a “security fee.” (FYI, most areas are not gang-controlled.)

This is not the type of barrio that Lenny entered when he was 13, but it was a weak facsimile of it. The family didn’t have enough to feed everyone and in the Nica-barrio, 13 is old enough to go out on your own. He didn’t get kicked out by any means, he still sees his family when he can, but it was time for him to “make it on his own.” That was 4 years ago. The reason he ended up with so many tattoos was because he became involved in the gangs. Now, he was quick to make a difference between “maras” and “bandillas”: maras being the hard-core drug related gangs that make the papers, bandillas being more like hoodlums that get involved with things like drugs and extortion, but not on the same level with the maras.

In order to show me the difference between the bandillas and the maras, Lenny told me how he came to get some of his scars. He was then still with a bandilla, who were in a bit of a squabble with another bandilla about turf or respect or something I didn’t quite understand. He was walking home with a couple of other friends when they were approached by the other bandilla, some insulting words were exchanged and a fight ensued. (Apparently, the weapon of choice for a bandilla is a rock. They’ve never seen a gun, could never afford anything even close to it. On top of that, as Lenny explained to me, a gun is for a mara and a rock is for a bandilla. Nobody in a bandilla wants thing to get that crazy, or if they do, they go to Managua and join a mara, where they start the rough life of working their way up that ladder, filled with all sorts of craziness involving police/government corruption, drugs and violence.) So Lenny got pounded in the face with a rock, broke the bridge of his nose (which he was never able to get proper treatment for because of how expensive it was) and knocked unconscious. As brutal as it might be to read this, it’s incredibly more brutal to hear it from the recipient of such treatment. It’s disturbing to remember the faces he made, the gestures, saying, “they held me down and hit me with their rock, (like this), so I hit them in the neck when I could (right here), but they were too many and held me down like this….”

He wasn’t embarrassed by it. He didn’t think it was strange. It was a real part of his life, not distant, but close to the heart and the memory. He knew that other people (like me) lived completely different lives that didn’t cross his, but equally knew that his life didn’t cross ours. We were in parallel worlds that don’t often meet.

A classic fractal
A classic fractal

I don’t know what to take from this conversation, to tell the truth. I’m still somewhat digesting the fact that someone who lives just a few blocks away could live such an incredibly different life, with a set of morals and standards that I can only describe as difficult to comprehend. He seems like a remarkably intelligent guy, speaks with great clarity and intelligence, which is not something you often find. He knew when we were speaking that if he used a local slang word, he would explain it, without being prompted. His brutal eloquence was astounding to listen to. I wish that Erin could have heard it, but the spanish was flowing like a rushing river, story after story, explanation after description, equally fascinating and disturbing in it’s ultra-violence. Not even the violence itself so much, but the casual and familiar handling of it. It was like watching an old baker work his dough or an veteran gardener tend to his roses. Except it wasn’t anything that pretty. I am immediately reminded of A Clockwork Orange.

As I said, I’m still trying to figure out the conversation. What does it mean to me? There are so many aspects: the story itself; the social circumstances that create that situation; the motivation that drove Lenny to confide so clearly and explicitly in me; my personal response to the story. The list seems to go on and on in a confusing spiderweb where each thread is a different rationality, a different reality, and they keep intersecting and separating faster than I can identify. It’s a fractal of lives and perspectives.

Donde esta el Toro?

A crazy couple days have ensued.  Friday night, fabulous dinner with our friend Cammy.  Saturday, vowing to take it easy, we stayed up late drinking with our new friend Tobie.  Sunday, oh Sunday!  Monday, a celebration with Tobie on her last night in town.  And that brings us to today, Tuesday.  Sitting here at Imagine writing a blog instead of tackling the pile of work I should be doing. 

Let’s start with Friday night.  Our friend, Cammy, was nice enough to invite us over for a little dinner and a lot of wine.  Since we have been improvising meals on our beautiful Coleman stove in Kevin’s backyard, we jumped at an opportunity to cook in a legitimate kitchen.  She whipped up a hardy pasta with cream sauce, while I made a little garlic bread sans the use of an oven.  The meal hit the spot and the company added to the wonderful evening.  A couple of her friends joined us after dinner and we sat Nica style on the side walk, in rocking chairs,  watching the evening happenings over a lot of Flor de Cana rum.  We ended up crashing in a bed at Cammy’s place.  The first bed I have slept in for almost 2weeks.  It was beautiful!Granada

Saturday we rolled into work.  I canvassed the hotels and Todd finished the website.   Check it out at www.Imaginerestaurantandbar.com .  Our goal, call it an early night.  The reality, a late night drinking with our new friend Tobie.  She has one of those commanding personalities that leaves you totally at ease and wanting more conversation.  So we had a couple drinks, laughed a lot, and made it to bed a lot past our expectation.  Over our evening conversation we decided to wake up early and check out the local bar by our place before the running of the bulls.

Running of the BullsYes, there is a running of the bulls here in Granada, Nicaragua.  Don’t think Pamplona, think chaos.  Before we could witness the running of the bull, we decided we should check out the local dive bar around the corner from our place, Ranchero Escondito.  I love a good dive bar, but I love a good local dive bar even more.  And this place fit the bill.  30Cords for a litre of beer.  That”s $1.50 for a litre of cold beer.  Yes!  Of course, we were the only women in the place.   Today, I dressed in pants and a modest tank top.  No need to make things worse for myself.  So, we order some litres of beer and considering we were all dragging a little from the night before a little hair of the dog did the necessary job of rejuvenating us for the day.  Our plan, a couple of litres, then the bulls.  The reality, 10 litres of beer and a bull.  We did try to leave many times but the gentlemen in the corner kept buying us litres.

At first, you think, ‘well, isn’t that nice.'”  But luckily, Todd keeps his wits about him in these situations and saw right through these men.  Let me back up.  They were very friendly and entertaining.  I even danced a bit.  But down here you can’t always trust friendly.   We knew the day was going to be one with pick pockets and petty theft.  That’s what happens in big crowds.  So, I was packing most of the important stuff, money and cell phone in my bra.  As Tobie and I practiced our Spanish with our new “friends,” Todd got the low down from a street wise guy named Lenny.  Luckily, nothing happened at the bar.  We ended up having a great time, being a novelty in a place is weird, but makes for some good times.  We will definitly be going back to this place; around the corner, cheap, a good juke box, and not full of gringos…perfect.

Running of the BullsSo back to the bulls.  We left our new local paradise in the great pursuit of said bull running.  Even though this was a big event down here, very few people actually knew any of the details.  We wandered down to the Central Park.  Crowds of people, but surprisingly very few tourists.  It was definitly a local occasion.  Everyone was crowded around one side of the park, so we made our way in that direction.  The site was funny.  Lots of cowboys making their way down the street followed by a truck full of bulls.  Now, I don’t know exactly what happenend from there.  But without warning, the crowd start moving rapidly.  There was a bull!  Not running down the street, but weaving his path of destruction through the packed Park Central.  The excitement was unbelievable.  We were caught up in the movement before we even realized we were moving.  The group moved without warning.  I was pushed behind a tree by a grown boy trying to avoid the bull.  Each man for themselves apparently.  I was second guessing my choice of footware at this point.  Well, this moment climaxed.  I have no idea where the bull went, but the people moved toward the lake.  Was this the running of the bulls or the herding of the people?

Running of the BullsWhere the people went, we followed.  Stopping to pick up some roadies of Tona for our walk in the hot sun.  The adrenaline from the recent bull sighting left us amped to go on and see more.  It also trickered a hunger pain, so we bought hot dogs from the conveniently located hot dog stand.  Now, these stands kind a  freak me out, but this hot dog was great.  And only 15C or $.75.  Another bargain.  So, we walked and walked with the crowd.  Every now and then a wave of movement would surge, yet I don’t think anyone knew the cause.  As we wandered we chatted it up, about the odd circumstances of the day we had found ourselves in.  I met an older gentleman who invited us to the rodeo next weekend.  Oh yes, not just bull running, there are rodeos too.  We found ourselves loitering in the crowd outside a stadium.  Apparently, that’s where the coveted bulls were being kept for the moment.  We venture a little closer to the crowd, and just at that moment, a bull comes charging out of the entrance.  People run everywhere.  It was actually the people I was more nervous about then the bull.  One bull, thousands of people running around like idiots, which one would make you more nervous.  So we watch and move as needed.  Things start to die down again and the crowd starts moving to the lake again.  Running of the BullsWe regroup and just then I hear someone shout “gringa!”  And before I know it I feel the weight of a horse hoof on my right foot.  So I acted totally imature and screamed at the idiot horseman with some good old fashioned English provanities.  The locals who witnessed the incident laughed with amusement.  Todd apparently was on the other side of the horse and got side swiped by the horse’s shoulder. 

Tobie, the friend we were with, happens to be a doctor.  So she gave the foot a look and gave me the clear.  Obviously, not broken but bruised and caused by totallly irritating circumstance.  At this point, we break.  Todd and I head out to meet another friend, Tobie went to take a power nap, and we all promised to rendezvous at 8:30.  You can see where this is going.  Obviously, no rendezvous.  I was passsed out in a rocking chair back at the house by 8:30.

The day was fabulous!  I am pretty sure the whole town woke up with a hangover yesterday.