Cloudburst

3 June 2013.  After living in León for five months with barely any precipitation, it has finally begun to rain hard.  Just a few nights ago we were enjoying dinner with a couple friends in our neighborhood Mexican restaurant.  Can you imagine the temptation of living less than a block from your favorite Mexican restaurant and less than 2 blocks from your favorite pizza restaurant?  We have become regulars.  But back to the rain.  It began with bangs of thunder and within seconds it wasn’t just rain, it was a cloudburst.  For a few minutes the sound of the rain hitting the roof was so loud we had to shout to be heard.  As the rain continued, we relaxed, enjoying the fresh scent and the instant coolness brought by the rain while we waited for a break in the cloudburst so we could walk home.

When that break finally came, we made a dash for home.  But when we got out on the sidewalk we could see the streets were filled and gushing with water.  It could have been a delight to wade into it, but all I could imagine was how dirty it was.  The torrent was carrying away all the city’s accumulated dirt, litter, filth and, well, let me just say the leftovers from all those cart-pulling horses that use those same streets every day.  I was actually fearful of what might contaminate me if I stepped in the water. 

But we were committed, and when we found the spots where the water flowed the shallowest, we waded in and crossed over the streets.  In a minute we were home, refreshed from the rain and the adventure.

I’ve been thinking about that.  It struck me how the cloudburst and the rush of water was like the grace of God that rains from heaven.  About how there is so much grace gushing out that it is sufficient to wash away all of the accumulated trash, filth, and decaying things of a whole city—even the whole world.  And when the city has been washed clean, it is freshened by that very same grace and prepared to sprout new grass and leaves, to become verdant, to produce new life in abundance.

In our church baptism, a symbolic outpouring of God’s grace, is done with a sprinkling of water.  But the next time I see a baptism, I will be thinking of this cloudburst.  How the water gushed in such abundance that washed away the entire accumulation of filthy stuff and left the city not just clean, but also renewed and ready to spring forth in abundance.  That’s an image of God’s grace that I will remember.  

Subtle Changes

Last night as we walked home with our to-go pizza from Antonino’s Pizzeria we got a little wet in the rain, the first rain we have felt since we arrived in León in November. It lasted less than 30 minutes, but it was refreshing.  So refreshing that when we got up this morning and went into the garden, the fresh air felt a little chilly at 27 degrees centigrade.  Chilly at 27?  Good grief, that’s 80.5 fahrenheit.  We have begun to acclimate, and just in time.  They say April is the hottest month here in León.

Another subtle change is happening.  I did not notice it coming, but suddenly I saw it one morning this week as we walked to our Spanish school. When we rounded the corner and turned westward, it struck me that the pedestrians were no longer all walking on the south side of the street.  They were walking on both sides of the street.  As they always had done before, all the people were still walking in the shade of the buildings.  But now the shade is distributed almost evenly on both sides of the street.  Of course!  The spring equinox just occurred a couple of weeks ago, and the sun now appears virtually overhead, north of the equator for the first time since we moved to León.  Soon we’ll all be walking on the same side of the street again—the north side.

The Last: Bat Falcon

8 March 2013.  The last half day of birding at El Jaguar (more than a week ago already) brought us 3 new Nicaragua species and 2 more life birds.  The Strong-billed Woodcreeper looks like a giant-on-steroids version of North America’s Brown Creeper, but my favorite bird of the trip was the last lifer, Bat Falcon.  A stunning black, white, and orange bird, this small falcon zoomed through the sky like an aerobat, catching and eating insects and—was that a bird it just ate?—other creatures on the fly.  For a moment I thought the falcon was a white-collared swift, but no, it was bigger and had those cool looking orange legs and belly that flashed at us when it banked the right way.  It flew around and around above the openness of the coffee plantation, giving us plenty of time to enjoy the show.

In all we found 15 new life birds and another 23 new for Nicaragua.  With so many others remaining on the reserve's list, we left El Jaguar with lots of reasons to go back again someday.  The fact that the chigger bites did not exceed the total number of new birds was an added bonus.

By the way, if you shop at Whole Foods in the US, you can buy El Jaguar's coffee.  It is sold under the Allegro brand name and is labeled "Nicaragua El Jaguar."  If you try it, you'll be drinking the same delicious and bird-friendly coffee we heartily enjoyed during our stay at El Jaguar.  The birds will thank you for it. 

Los Pinos

Today we visited Los Pinos, the pines, north of San Rafael del Norte.  The terrain was much like the pine-oak habitat of southeast Arizona, but rather more open because the land is used for cattle grazing.  It seems most of the green and black warblers of north America like this habitat.  We saw Hermit, Townsend’s, Black-throated Green and Grace’s warblers, all in the pines.  We missed the Golden-cheeked, but it’s sometimes found there, too.  Other birds were the highlights of the visit, though.  Black-headed Siskin, Ferruginous Pygmy-Owl (for Peggy), and Lesser Roadrunner were the lifers.  Later, at man-made Lake Apanás, we found a group of Grassland Yellow Finches for the last lifer of the day.

We have one more half day of birding here at El Jaguar.  We clearly aren’t going to make my goal of 25 life birds, but we already have 13 and that is quite respectable I think.

The Chlorophonia Show

24 February 2013.  In two days of birding at El Jaguar we haven’t seen as many life birds as I had dreamed, but we have certainly seen enough to keep our spirits high.  So far we have seen 9 life birds and another 11 species we had not previously seen in Nicaragua.  Not bad at all.  

The most fun today were the very small Blue-crowned Chlorophonias, 3 of them, seen very high in the forest canopy sitting in a little window of direct sunlight in the lowering late afternoon sun.  Their lemon yellow bellies and fluorescent green heads and wings glowed neon-like in glorious contrast to the shadows cast by the leaves surrounding them.  The show of light and color was especially satisfying because we already today we had twice missed seeing this species, and we only found this threesome by craning our necks and scanning the canopy for many minutes, searching in the general direction from which we heard their cooing song.  As each of us finally fixed on the birds, each in turn “wowed” at their brilliance.  They were, quite literally, the highlight of the day

The Subjunctive Holiday

23 February 2013.  We are making progress.  I’m just sure of it.  We have to keep reminding ourselves – we’re making progress.

This afternoon I am sitting on the porch of our cabin for the weekend.  We are in El Jaguar Private Reserve, where they both grow shade-grown coffee and cater to birds and birders.  There is no internet here, so it will be days before this gets posted.  I am looking out over a narrow valley.  On the down slope in front of me are coffee plants, banana trees and flowers.  On the opposite slope is a beautiful forest.  It’s quiet now, all the birds are taking siestas, too. 

We are taking a holiday from our studies.  For the last five weeks we have been hitting the Spanish hard.  Trying to learn, understand, and remember the subjunctive tense has been making us tense.  It has not been an easy time lately, but we are our own worst problem.  We talk to each other in English instead of Spanish.  But I have to say, after 4 hours of class each day I need a nap, and then when I’ve finally finished my homework, I really feel ready for bed.  It seems the only relaxation time we have is when we speak English.

But I know we are making progress.  When we arrived at El Jaguar, we spoke several minutes with the young man who greeted us before we learned he speaks a little English.  He will be guiding is in our birding the next few days, and I think it may actually be easier for us all to communicate in Spanish.  At least as long as I’m not required to express my thoughts and desires in the subjunctive. 

We already have one life bird for the day, Plain-capped Starthroat—a hummingbird.  The bird list for the preserve includes as “common” 37 more species that would be lifers, plus another 22 that are merely uncommon.  Let’s see, if we see only 40% of the common and uncommon life bird candidates, we would have seen (this is in some kind of subjunctive, by the way) about 24 species.  And we are also going to visit some other spots that feature other interesting new birds.  So I think an ambitious target of 25 sounds good.  Only 24 more to go.  Time to hit the trail.

More Reflections -- No Hammock

29 November 2012.  My attitude today seems just right for an afternoon in a hammock, but alas we don’t have one in our rented apartment in León.  So these following, unconnected thoughts are what I would have reflected upon from the hammock this afternoon.

I counted them today on the way home from Spanish class.  There are 20 of them, all in a row, side-by-side, and not more than 200 meters from the apartment.  Fireworks stands, that is.  Last week they looked like ramshackle abandoned market stalls, lonely and forlon, but this week have taken on new life.  Apparently the roadside near our house is the designated area for fireworks vendors, complete with signs saying “Peligroso.  No Fumar” –  “Dangerous. No Smoking.”  I’ve asked a few questions, in Spanish of course, and have discovered that Nicaragüenses celebrate December 7 as the day of the Immaculate Conception of Jesus.  Apparently this is a very big deal here in León, and there are indications all around town that we are getting ready for a big celebration—not just the fireworks stands, but sprouting carnival rides, stages being erected, and growing numbers of mobile vendors of hot dogs, hamburguesas,  and other traditional Nicaraguan food. From the looks of things it will be a cultural event to behold.

Soon after we arrived in Nicaragua I heard it, and I’ve heard it again from several people since:  In Nicaragua, “norte” means north and “sur” means south, as you would expect.  But surprisingly “arriba” (up) means east and “abajo” (down) means west.  They use these terms instead of two other well-known words that would be quite suitable:  “este” (east) and “oeste” (west).  Why they use “arriba” and “abajo” has puzzled me since the day I first heard it, and it constantly confused me – which way is “arriba” again?  Well, finally this week our Spanish teacher, a delightful young woman named Alejandra, explained it quite clearly to us.  She said, in Spanish of course: “The sun comes up, ‘arriba,’ in the east and goes down, ‘abajo,’ in the west.”  Now that is one of the most practical language lessons I’ve heard, and I will never forget the meanings of “arriba” and “abajo” again.  I suppose Nicaraguans feel the same way – when arriba is this-a-way and abajo is that-a-way (just look at the sun), who cares about east and west anymore?  Well, as I think about it, maybe this wouldn’t work so well for our Alaskan friends.  There, in summer, the sun both rises and sets in the north, while in winter it rises (if ever) and sets in the south.  This clearly requires more reflection from a bi-polar perspective.

Speaking of bi-polar, last Tuesday we ran into La Gigantona and her side-kick Pepe Cabezón on the other side of town.  The best way to introduce someone to this colorful couple is with a picture.  La Gigantona is the tall one, while Pepe Cabezón is her short friend with the big head.  They and their two drummers were walking in the street when we encountered them.  There they performed a little impromptu dance, complete with some poetry from the drummers, for us and the small crowd of neighbors that gathered in appreciation.  Later in the day we saw a similar couple stopping traffic on the other side of town.  I get the feeling we’ll be seeing more of these folks around town from now to New Year’s Day.

We walk to and from language class every day.  That’s at least an hour on the streets, and more if we duck into a shop to look at something.  Along the way we get to greet lots of strangers and passers-by.  Some of the faces we are getting to recognize, while I’m sure our faces are quite memorable to them.  Anyway, the curious thing about greeting passers-by here is that you don’t say “hola” (hello or hi), but instead you say “adios,” which is good-bye!  The explanation we heard for this seems to make good sense.  An “hola” – or hello – implies some more conversation will follow, right?  But if you are just passing by you have no intent to stop to chat, so you just say “adios” – or good-bye – as you pass.  I kind of like it, because “adios” is a combination of two words, “a dios,” which means “to God.”  So when I say “adios” to a stranger on the street, it feels to me like tipping my hat and saying “Here’s to God!”  I’d be curious if any of you care to try this on the street in the USA, and please let me know what reaction you get when you greet a passer-by with a friendly “Good bye!”    

Adios!