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!