Somewhere in the Middle

is exactly where we are right now.  We are still busy exploring, albeit more on foot than in a car, since el carro just left Baltimore Thursday night (fingers crossed it will be here in a few short weeks), and I am finding myself back in that unique sort of limbo of being neither a resident nor a tourist.

I find myself walking or (even better) running around the neighborhood like I own it, but I still can get lost on the way home.  I pity the poor dogs who appear to be owner-less and worry about the scarily scrawny cats slinking through the sewer. I wonder when I will drum up the courage to head over to the comedora and get my gringo self a true Nicaraguan lunch meal that could feed an army for USD $2.

I envy those who have the grazing cows and chickens. I wonder how one is so lucky to have such a variety of fruit trees in their yard.   A trip to the the miscellania or the pulperia for an extra mango or banana is never necessary, if you have your own orchard.  We were excited to disover both naranja agria and limon in our yard (sour orange and lime), but I still find myself having a pang of jealousy when I run past the full trees, ready to drop the fruit at any moment.

A sweet pooch making a meal out of a dried out coconut…not an uncommon sight.

Last week, we opted for a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. We have had 2 major holidays in the past 10 days and I wanted to glimpse the church that hosted the reason for the holidays, that is maybe a 1-2 miles from our house. 

While not an easy walk, as one must navigate twisty one lane roads (no sidewalks) that are occupied by everything from tuk-tuks to speeding SUVs, it is definitely an interesting one.  As I've written before, unlike other areas, our neighborhood is a mishmash of housing and life styles.  The moderno y privado condominiums are right next door to a small house of corrugated metal with chickens in the front yard and a clothes line strung from the door to the nearest tree (note to self: reminder to string up clothes line out back).

Chickens are everywhere here. While I'd love to have a hen in a backyard coop, rather glad the roosters are a mile or more away.

The new condominium complex…

The house across the very, very narrow street.

A tuk-tuk or moto-taxi racing along said street.

The entrance to the gravery, as Nick calls it (or cemetery for everyone else). 

Unlike cemeteries in the U.S., many graves appear to be more homemade. Simple crosses clearly carved by hand, and plants dot the tops of the graves rather than elaborate monuments. However, I found them to be more meaningful in that they were likely created by family and friends.

Another grave with a touch of fancy glasswork…

Las Sierritas Parish Church, where the celebration begins and ends. Well, the celebrating continues long after Minguito returns home, but…

I'd write more on the topic, but I think a better explanation of the holidays can be found here.  While there was definitely a bit of drunken revelry and other less formal celebrations happening, there is a very serious belief in the power of Santo Domingo. I have heard stories of that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.  The kind that make you want to see the celebration up close, inhale the scents and the sights and the sounds of the day.  Now if I can just find a local friend to take me next year so I can better appreciate and photograph the day…