(Think: Destiny´s Child or Reba McEntire, whatever your musical preference).
The first week is just about to wrap up and I have survived.
What have I survived? Let us count the ways.
1. A false mugging: A bird landed on my head in Parque Central and I thought I was being mugged. Because he chose my head as a landing strip from behind, I could not see it was a bird, and was sure that after all these years of trouble free traveling, my time had come and I was about to lose all my stuff. I let out a small shriek, but instantly realized it was a bird and attempted to contain myself so the locals would not think I was crazy.
2. Texting while driving: My taxi driver chose the most crowded street in all of Granada, to carry on a lengthy text message conversation. He did so while never looking at the road, bobbing and weaving around other cars, wild dogs, stray children, and large buses.
3. A less than clean house: I have officially survived four nights in one of the more ummm....gross hostel type places I have ever stayed in. More on that later.
4. Going the wrong direction: I wanted to find a specific church that was mentioned in Blue for its colorful facade and the museum within. I pored over my map, looked at it from all angles, studied it once more for good measure, and feeling confident, began walking in the wrong direction.
Yes, I walked the complete opposite direction for 5 blocks only to find out that the landmark was literally behind my house.
5. Several meals alone: no big deal.
6. One bout of loneliness: As I am sure there will be some more of these, I will just have to get over them. It vanished when I went to school and started working with the kids. Imagine that!
7. The weekend: ???? I must leave this one with a question mark. Not sure how survival will go. I had two choices for my weekend activities-go to the beach with the college girls who are all a decade younger than me and are ready to paaaaaaaaartaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy. OR go to Isla de Ometepe with the Europeans, at least one of whom likes to indulge in a little herb.
I chose the herb lovin´ Europeans. I don´t think I can hang with the college crowd anymore, at least not without an ally. As for the herb, I have been just saying no to drugs for quite some time now, it will be fine. Plus, an island with two volcanoes towering over it and pristine beaches? Can´t beat it.
It´s been a good week, one with mixed emotions, new experiences, and old memories all coinciding together.
Would you have chosen the party lovin´ college girls or the herb lovin´ Europeans?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Goodbye Miami, Hello Managua, Hello Granada
This trip did not really seem too real for some reason, until I was ascending into the clouds away from the Miami airport. As the man beside me crossed himself and sent a kiss heavenward, it finally set in: I am going to Nicaragua to do exactly what I have been wanting to do for the past five years.
So here I am, having safely arrived in Granada yesterday afternoon. I spent Saturday night in Managua with a friend and her family (thanks Lisette!) who took good care of me and when they dropped me off at the bus station, I felt like a little kid being dropped at daycare. I was officially on my own.
Fifteen hours later I have already been to the grocery store, strolled through the mercado, people-watched in parque central, found an air-conditioned internet cafe, ate dinner solo (no tears), spent a fitful night on a questionable mattress, and promptly switched mattresses this morning. This 30 year old can no longer sleep soundly just anywhere. And speaking of things I can no longer handle very well, a future post will be dedicated to the slovenly habits of backpackers (some, not all). If you have ever backpacked or stayed in a hostel, you know what I am talking about.
Back out into the surface of the sun I go. This is a three shower a day kind of adventure.
Adios for now.
So here I am, having safely arrived in Granada yesterday afternoon. I spent Saturday night in Managua with a friend and her family (thanks Lisette!) who took good care of me and when they dropped me off at the bus station, I felt like a little kid being dropped at daycare. I was officially on my own.
Fifteen hours later I have already been to the grocery store, strolled through the mercado, people-watched in parque central, found an air-conditioned internet cafe, ate dinner solo (no tears), spent a fitful night on a questionable mattress, and promptly switched mattresses this morning. This 30 year old can no longer sleep soundly just anywhere. And speaking of things I can no longer handle very well, a future post will be dedicated to the slovenly habits of backpackers (some, not all). If you have ever backpacked or stayed in a hostel, you know what I am talking about.
Back out into the surface of the sun I go. This is a three shower a day kind of adventure.
Adios for now.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
It's Tuesday, but Saturday is Coming
And Saturday just so happens to be the day that I leave for Nicaragua. I am pretty excited, but also slightly nervous-this is the first time I have traveled solo. Yes, there will be other people around, but they won't be MY people. Because of this, I have developed a lengthy list of irrational fears that have caused minor consternation over the past month.
Here is a sample:
1) What if I don't wake up in time every morning? (Aside from not being in charge of directions on trips, I am also not in charge of time)
2) Will I eat alone every night, crying salty tears into my rice and beans?
3) What if I get there and forget every conjugation of Spanish verbs that I ever learned last time I was there?
4) What if the Nicaraguan kids think I am as mean as some American kids think I am?
and most middle school of all:
5) What if nobody likes me or wants to be my friend?
6) In the event that #5 occurs, does that mean I will be climbing volcanoes and relaxing on the beach solo on my off days?
Is there anything wrong with being alone? No, definitely not. I have just never, ever done it on a trip before. Ever. So this is uncharted water for me.
I think I can do it, and what's more, I think it will be good for me.
If all else fails and I have no friends, I have my blog to update, trusty ole' Blue and a brand spanking new copy of The Lost Girls, 560 pages of three friends' journey around the world. I've been wanting to read it since I discovered it after venturing into the world of blogging three years ago. I decided that I would wait until my next extended trip do that.
That trip is here, and the book has arrived today.
So that's all folks. Got my book, my passport, some clothes, a mix of excitement and trepidation (mostly excitement), and an adventure waiting to happen.
Any thoughts on traveling alone?
Here is a sample:
1) What if I don't wake up in time every morning? (Aside from not being in charge of directions on trips, I am also not in charge of time)
2) Will I eat alone every night, crying salty tears into my rice and beans?
3) What if I get there and forget every conjugation of Spanish verbs that I ever learned last time I was there?
4) What if the Nicaraguan kids think I am as mean as some American kids think I am?
and most middle school of all:
5) What if nobody likes me or wants to be my friend?
6) In the event that #5 occurs, does that mean I will be climbing volcanoes and relaxing on the beach solo on my off days?
Is there anything wrong with being alone? No, definitely not. I have just never, ever done it on a trip before. Ever. So this is uncharted water for me.
I think I can do it, and what's more, I think it will be good for me.
That trip is here, and the book has arrived today.
So that's all folks. Got my book, my passport, some clothes, a mix of excitement and trepidation (mostly excitement), and an adventure waiting to happen.
Any thoughts on traveling alone?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
A Natural Wonder and a Naked Stranger
No, the natural wonder was not the naked stranger. That's another post on another blog. Before we get to the nudity part of this post on this blog though, let's focus on the important things. I visited a natural wonder last weekend, and it was pretty great. You might get jealous.
Yup, you might. And nope, it wasn't the Great Barrier Reef, Mt. Everest, or Victoria Falls. And the Grand Canyon was soooooo last summer.
West Virginia, Wild and Wonderful, as it just so happens, is chock full o' wonder.
I decided to see some of it for myself a few weekends ago, along with the Mr, in honor of one year of wedded bliss. Despite the fact that I was born and raised in WV, I have barely touched the surface of what my home has to offer. 11,000 miles to Beijing, China? Check. 80 miles to a popular tourist destination in my own state? Not so much.
A brief aside:
Somewhere around middle school, I developed this intense dislike for West Virginia, allowing stereotypes to creep in and formulate my thoughts on where I lived. I wanted to exit the state so badly that I began calling colleges and universities while still in the 8th grade, requesting materials on their institutions, using my best grown-up voice possible. I was determined to get out at the first available opportunity. And that is what I did, jaunting off to the big city of Philadelphia for four years of college, followed by two years of AmeriCorps in Hotlanta and our nation's capital. I was officially a city girl-far removed from the hills and "backwards" ways of WV.
Then, when I had to move back here so I could save money to go learn Spanish in Central America, I had to come to terms with my mailing address once again bearing the WV postal abbreviation.
One weekend, I invited some of my DC friends to come visit and as we were riding down a country road, one of them mentioned how beautiful it was. That was the exact moment when I realized that I was living in a postcard and that I needed to wake up and let the appreciation begin.
Then, in one of those things the universe does to prove something, I was hired to teach 8th grade West Virginia Studies. A state I intentionally knew very little about. During the first week of school, I taught a unit on the natural wonders found in WV. Out of 20 that I taught, I had been to one. One measly little wonder. I was going to have improve this record if I wanted to be worth any level of expertise and credibility. I made it my mission to visit the closest one to me at the earliest opportunity. Bring it on, Blackwater Falls. Impress me.
It was exactly what I hoped it would be, and then some. Located in the stunning and lush Canaan Valley, I found myself wondering what exactly it was that I was so desperate to escape in the 8th grade. This place could certainly hang with some of my adventures abroad.
It was a perfect weekend, minus the naked man that ran out of the woods while I was looking for the perfect spot to take a picture. I saw him before he saw me, I gasped and turned to alert Adam who was trying to alert me, (you may be wondering why it was so important to notify each other of a person without clothing) triggering naked stranger to stop short, look up, freeze, and then do us all the favor of covering up his manly parts. Once that was all taken care of, I snapped this picture above, trying to capture the "black" that gives the falls its name while simultaneously trying to erase specific mental images from my brain. Educational moment: the abundance of tannic acid in the water gives it a very dark appearance. Not black, but certainly different and very pretty.
The falls drop 57 feet into the river and you can stand on a walk-out, eye level with the plunging water, angling for the perfect photo and enjoying a nice misty spray.
It was the icing on the cake of appreciation for the Dubya V.
I had a blast. Crowds were minimal, scenery was spectacular, and most importantly, it didn't take two days and half of my bank account to get there.
West Virginia, I think I love you.
What about you? Any moments that define how you feel about your home?
Yup, you might. And nope, it wasn't the Great Barrier Reef, Mt. Everest, or Victoria Falls. And the Grand Canyon was soooooo last summer.
West Virginia, Wild and Wonderful, as it just so happens, is chock full o' wonder.
I decided to see some of it for myself a few weekends ago, along with the Mr, in honor of one year of wedded bliss. Despite the fact that I was born and raised in WV, I have barely touched the surface of what my home has to offer. 11,000 miles to Beijing, China? Check. 80 miles to a popular tourist destination in my own state? Not so much.
A brief aside:
Somewhere around middle school, I developed this intense dislike for West Virginia, allowing stereotypes to creep in and formulate my thoughts on where I lived. I wanted to exit the state so badly that I began calling colleges and universities while still in the 8th grade, requesting materials on their institutions, using my best grown-up voice possible. I was determined to get out at the first available opportunity. And that is what I did, jaunting off to the big city of Philadelphia for four years of college, followed by two years of AmeriCorps in Hotlanta and our nation's capital. I was officially a city girl-far removed from the hills and "backwards" ways of WV.
Then, when I had to move back here so I could save money to go learn Spanish in Central America, I had to come to terms with my mailing address once again bearing the WV postal abbreviation.
One weekend, I invited some of my DC friends to come visit and as we were riding down a country road, one of them mentioned how beautiful it was. That was the exact moment when I realized that I was living in a postcard and that I needed to wake up and let the appreciation begin.
Then, in one of those things the universe does to prove something, I was hired to teach 8th grade West Virginia Studies. A state I intentionally knew very little about. During the first week of school, I taught a unit on the natural wonders found in WV. Out of 20 that I taught, I had been to one. One measly little wonder. I was going to have improve this record if I wanted to be worth any level of expertise and credibility. I made it my mission to visit the closest one to me at the earliest opportunity. Bring it on, Blackwater Falls. Impress me.
It was exactly what I hoped it would be, and then some. Located in the stunning and lush Canaan Valley, I found myself wondering what exactly it was that I was so desperate to escape in the 8th grade. This place could certainly hang with some of my adventures abroad.
It was a perfect weekend, minus the naked man that ran out of the woods while I was looking for the perfect spot to take a picture. I saw him before he saw me, I gasped and turned to alert Adam who was trying to alert me, (you may be wondering why it was so important to notify each other of a person without clothing) triggering naked stranger to stop short, look up, freeze, and then do us all the favor of covering up his manly parts. Once that was all taken care of, I snapped this picture above, trying to capture the "black" that gives the falls its name while simultaneously trying to erase specific mental images from my brain. Educational moment: the abundance of tannic acid in the water gives it a very dark appearance. Not black, but certainly different and very pretty.
The falls drop 57 feet into the river and you can stand on a walk-out, eye level with the plunging water, angling for the perfect photo and enjoying a nice misty spray.
It was the icing on the cake of appreciation for the Dubya V.
I had a blast. Crowds were minimal, scenery was spectacular, and most importantly, it didn't take two days and half of my bank account to get there.
West Virginia, I think I love you.
What about you? Any moments that define how you feel about your home?
Monday, May 30, 2011
On How Marriage is Just Like Traveling
I started thinking about the parallels between marriage and traveling a few weeks ago as I was preparing a toast to give at the wedding of a best friend. The best friend just so happened to be Amanda, map reader extraordinaire. She caught on to my deplorable map-reading abilities fairly quickly into our first adventure together and well, the rest is history. As she has been a constant travel companion, I knew she would appreciate my references to travel in the toast. It was a wonderful speech indeed---full of memories, encouragement, a few jokes, and even one part spoken all in Spanish. Yup, it was practically the best speech ever.
Best ever, IF I had actually been able to verbalize all of those things.
That is because I got up in front of everyone and froze. Completely. Froze.
It started out well enough. I said my name, followed by how I knew her. The rest is a blur. All I know is that I couldn't breathe and I felt extremely cold and shivery. At one point I looked over at her and she nodded encouragingly. The bride should not have to be supporting her matron of honor at such a moment. Geez. Apparently, my primary comfort zone of an audience consists only of 8th graders. Anyway, none of the good stuff I had planned got out. I said a few pithy platitudes, which I am fairly positive included the phrase "I cherish your friendship." Blehh. I hate the word "cherish." It makes me feel.....churlish.
I digress. Here is what I was getting at:
We start out on journeys to lands near and far, and we don't know what is going to happen between our departure and our return. We can plan all we want, but the truth is, there are just too many variables that are not within our control. Bad things will probably/definitely happen in some form or fashion, but there are going to be a whole lot more amazing things to make up for it. On any journey, it is best to have a backup plan when things don't go according to vision, a good friend to call when we are
homesick/sad/broke/freaking out, a rainy day wad of cash, and a clean change of clothes ready for an impromptu adventure out on the town.
Is marriage really any different?
In all of the infinite wisdom I have acquired in my recently minted one official year of marriage, I say nah, it's not really that different.
Congratulations Amanda and Eddie!
And happy first anniversary to my husband. We made it through the "hardest" first year (if I had a dollar for every time I heard that....), on with the rest of them!
Best ever, IF I had actually been able to verbalize all of those things.
That is because I got up in front of everyone and froze. Completely. Froze.
It started out well enough. I said my name, followed by how I knew her. The rest is a blur. All I know is that I couldn't breathe and I felt extremely cold and shivery. At one point I looked over at her and she nodded encouragingly. The bride should not have to be supporting her matron of honor at such a moment. Geez. Apparently, my primary comfort zone of an audience consists only of 8th graders. Anyway, none of the good stuff I had planned got out. I said a few pithy platitudes, which I am fairly positive included the phrase "I cherish your friendship." Blehh. I hate the word "cherish." It makes me feel.....churlish.
I digress. Here is what I was getting at:
We start out on journeys to lands near and far, and we don't know what is going to happen between our departure and our return. We can plan all we want, but the truth is, there are just too many variables that are not within our control. Bad things will probably/definitely happen in some form or fashion, but there are going to be a whole lot more amazing things to make up for it. On any journey, it is best to have a backup plan when things don't go according to vision, a good friend to call when we are
homesick/sad/broke/freaking out, a rainy day wad of cash, and a clean change of clothes ready for an impromptu adventure out on the town.
Is marriage really any different?
In all of the infinite wisdom I have acquired in my recently minted one official year of marriage, I say nah, it's not really that different.
Congratulations Amanda and Eddie!
And happy first anniversary to my husband. We made it through the "hardest" first year (if I had a dollar for every time I heard that....), on with the rest of them!
 |
| These two expressions are interchangeable between us. I often find myself amusing, while he does not, and vice versa. |
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
A Traveler's Regret
There are the travel decisions we love and then there are the travel decisions over which we beat ourselves up. Sometimes the regret is instantaneous, and sometimes it comes to us later when we've had time to mull things over. Either way, the essence of regret means that if given the chance to do it again, we would do it differently. There are a few situations I feel this way about.
Shall we begin with the most recent mental flogging?
Travel Regret #1
I didn't go to Greece with the rest of my friends!! Some of you who have been following me for at least a year will remember that:
A) this time last year I got married, and,
B) right before that I decided it would also be a great time to go to Turkey.
I lived it up in Istanbul for a few days and then came the moment when I departed for the airport to catch a flight home, while the rest of them caught a flight to Greece. Why, why, WHY? It had something to do with being a good little bride-to-be and spending my time finalizing wedding details.
You know what? They went to Greece and had an amazing time (minus those pesky riots) while I was at home, performing the aforementioned "finalizing of the wedding details." Guess who had more fun? Not me. And you know what else? The wedding went off almost without a hitch (minus a caterer who I am trying to purge from memory). So you see?
Lesson learned: Just go to Greece next time.
Travel Regret #2
I was not at all excited about the food in China or Hong Kong. In fact, this picture at right will demonstrate to you my actual feelings on the matter. At the time, I blamed it on the copious amounts of rice I had eaten during a previous trip traipsing around southeast Asia and had grown increasingly sick of. As a result, I ate very "safe" foods, minus one endeavor to consume snake on a stick. McDonald's frequently called my name, as did various other fast food establishments. Never once did I really allow myself to experience and indulge in the flavors of a country that is home to a plethora of savory cuisines. I am kinda mad at myself for that. Reading other people's blogs doesn't help this regret much.
Lesson learned: Eat whatever the locals eat.
Travel Regret #3
This one is is just plain cringe-worthy and should be blamed on the immaturity of youth and a large amount of alcohol. After nearly two months on and off the road in Central America, we were back in Antigua, Guatemala for one last week of Spanish school. We stayed at the home of a young woman, who was probably not much older than us. All went well until she asked us for money to pick up some medicine, promising to pay it back the next day. One of us forked over 100 quetzales (about $13). The next day she did not have the money, nor had she made dinner (as per what we were paying for in our homestay), apologizing to us that she had been sick and had not had a chance to get the money . No problem. We are human, we understand. We were not so understanding though a few hours later, when who did we see out dancing the night away in one of Antigua's bumpin' clubs?
You guessed it.
You should have seen the look on her face when she saw us. I approached her, questioning "Estas enferma?" with all the snotty attitude I could muster in a different language. She mumbled something and melted away in the crowd. We went back home after several more hours of drinking and dancing, and collapsed into bed. We were leaving first thing in the morning for Costa Rica and in the haze of the night, we realized one thing: we had been scammed. What to do? Nothing much to do, really. Who can you call? Could we delay a trip for $13-a significant amount when you're on the road for a while? Early morning found us up on the roof, pacing, feeling the effects of the previous eight hours, and trying to figure out a plan. It was then that I honed in on the dozens of glass gallon jars littering her rooftop. All were clean and clearly being reserved for some purpose. I glance at the jars, lock eyes with my friend, and in an instant, the plan becomes clear. We proceed to smash nearly every jar on that rooftop, leaving a giant mess of glass shards and fragments.
An alcohol-fueled hissy fit if there ever was one.
Yeah, the woman was wrong to take the money. No doubt about that. But the truth of the matter is that it was $13. Even worse, we were in someone's home, destroying their property. Still worse, perhaps the scene that greeted her later on her own rooftop sowed the seeds of an irreparable stereotype of Americans.
Lesson learned: Get over myself. Also, note to self: Get a grip!
Do these moments define who I am? Not in the least. We travelers pride ourselves on being cultured by our exposure to the world's humanity. Really though, traveling just exposes our own humanity. It is what we do with that unveiled truth that will either make us a good traveler with bad travel moments or an all-around bad traveler. Because yes, there are bad travelers. You know who they are-you've met them.
What about you? Any regrets?
Shall we begin with the most recent mental flogging?
Travel Regret #1
I didn't go to Greece with the rest of my friends!! Some of you who have been following me for at least a year will remember that:
A) this time last year I got married, and,
B) right before that I decided it would also be a great time to go to Turkey.
I lived it up in Istanbul for a few days and then came the moment when I departed for the airport to catch a flight home, while the rest of them caught a flight to Greece. Why, why, WHY? It had something to do with being a good little bride-to-be and spending my time finalizing wedding details.
You know what? They went to Greece and had an amazing time (minus those pesky riots) while I was at home, performing the aforementioned "finalizing of the wedding details." Guess who had more fun? Not me. And you know what else? The wedding went off almost without a hitch (minus a caterer who I am trying to purge from memory). So you see?
Lesson learned: Just go to Greece next time.
Travel Regret #2
 | |
| Yes, that is me making throw-up faces |
Lesson learned: Eat whatever the locals eat.
Travel Regret #3
This one is is just plain cringe-worthy and should be blamed on the immaturity of youth and a large amount of alcohol. After nearly two months on and off the road in Central America, we were back in Antigua, Guatemala for one last week of Spanish school. We stayed at the home of a young woman, who was probably not much older than us. All went well until she asked us for money to pick up some medicine, promising to pay it back the next day. One of us forked over 100 quetzales (about $13). The next day she did not have the money, nor had she made dinner (as per what we were paying for in our homestay), apologizing to us that she had been sick and had not had a chance to get the money . No problem. We are human, we understand. We were not so understanding though a few hours later, when who did we see out dancing the night away in one of Antigua's bumpin' clubs?
You guessed it.
You should have seen the look on her face when she saw us. I approached her, questioning "Estas enferma?" with all the snotty attitude I could muster in a different language. She mumbled something and melted away in the crowd. We went back home after several more hours of drinking and dancing, and collapsed into bed. We were leaving first thing in the morning for Costa Rica and in the haze of the night, we realized one thing: we had been scammed. What to do? Nothing much to do, really. Who can you call? Could we delay a trip for $13-a significant amount when you're on the road for a while? Early morning found us up on the roof, pacing, feeling the effects of the previous eight hours, and trying to figure out a plan. It was then that I honed in on the dozens of glass gallon jars littering her rooftop. All were clean and clearly being reserved for some purpose. I glance at the jars, lock eyes with my friend, and in an instant, the plan becomes clear. We proceed to smash nearly every jar on that rooftop, leaving a giant mess of glass shards and fragments.
An alcohol-fueled hissy fit if there ever was one.
Yeah, the woman was wrong to take the money. No doubt about that. But the truth of the matter is that it was $13. Even worse, we were in someone's home, destroying their property. Still worse, perhaps the scene that greeted her later on her own rooftop sowed the seeds of an irreparable stereotype of Americans.
Lesson learned: Get over myself. Also, note to self: Get a grip!
Do these moments define who I am? Not in the least. We travelers pride ourselves on being cultured by our exposure to the world's humanity. Really though, traveling just exposes our own humanity. It is what we do with that unveiled truth that will either make us a good traveler with bad travel moments or an all-around bad traveler. Because yes, there are bad travelers. You know who they are-you've met them.
What about you? Any regrets?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Nica What? Nica Who?
Nicaragua it is!
Me, my trusty new passport with my trusty new name, and my backpack, are jaunting off to Nicaragua next month to spend some quality time in Granada volunteering with La Esperanza Granada, an organization/volunteer group focusing on the education of children.
Now, before I go any further, the title to this post is in fact a direct play on the ever popular Jay-Z and his well-known anthem "Jigga What, Jigga Who."
Just wanted to clarify for those of you may be less than enthused when it comes to hip-hop.
According to urban dictionary, the definition for this jiggy expression is:
"perplexed exclamation denoting confusion or suprise in reaction to another party's previous statement or action."
Which.........just so happens to be the very same reaction I've been getting from some as I have begun to share my plans with friends and strangers alike. "But aren't you married? What does your husband think? How can you go away that long? Is he going with you?"
People! Did my life end when I got married? Am I not allowed to travel anywhere now that I have a husband? Am I just supposed to be a happy housewife, dutifully making dinner and cleaning the house? (I totally do both of those things, by the way. Seriously. Just made an extremely tasty dinner last night. If my travel blog doesn't catapult me to success, maybe a dinner blog will). Does a month or so apart make us forget what each other looks like? A month is not going to do anything 'cept make the heart grow fonder.
Thankfully, those responses have been minimal. Most people, including the husband himself, have been quite supportive.
Since he is really the only person who counts, as of about a month from now, I am dusting off ye olde backpack, hopping on a flight to Managua, followed by a bus to Granada. When I get there, I will be fulfilling yet another travel dream.
Can't wait.
Me, my trusty new passport with my trusty new name, and my backpack, are jaunting off to Nicaragua next month to spend some quality time in Granada volunteering with La Esperanza Granada, an organization/volunteer group focusing on the education of children.
Now, before I go any further, the title to this post is in fact a direct play on the ever popular Jay-Z and his well-known anthem "Jigga What, Jigga Who."
Just wanted to clarify for those of you may be less than enthused when it comes to hip-hop.
According to urban dictionary, the definition for this jiggy expression is:
"perplexed exclamation denoting confusion or suprise in reaction to another party's previous statement or action."
Which.........just so happens to be the very same reaction I've been getting from some as I have begun to share my plans with friends and strangers alike. "But aren't you married? What does your husband think? How can you go away that long? Is he going with you?"
People! Did my life end when I got married? Am I not allowed to travel anywhere now that I have a husband? Am I just supposed to be a happy housewife, dutifully making dinner and cleaning the house? (I totally do both of those things, by the way. Seriously. Just made an extremely tasty dinner last night. If my travel blog doesn't catapult me to success, maybe a dinner blog will). Does a month or so apart make us forget what each other looks like? A month is not going to do anything 'cept make the heart grow fonder.
Thankfully, those responses have been minimal. Most people, including the husband himself, have been quite supportive.
Since he is really the only person who counts, as of about a month from now, I am dusting off ye olde backpack, hopping on a flight to Managua, followed by a bus to Granada. When I get there, I will be fulfilling yet another travel dream.
Can't wait.
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