Delayed flight. Free internet! A silver lining to my exhausted fog, the agony of being between. Between Gigante and Los Angeles, between two worlds and between decisions and future/past. While I’m still literally in the country of Nicaragua, being in this airport, air conditioned, expensive and English-speaking, I’m so far from Nicaragua; but even while I type I can watch beat-up cars zoom past on the Pan-American, taxis and the school buses transporting us from here to there. It took me longer to get from Gigante to Managua than it will from Managua to Miami… planes are weird things, incongruous in a world of walking down a dirt road to the beach and of old school buses that grind slowly along the highway. Wandering through the climate controlled airport, I get glimpses of a green Nicaraguan skyline, and yet already here they sell newspapers in English, and my breakfast just cost me $7.50. Advertisements and announcements in Spanish but everyone who works here speaks English, so I’ve already departed the Spanish-speaking world–since I look like a gringa, I’m spoken to in English, automatically. I shall miss existing in Spanish. (I’ve noticed that speaking so much Spanish, and teaching English, has changed my voice intonations, so that I speak English differently than I did five months ago. Bizarre.) 

There seriously is a cause and effect to all that we do. Just as I predicted, not even half a day after I exalted that the power had stayed on for so long, on my last day at Brio, the power-outage gods smiled their ironic grin. Nicaragua, always so considerate, gave me a big goodbye hug and turned the power off from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Friday, proving that someone is always listening. A day without power was actually a blessing in disguise. It forced me to just be, away from my computer and the worry of deciding my next move, Google searches and networking emails. Nope, just beach views and swimming and a long run. Time in the kitchen with Ioxlina and Jackie. And a lovely goodbye party in the evening. I finally decided not to decide anything, which was a big decision in and of itself. I’m hoping home will provide some clarity as to my next move. 

I am, however, still confused. I am having a hard time articulating my feelings, so I shall resort to infantile descriptions. I’m sad. I’m excited to be in the first world, at home home. I’m sad to leave a home in the third. I’m excited for family and friends–really excited for family and friends–but want to follow through with my new ones. I want to follow-through with this new Megan, with the changes I see in myself, and allowing those changes to just be, without notice or justification. I’m wondering if the culture shock of arriving into LAX in twelve hours may just kill me. And am just rather exhausted. A two-day ordeal to get home and I think I’ve had too much time to think and bum out about leaving and get excited to arrive. 

Honestly, when ever in my life will I be able to say (have I ever said) that I have no idea where I’ll be in one month’s time. Being 22 and free and the ability to say “I don’t know” is just about the best thing in the world right now. (Which I have to keep reminding myself in this return-travel haze.) Yay life! 

And now, I’m flying north.

“She has become an expert at confusing what is with what was with what should be with what could be.”

I’m in the space between. 

The quote comes from Everything is Illuminated, a book I’m reading that reminds me why I want to write and what I want to write and writing and language. A Jewish-American writer returns to Ukraine to find his ancestor’s town and his heritage, to find a way to write. He is assisted in his quest by an unfortunate translator, a Ukrainian teen with a mangled command of the English language who speaks in butchered, overly eager phrases of unexpected clarity. 

“I’m looking for my voice,” says our American writer about why he writes. 

The eager teen helpfully responds, “It is in your mouth.”

Sometimes the most obvious advice is the best. Your voice is in your mouth. Do what you want to do. What to do?

My 8:35 a.m. American Airlines flight home on Sunday, December 21—this very Sunday—has forced a decision in my life. I was bumping happily along on the road into Gigante, curving left down onto the sandy beach, enjoying my friends and Nica family here. All badly rutted and muddy roads pointed to Gigante, and I had decided I’d be crazy not to return. Come last week, all things converged and suddenly a fork in the road appeared and I have to make a decision.

I got an offer for an internship from 5280 Magazine—a great city magazine in Denver—last Friday and after lots of thinking and contemplating that bumpy road, I decided to turn it down, not even close to ready to heading back to the United States. 

And then, I dragged myself out of bed before the sun was up last Monday morning and Juan dropped me off in Tola and I made my way into Granada. Four hours of travel later, I stumbled off the bus and, power walking to my hostel, saw two lovely and familiar faces sipping coffee in a café—Kate and Brooke arrived! Yay. It was wonderfully bizarre to tool around Granada with them, familiar and foreign. We ate breakfast together and I headed off to newspaper-land to design another issue of the Nicaraguan Post. Mid-way through design, Darrell drops the bomb:

The newspaper is going under. It’s finito. 

After our skipped issue, advertising revenue didn’t pick up. The outlook in Nicaragua is grim. Between the Waves, the magazine I was writing for, backs the Post financially and the magazine is in the same pickle as the newspaper—advertisers aren’t buying ad space, and so even a five-year established magazine is feeling the crunch. For a free newspaper and magazine, it’s a trifle hard to continue operations when your only revenue stream dries up. Therefore, the double whammy arrives. Not only is the Post going under, and thus am I out of my designing job, but also Jesse (editor of BTW) doesn’t think he can financially support a staff writer come January.

And capricho is at it again—the whims of the universe. Capblooop went my lovely planned existence. I landed these two amazing jobs, making great money, in beautiful Nicaragua, something I had never expected, and surely it was too good to be true… and it was.

As I whirl myself into a tizzy trying to decide what my next step shall be, I remember a line from Kung Fu Panda, the in-flight movie I was forced to watch three times en route from Miami to Managua five months ago. The wise old mongoose, or cricket maybe, I don’t remember, says to chubby Jack-Black-cartoon-panda… “Remember… accidents don’t exist. There are noooo accidents. You have to give up the illusion of control.” I quite enjoy how in-flight movies always worm their way back into your life. (The blue butterfly, anyone?) 

So, in the midst of all this, my two wonderful girlfriends are visiting, and I’m simultaneously staring down a life decision and attempting to show them a wonderful time in Nicaragua. Actually, it was great to be able to analyze (and over-analyze) all my life decisions over margaritas with two people who know me well, so although I felt a little bi-polar, their visit’s timing couldn’t have been better. We went out dancing Tuesday night in Granada and, after I ran into about twelve people I know, realized 1. how small of a town Granada really is and 2. how much I feel like I live here in Nicaragua. Wednesday we headed to the Isla de Ometepe, an island in the southern part of Lake Nicaragua and the very site of my ascension up Volcan Concepcion and the snickers-bar-stealing-incident.

We ended up staying at what seemed like a lovely lake-front hotel but instead turned into a bizarre place run by some very mean Nicaraguan women. The food was fantastic and the location great, but they were, for lack of any better word, just plain mean. However, the place offered some fun (expensive) activities, so we kayaked up the river that splits the isthmus connecting the two volcanoes, into a swampy green marsh, silouted by the two fantastic volcanoes. Brooke and I tried to hike Volcan Maderas on Friday morning but because of poor timing, a horrible guide, lots of mud and wind and rain, we decided to turn around about two-thirds of the way up. Our guide was a silly 18-year-old who talked.   like.             this.         and.       used the word.      ‘danger’. without.        clarifying.    what kind.     of.     danger.      it.     was. Arg! So, as were debating the decision to turn around or keep pushing onward, I did some quick calculations and realized that if we did turn around, we could make the last ferry and thus make it home to the beach by dinner-time and away from the weird weird weird hotel with the bad vibe. 

We made it back to Brio and found Matthew, the DU professor, and his gang making fresh lobster, which they generously shared with us. Matthew told us that they went to Ometepe the previous weekend, had made a reservation at the same hotel we stayed at; they drove there, got out of the car, and got such a bad vibe that they got right back in the car and drove away. Oh, when shall we learn to listen to our vibes! Although it was a bizarre place, there were two very cool things about the mean-people hotel on Ometepe: a GIANT chess set and a donkey named Fiona that rambled and ambled around the property like a dog, sticking her nose into books and attempting to eat pieces of the giant chess set mid-game. The pieces were at least six inches tall. It was awesome. Kate and I actually got quite into chess, continuing our battles when we arrived back at Brio (so much that we actually got to Googling Chess strategies, and attempting to apply them). 

And thus we spent our visit splashing in the clear blue ocean water, laying on deserted beaches, drinking beers at sunset and eating fresh fish. They kept saying… “you live here. You live here.” It was nice to be reminded that indeed: this is a bit like paradise. We went to dinner at the restaurant on the beach and watched a three-way mating drama between, what we assumed were two male geckoes and a female. It was intense. So much so that we got to gasping, cheering, and naming the dark night gecko who tried to steal lady-gecko away from her hubby (the hubby we assumed was the one who mounted first, although this could be stretching it a bit). Interestingly enough, geckos reproduce when the male bites the females neck, which we saw in full action. And also, Google later informed us, the odd and incredibly loud chirping sounds that they make are their mating calls. Interesting to find out that the gecko chirping that has been the soundtrack to evenings at Brio are actually the precursor to the geckos getting busy. 

So… yes. Am I coming back? That is the question of the week, everyone and everywhere. Ioxlina, Jackie and I chatted about my life over lunch and they both prescribed me with solutions. I should either find a job in the States (duh) or find a rich husband in the States or find a rich Nicaraguan man to marry and move to Nicaragua for ever and ever. In fact, Ixolina says, I have a brother who is really tall! (And 40, may I add. Sweet?). I’ve put down roots in Gigante and have a great community of people here and am only now beginning to understand and appreciate this place. But also… there is so much else out there in the world! It perhaps is a question of depth versus breadth. I need a new challenge either way, so I suppose that’s what I’m looking for now… wherever that may be. 

As Kimery, my buddy in the Ometepe snicker’s bar incident helpfully mentioned… “it’s hard when you find paradise on the first try.” 

The Brio/Gigante gang are throwing me a going away party tomorrow (aaaaah tomorrow!?!?!?!) night, and Saturday I head off to Granada and Sunday to Managua and to the United States of America for a giant dose of culture shock.

Speaking of culture shock, the power’s hasn’t gone out in three whole days! Which is incredible since a couple of weeks ago, we had a week where we probably had power half of the time. I’m jinxing it now, and the Nicaraguan power line Gods shall surely smite me, but I just felt like pointing out how my expectations are have been wildly adjusted so that I consider only an hour power outage just wonderful. And yet I’m still incredibly excited about a hot shower (even though I’m quite toasty right now in my shorts and tank top) and a giant bowl of Go Lean Crunch. And a chocolate chip cookie. Mmm. 

I’m cracking up by myself in my room right now because Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten just shuffled up on my iTunes and it is so darn appropriate and perfect for my current mood and blog and life—and so damn corny—that I just can’t believe it and suddenly I’m singing along. Life is hilarious. And live your life with arms wide open today is where your book begins the rest is still unwritten. I love the ability to crack myself up, alone in my room in amazing Nicaragua. Oh me oh my. What will I write in 2009? 

Another fantastic Pacific sunset. I sat watching, feet propped in one of the red plastic chairs, when Malinda, Juan’s eldest daughter, came and plopped down next to my feet. “What are you doing?” she asked. 

“Watching the sunset,” I said.

She turned and watched with me and then, puzzled, asked, “Why does the sun go into the ocean? Can the sun swim?” 

What a precious five-year-old. Juan’s family is visiting–his wife and two girls (3 and 5). The youngest seems to just now be developing a personality, while the oldest, Malinda is the first Latino kid I’ve really ever bonded with, probably because she’s the first I’ve ever been able to understand. Yesterday, she made me a crown of white flowers that grow in the garden at Brio, and I braided purple ones into her pigtails. (Right now she’s playing with my seed necklace, spelling our names on the table. It’s definitely going to break, but she’s so into it, I don’t feel I should stop her.)

Channeling my dad’s sage words, and feeling privileged to play a small moment in her life, I told her about how it was actually the Earth that was moving. “You see, the Earth rotates away from the sun, so it only looks like the sun is swimming in the ocean,” I said, feeling old and also just how fast the Earth turns and suddenly you’re the one who knows the answers. 

This week has been tranquil, about amazing people I suddenly find myself surrounded by–Juan’s family and new friends I’ve made in town, a group of gringos who run a surf camp and are some of the most welcoming people I’ve met. Last night, they invited me to dinner (actually it was more of an, obviously you’re staying for dinner) for amazing chicken thai pasta and baby green salad. I went surfing with the guys in the afternoon, driving up the coast and tackling what was for me, a brand new wave, which was totally scary and fun and frustrating as I realize firsthand that not all waves break the same (duh) and thus my very limited skills don’t translate beach to beach. Don’t get me wrong… I’m not actually surfing yet. Mostly, I bob around and paddle for waves that I miss. Or I paddle back out and get pummeled by incoming whitewash that my longer board doesn’t dive effortlessly under. I’m still exhausted from the beating, 24 hours later. But, I’m learning, slowly slowly slowly, and I’ve decided it’s more about floating on my board and swimming around and sunsets in the water than actually being a ‘surfer’ (which entails me looking like a complete fool as I flop around, summersault ungracefully and surface to cough up water). It’s a different form of exercise and my arms are getting stronger, and it’s a fun group, so meh. I flip, I flop. 

A group of students from DU came on Monday and Tuesday, which was so much fun and also bizarre, as they blew in from a world I feel far removed from but also still close to. (I graduated college six months ago today. Uuuh weird.) Matthew, the professor who set this whole wacky part of my life in motion by introducing Rob and I via email, led the class and they stayed at Brio for two days. Chatting with him here was surreal, when only yesterday we were in freezing Denver and he floated the hypothetical, impossible idea of moving to Nicaragua by me.  The first day the group arrived, as Ioxlina and Jackie cooked lunch for twelve, I ran back and forth from the kitchen to the bar where the group was camped, a very appropriate physical manifestation of my feelings during their visit. A friend of mine that I’ve known since freshman year was the group’s TA, and like everybody, was great to see and also incredibly out of place in my life here. 

On the note of visitors popping into my very different life here, Brooke and Kate, two of the most rocking travel buddies, are currently on a plane to Managua, and I’m off tomorrow at 5 a.m. to Granada to meet up with them and have a girl-adventure. YAY. I need some girl time in my life, and these girls rock. I’m a little worried because at some point in the next two days, I also have to layout a 16-page paper. That’s right, the Post is back in action, yay round two for me still having a job! So, a bit richer and with a bit less sleep, we shall tackle Nicaragua for the week until we head back to Brio on Saturday and they can meet my Brio family. 

Tonight we are celebrating Jackie’s birthday party. It was actually yesterday, but because the hotel was full of clients, we couldn’t exactly take over the common room. I was originally planning to go to Granada this afternoon but was persuaded to instead leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn when Jackie said that I just had to stay for her party. It was super cute. So, I stayed, and Juan is taking me to Tola tomorrow at literally 5 a.m. before he heads to work north up the coast. (I suspect Tola is out the way of his planned trajectory and that he agreed to take me so that I’d stay around Sunday night, so my goodness, these people are fantastic.)

I’m off into the wild blue yonder tomorrow. Thinking safe travel thoughts for mi amigas.