As they often say-Shit Happens!!!!!

Stand at almost any intersection in downtown Toronto and you will typically see one or several of the following- a Tim Hortons, Shoppers Drug Mart, a pizza restaurant or convenience store. That is not the case if one stands at the corner of Gerrard Street and University. Towering over the street are four buildings that most people would prefer to avoid- Sick Kids, Toronto General, Mount Sinai and Princess Margaret Hospital (PMH).

 It was there that I found myself late last December, nervously awaiting an appointment on the 18^th floor of PMH. Entering into the building, I found myself in a beehive of activity as members of the public and medical staff swarmed down the hallways. Overhead signage indicated directions to various medical departments, all cancer related. The elevator ride to the 18^th floor seemed to take forever as it stopped at almost every floor. Exiting onto the floor, the first sign to grab my attention was Ophthalmic Oncology.

  Three hours and multiple tests later, I departed the building, my suspicions confirmed and an action plan in place for treatment. On the plus side, the medical team, while stressing some degree of urgency, felt that I should continue with my planned trip to Nicaragua.

 First detected a little over two years ago in a routine eye exam the condition was initially identified as a nevus (a benign mole) on the rear inner surface of my left eye. After several tests, an ophthalmologist at the London Ivey Institute assured me that there was no cause for concern. Gut instinct told me otherwise. A diligent search of various professional ophthalmic web sites also told me otherwise. And yet, for various reasons, I failed to push for further tests or a second opinion until several months had passed.

  A further optiscan in November showed a significant increase in the size of the tumour, thus initiating the trip to Princess Margaret Hospital where the condition was confirmed as choroidal melanoma.( Affecting 6 people in a million it seems to affect white blue eyed males at a disproportionate rate- just my luck!)

Wednesday March 2^nd 2011

  The whirring of my roommate’s humidifier is the only audible sound as I sit on my bed typing out this brief journal.

 I arrived at the Princess Margaret Lodge shortly after 3pm today and will spend the night here before returning to the hospital for my surgery. I am not anticipating too much sleep- a) due to my apprehension about the upcoming procedure and b) due to the condition of my roommate Andy who has been undergoing chemo/radiation for a cancer on his neck. The treatment has essentially destroyed his salivary glands so he can’t eat and has issues with oral hygiene requiring him to rinse with various products on a frequent basis. As a result he is in and out of bed several times a night. Clearly he is in a great deal of discomfort with some very obvious radiation burns on his lower face and neck area.

 The PM Lodge is a residence where out of town cancer patients (and room permitting, spouses) stay while undergoing surgery, chemotherapy or radiation treatments. Similar to a university dorm, each room has two single beds, a bathroom and a small fridge. Included in the nominal cost of a weeks stay ($75) are three meals served cafeteria style. Several lounges scattered throughout the building provide TV as well as an extensive library of used books, DVD and VHS movies as well as a considerable stack of old magazines. Nursing staff and security are on staff 24/7 to assist residents who need additional support

Friday March 4^th 5pm

  Thursday morning I woke around 6am, having managed 3 or 4 hours of sleep over the course of the night.

  The temperature being a tolerable minus 2 degrees with no wind I chose to walk to the hospital rather than take a cab. The cool morning air and the relative quiet allowed me the chance to reflect upon the upcoming procedure and the days ahead.

  Arriving just before 7am I found that they did not have a room available for me for my pre-op procedures. Consequently I spent an hour watching TV in the lounge. A little after 8am they made a room available where I was able to strip down to a gown and paper slippers. At 9am I was transferred to a gurney and rolled into an elevator for the trip to the 3^rd floor operating room. As is typical, the room was well below normal temperature. One of the nurses in attendance quickly covered me in several pre-warmed blankets, while a resident practiced his IV insertion technique on me, supervised by the anaesthetist. After struggling to get proper IV flow they began adding antibiotics and a mix of analgesics and anaesthetics to the saline bag and then nothing…..
 While I slept a small radioactive disk known as a plaque was slipped behind my eyeball over the area of the tumour. Over the next week it would emit sufficient radiation to destroy the tumour while, hopefully, causing little damage to the rest of the eye.

 When I awoke, an hour and a half later, I found myself in the recovery room feeling very little discomfort and no nausea or other problems. After a light snack of crackers and cookies I drifted in and out of sleep for several hours.

 In the next bed, an older gentleman from Brampton was recovering from the same procedure, except he was a week ahead and had just had his plaque removed.

  The second surgery is apparently much simpler than the initial insertion and only takes a half hour to complete.

His tumour had been detected by chance during an eye exam in November, so his medical history was similar to mine, except his doctor acted on the situation immediately.

 After remaining in the hospital overnight for observation, we were discharged back to the lodge armed with several eye pads; a couple of different eye drops and eye ointment.

  Looking around the dining room at lunchtime, it was somewhat surprising to see that most of the residents looked healthy and not at all how one normally imagines a cancer patient, emaciated, skin discoloured, and in obvious discomfort. Thinking back to my Mother’s final days, it is clear that science has made some significant strides in the last 10 years.

 As treatments are not typically carried out on weekends, most residents have gone home for a two day treatment holiday, leaving just a handful of people to fend for themselves since the kitchen is closed on Saturday and Sunday. Andy, after 7 weeks of therapy left today too. He was returning to Guelph and two months of recuperation at home before returning to work.

Monday 3am

  Waking at 2 and unable to fall back to sleep, I continue…..

  The weekend passed with relative speed and little excitement. Susanna came up on Saturday and we met at the Yorkdale Mall where we shopped for a lighter coat for me, my parka being a bit too heavy for the rainy weather. We had supper together at the Keg Restaurant adjacent to the lodge before she set out on what would be a snowy ride back to Listowel

   Over the course of Saturday evening and Sunday, I chatted with a few of the residents who were staying at the lodge for the weekend. Some had been there for several months including one gentleman being treated for Lymphoma. He was undergoing a stem cell procedure and he and his wife had been there 5 months. Another resident, a lady in perhaps her mid fifties had been there for 7 weeks while another resident had been in the lodge with occasional returns home for close to two years.

 So all in all it was apparent that my procedures and my one-week stay were a walk in the park compared to everyone else’s journey towards recovery.

Monday evening

  The sun was shining yet there was a cool breeze as I walked to PMH for my 9:30 appointment with Dr Gonzalez. Removing my eye pad he viewed the eye under a microscope and seemed pleased with the progress. While he applied eye ointment and a new eyepad he answered a number of questions for me. The liver scan was negative for any sign of malignancy and with a negative liver scan there was no likelihood of spread to lungs or bone. Scans were suggested every six months for a year or so. The visual blurring that I was experiencing might be permanent and might actually get worse. It would take a couple of weeks following the second surgery for things to stabilize.

 With the appointment concluded, I purchased a weekly Metro Pass then spent the morning wandering through the Eaton Centre just browsing music and video stores and bookshops. Before returning to the lodge I bought a toque (wool hat for any non Canadians who might be reading this!) at “Chinadian Tire” thus making the trip back to the Lodge a lot more comfortable than the earlier walk to the hospital.

 Returning to the Eaton Centre later in the afternoon I met Caitlin, who was in town for a course and we had supper together at the Hot House Café.

  By the time I returned to the Lodge the temperature was dropping to FYAO levels and I was glad to be back inside.

Friday March 11^th

    I spent Tuesday and Wednesday getting my moneys worth from my Metro Pass. Sadly the weather was not too co-operative so I found myself catching buses and streetcars on trips that I normally would have walked. I made visits to several music shops where I debated the possibility of buying a new guitar. With the exception of Steve’s Music and Long and McQuade most of the vendors had a “couldn’t give a shit” attitude to my presence as a potential customer. Maybe the patch over my eye was a bit of a deterrent or maybe business was so fantastic that they didn’t need to make another sale!!!! Doubtful, considering the current state of the economy.

  Anyway, I decided that I could forgo a new toy, confining myself to a new set of strings and a better tuner for my old Ovation guitar, with its slightly cracked and warped top. I did get the sales rep at Steve’s to write down a couple of model numbers for a possible future purchase, assuming I get a decent income tax refund.

  Thursday morning I returned to PMH at 8am for my pre-op sign in and preparation. The latter, as before consisted of eye drop instillation every 15 minutes for an hour pre-op. With surgery scheduled for 10:30 I was surprised to find them waiting to take me down to the OR at 10am. It seems that things were moving well ahead of schedule so I was prepped and on the table by about 10:20. Dr Simpson spent several minutes reviewing the upcoming procedure and chit chatting about the number of these surgeries he does [ 4 a week on average so that means he treats just about every patient in the country since there are approx.200 cases a year], keeping me occupied, while a line was painlessly inserted into my left hand. Not so painless was the flow of anaesthetic, which burned quite intensely for several seconds before I drifted off to sleep.

 Other than the clock on the recovery room wall indicating 11:20, the only thing I noticed was a rather intense headache- something, like the burning, that I had not experienced during the first op.  When I questioned Dr Gonzalez this morning, he assured me they had used the same mix of analgesics and anaesthetics as the first surgery- the difference in symptoms indicated otherwise- but at this point it matters little.

  Returning to my room I found that my roommate had just undergone stage one of the procedure, so he spent much of the afternoon asking me questions. A 70-year-old resident of Hamilton, he had emigrated from Yorkshire in the mid sixties and made frequent trips back to England to visit family, so we spent much of our time swapping stories of the “old country”

  This morning Dr Gonzalez arrived for rounds at 9am. When he removed the eye pad and tape, my vision was extremely blurred. That was in part due to the heavy ointment residue that was caked all over the lens. A saline cleanse improved the situation considerably and I was able to see that the double vision had cleared, as Dr Simpson had predicted. Clearly the distortion of the eyeball by the plaque was the root cause of the visual change.

  Deciding that I would forgo a patch for the remainder of the day, he instilled a couple of tobradex drops into the eye, primarily to reduce the swelling. It also has antibiotic properties but he said there was little risk of infection, as the radiation would have killed off any bacteria.

 I wasted no time in exiting the building and while in better weather I might have stopped to reflect on my good fortune at bidding PMH goodbye, I quickly entered the Queens Park Subway for my trip to the St Lawrence Market.

   Twenty minutes later, I was sitting at a small table on the second floor, a peameal bacon and fried egg sandwich in front of me. After the tasteless trash that passed for food at PMH, this was heaven. Washed down with a perfect cup of coffee, it was the ultimate ending to my week in Toronto.

  Sufficiently satisfied, I made a quick stop at one of the cheese vendors, choosing a selection of Edam, Gouda and Cheshire before heading for the bakeshop on the main floor where I picked up a loaf of Muesli and Raisin bread.

  With the clock on my wall ticking its way towards 5pm, I only have a few more hours left in the big city. My train leaves at 10:55 tomorrow morning.

  With only a few residents left in the building, supper will be a relatively quiet affair and once it is done, maybe I will be able to select something to watch on TV other than Coronation Street, Hockey and Curling since there will be few people to fight over the remote!

  Having only spent a week at the PMH Lodge, my stay here is definitely one of the shorter ones. A number of people went home today after spending several weeks or even months here.  Several are staying for who knows how long. Many of those leaving do so knowing that they may be fortunate enough never to return while some are aware this is just one stop in a journey that will take them along paths they would rather not travel.

 As one of the lucky ones, I leave the Lodge cancer free and I hope that I remain that way. Liver scans every six months will be part of my routine for the next 3 to 4 years. More importantly, stopping to smell the flowers and savour the coffee will be a little higher on my list of priorities than seeing how many shifts I can fit into my semi-retired work schedule.

BAHAI HEALING PRAYER
     Thy name is my healing, O my God, and remembrance of Thee is my remedy. Nearness to Thee is my hope, and love for thee is my companion. Thy mercy to me is my healing and my succour in both this world and the world to come. Thou, verily, art the All-Bountiful, the All-Knowing, the All-Wise.

Bahá’u’lláh

 Hopefully my next blog will be of a more touristic nature as I am planning a trip to Italy or Turkey in the Fall

         Adios Amigos y Vaya con Dios

                                                                    

 

 

Final Update- Nicaragua Blog 2010/11

THE WRAP UP.- Matagalpa, Friday Feb 11^th 1 am.   

  Travelling solo is an adventure like no other- it allows you to set your own speed and agenda. At times it can be risky and sometimes it can be lonely, but strangely enough, that did not happen often. There was always someone there to talk to, pretty well every single day. Often the communication was with locals and was a struggle as I mangled their Spanish and they butchered my English, but generally the message got through.

 One little old lady on a bus was telling the guy behind her that “ this idiot next to me cant speak a word of Spanish” I just smiled and let it go although I was tempted to tell her “ I think my Spanish is not quite as bad as you think.”

  In the course of 6 weeks I have seen every spot on the tourist map except for the Corn Islands. I have also seen a lot of places that many tourists don’t even know exist.

  For being such a small country, it is absolutely amazing the extent of diversity that Nicaragua has to offer.

 Just as impressive is the fact that the people seem to be able to bounce back from every adversity that they have faced. Two major conflicts in 30 years and several natural disasters would have made most people give up, yet they seem to keep plugging away. With a cost of living only barely above Haiti, the main thing required in this country is a government that will focus on reasonable development, while protecting key ecological treasures. A government that will provide improved standards for all working and or retired citizens while refusing to line its own pockets. A government that will respectfully refuse the advances and offers of external financial support i.e. the USA and China, unless it comes without strings. In other words, probably not in my lifetime!!!

  Having spent close to 7 weeks travelling the country I have visited over 30 different communities and (counting my last trip) have been to all but 3 of the (17) departamentos (or states), which make up the country. And yet with 3 departamentos to go, there is still 50% of the country yet to see.

 Will I ever fulfill that goal?? That is a question that I can’t answer right now. While I would love to do so, with little infrastructure, travel in those areas is very physically demanding and I am not getting any younger. Besides, for me, South America remains untouched, as do many parts of the Far East. In spite of all my years of travelling, I have yet to cross the equator so perhaps that will be my next (but one) project.

  Any future travel plans will most likely hinge on the outcome of two upcoming eye surgeries, currently scheduled for March 3^rd and 10th. [That will probably be the subject of a future blog]

 My hopes are that the next trip on my agenda will be what is often termed “The Pilgrim’s Way. In other words the route across Northern Spain following the road to Santiago de Compostella. With the need to cover about 20km a day, at least, walking through various terrains in all weathers, I will need to downsize my baggage requirements somewhat. That might be my biggest challenge.

 As the clock rolls on for 1 in the morning, my sleep is being disturbed by a howling cat somewhere below my hotel window, and a couple of mosquitoes buzzing around in the semi-darkness who are determined to extract some blood from me before the night is through. And as if that is not enough, a choir of barking dogs is trying to ensure that no one else gets to sleep while they are awake. Once they are done a chorus of roosters will take over thus guaranteeing that I don’t waste too much time sleeping my life away.

  

Buenos Noches y Vaya con Dios

To anyone who has been paying attention to my occasional history lessons and wishes to follow them further, a site recommended by Gringo Mike is BBC.com then type in Nicaragua on their search engine.

  Otherwise just google: Augusto Sandino

                                        Carlos Fonseca ( the politician, not the boxer!)

                                         The Samoza Era + Nicaragua

                                          Ben Linder

For links to specific geographic areas, the searches (including video) are absolutely endless. Enjoy

 

Back in Gringo Glulch- Granada

9pm Thursday night

  With a rather full day of activity behind me, I enjoyed a long walk back to the hotel this evening after dinner at El Mason. Located a good 1.5km from the hotel, the walk back allowed me to absorb some of the street activity at both city parks as well as the km of “main street” that separated them. Up in the hills, the lights in the barrios looked like stars, making a very beautiful nightscape- a far contrast to the daytime when the shacks and shanties are revealed in all their “glory”

 Along the street the fruit vendors had packed and gone home, replaced by food vendors grilling meats over homemade barbecues cut from split oil drums. A few shops, mostly clothing were open, the boom of auto tuned digital music mixes blasting from their doors to let people know they were still in business.

 In the cathedral a packed house was listening to a sermon on what sounded to me like respect for women. [Nicaragua and Matagalpa in particular seems to have some issues with spousal abuse]

  A couple of streets over a basketball game was in full swing at a small “stadium” and judging by the crowd noise, anyone who wasn’t in church or wandering through the parks was watching the game.

  Staying in bed this morning till the ungodly hour of 7:45, I enjoyed a light breakfast before touring the town to see any churches and museums I might have missed.

  The Coffee Museum, open 8 to 5 was closed every time I walked by. The Carlos Fonseca Museum (and also his place of birth) was open. A small, home with brick floors, adobe walls and tile roof, it traced his life from birth through to the founding of the FSLN (Sandanistas) to his death [of wounds following an ambush by opposition forces in 1976. The museum featured some photos from the era of street fighting in the various towns as Samoza attempted to put down the revolt. Some towns were actually “carpet bombed” by his air force in an attempt to crush the rebellion. [The US military had also done the same in Ocotal in 1933 so it wasn’t a totally unfamiliar experience for the people]

 Following this brief history lesson, I attempted to hike up to one of the miradors (scenic lookouts) that surround the city. After wandering through one of the western barrios and climbing several hundred feet on fairly decent concrete pathways, I found myself slipping and sliding on narrow rocky paths for some distance before I abandoned my quest and returned to the city centre.

 Like most of the hills surrounding the city, they are dotted with small homes of rather poor construction. Adobe or walls of salvaged wood seem to be the norm with the odd tile roof, but more typically, corrugated steel. As I travelled uphill I found myself to be the centre of attention as kids chased me to “take my photo” Unlike Guatemala and Mexico where money seems to be a prerequisite, these kids wanted nothing more than to be the subject in someone’s camera lens.

  At one point I found myself in the middle of an impromptu soccer game with a dozen kids (ages about 8 to 14) trying out their, TV learned, English slang on me. Once they saw the camera they hammed it up while I snapped a few shots before heading back downhill still laughing at their attempts to make fun of me.

 Lunch was a pizza at El Mason while I chatted with an American “ They call me Gringo Mike” who had lived in Matagalpa for 3 years. Originally from Washington State he had, in his words, visited over 80 countries and considered Nicaragua to be one of the best he had seen.

 With lunch stretching out to a rare dos cervesas, I was more than ready for a siesta when I returned to my room.

  Apart from a quick visit to the cathedral to grab some interior shots (missed on my last visit) the afternoon was largely “wasted” as I enjoyed the (soon to be abandoned) pleasure of being busy doing nothing!!

  With most of my “stuff” packed for the return journey to Granada, I guess I will wake up tomorrow when ever my body tells me to. And after that, who knows.

5pm Granada.

    Four hours of bus then taxi then bus again found me back in Gringo Gulch by 1:20pm. By the time the bus had descended into the flatlands north of the city the temperature was already into the low 30’s with a good dose of humidity to boot.The ride across Managua was the slightly more expensive than the express bus from Matagalpa into Managua $3.00 vs $3.50 but I made it to the bus station just in time to catch an express to Granada. Unfortunately, when I arrived there wasn’t a room available at Bohemian Paradise for either Friday or Sunday so I went in search of other digs. After getting quotes of $75 a night (after discount at Casa San Francisco and $60 ( including breakfast) I settled on La Dulce Mar ( with swimming pool) for $35. While it is on the Calzada, the rooms are far enough back that I shouldn’t have to listen to the street noise unless I decide to be a part of it.

 With little planned for the next couple of days, I am close to concluding this blog, except for a final summary which I will tack on once I get it finished.

 Next week it is back to the harsh land of reality, bills and SNOW-OHHHHH NOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Wednesday in Matagalpa

Wednesday 5pm

 As if the chorus of barking dogs and a howling cat weren’t enough, my first migraine of the trip decided to interrupt my sleep plans shortly after midnight.

  The combined effects of an Imitrex and an Imovane  provided me with some relief around 1:30am and I slept soundly till 7:30 this morning.

 Heading uphill towards the bus depot, I made a brief stop at the house of Jeaneth Larios, our homestay “mother” from the last trip. An enjoyable but limited conversation followed as her English comprehension is practically nil. Leaving her some copies of photos from the last trip, I continued to the bus depot where a bus for San Ramon was waiting. Some 12km east of Matagalpa, over reasonably good roads, San Ramon is a small village of perhaps 2000 people. Set into the hills it has few amenities but provides a nice “city break” with some pretty houses and little else. A few walking trails lead off into the hills, one to an abandoned mine and a coffee plantation.  I found the road, once I had left town, to be a bit quiet, with only the odd local passing along the same path. After a km and unsure of just how much further the mine was, I turned back, but not before taking some photos of the surrounding hills.

  Returning to town, I stopped for lunch at a relatively new restaurant adjacent to the town square. Seated at the next table was a woman from Pittsburgh who I had seen about 10 days earlier in El Castillo. It turns out that we were travelling similar routes but going the opposite way. Consequently I was able to provide her with recommendations for her planned trip (after lunch) to Jinotega and Esteli.

  Strangely enough, one of the main purposes of her trip to Matagalpa was to visit the grave of Ben Linder, something she must have done shortly before my own visit yesterday.

  Following lunch, a stop in at Matagalpa tours got me an unaffordable price to visit Finca Esperanza Verde, a coffee farm west of town. While I could have done it using local buses, that route required an 8km round trip hike over some rocky roads. The tour would have eliminated the hike, but at $110 US for a single person, it was well beyond my willingness to pay. Similar to Selva Negra it would have been an interesting way to spend the day, but I am sure I can find some short hikes around town that will keep me busy for a lot less $$.

   Supper tonight was at La Vita e Bella, a small pizza/Italian restaurant near the hotel. Having enjoyed a meal there on my last visit I was a little disappointed at tonight’s speed of service and  just average food. A new place, which just opened up a couple of weeks ago El Mason will probably give them some competition in the pizza department.

 Still a little too early for bed, I entertained myself watching a few South Park episodes that I had loaded onto my I-Pod- totally tasteless!!!! But somewhat amusing.

Matagalpa- first 2 days

Matagalpa, Tuesday evening.

According to my computer, today is Tuesday and I am in Matagalpa (although I figured out the second part on my own)

  Yesterday’s bus trip from Jinotega into town was relatively tolerable, with never more than 5 or 6 people standing during the entire route. With the bus significantly less crowded than my ride north on Saturday, I was able to truly enjoy the beauty of the scenery as we descended into the Matagalpa area. The people on the bus looked at me like I was nuts as I snapped photos of various scenic areas. [“Look at the crazy gringo, taking pictures of rocks and trees!”]

 Arriving around 10am it took several requests of various taxi drivers before one knew of my intended destination.

 La Buena Onda (English translation- Good Vibes) is a small hostel with one private room, which I have for the next 4 nights [No-one would get any sleep if I slept in a common dorm!]

 Located about 3 blocks away from the main cathedral, it is within walking distance of most of the core area.

  Matagalpa is a town of around 500,000 inhabitants, located about 1200 meters above sea level and roughly 130km north of Granada [although the road distance is considerably longer] Surrounded by hills that tower over the town centre, a walk in any direction will generally involve at least one or two uphill sections.

 Walking around town yesterday, I was quite surprised at the changes that had occurred since my last visit in 2009- a few new coffee shops, restaurants and shops and a general look of improved prosperity. Meanwhile, some things hadn’t changed at all- the same fruit vendors on the same street corners and the same old ladies begging for change in front of the more popular stores.

 Walking back to the hotel yesterday afternoon, I bumped into one of the Spanish teachers from my previous trip. We enjoyed a brief chat, half Spanish, half English about work and life in general.

 Between a heavy rainfall, the 2 am barking dogs and the 4 am roosters I did not get a whole lot of sleep last night.

  The temperature was in the very low teens when I first stepped outside this morning at 7. The surrounding hills were barely visible through a very dense low cloud cover.

  Following an overly heavy Nica traditional breakfast [fruit juice. tortilla, rice and beans, scrambled eggs] I set out for a walk to the cemetery. Starting out with two layers of clothing against the chill, I was not feeling any warmer by the time I reached the southern bus depot. Passing this halfway point on what I estimated was a 3km trip, I found myself off the edge of the map in my guidebook. Faced with the choices of flagging a taxi down or just using my internal GPS, I managed to follow a route that found me, more or less at the front of the cemetery.

 The city actually has two cemeteries which are located side by side- one for locals and one for foreigners. The former was my intended destination.

 Located on the side of a hill, the grave markers ranged from simple crosses to very large mausoleums. After wandering aimlessly for a good half hour I sought the assistance of one of the staff who was doing basic site maintenance.

 Following a very meandering path across the cemetery he eventually led me to the gravesite that I had been seeking.

  A stone, much smaller than expected, marked the grave of Ben Linder, the only non-Nicaraguan buried in this part of the cemetery. The grave, surrounded by a low, pastel blue painted, cement boundary, had clearly not been attended to for some time. A few weeds and the odd flower had struggled through the dry earth that marked his burial place.

 After taking a few photographs I began my walk back to the city centre, somewhat saddened by the fact that a significant motivator and developer of the country’s infrastructure hadn’t received more attention. [Besides other things, he was instrumental in the development of several small hydro-electric projects offering electricity to villages in the Jinotega area]

 Passing through the market area I observed some sights typically off limits to most tourists.

 A couple of kids were digging through a large pile of refuse, salvaging any pieces of discarded fruit and vegetables that were still passably edible. Further along the same street, passed out from either alcohol or solvent abuse, a male in perhaps his early thirties lay face up, oblivious to the world, while dozens of flies crawled over his face and body.

 Somewhat further along the route I noticed a male, perhaps in his early forties, sitting on a small stool in front of his home. In his hands a pencil and a grade one (or two?) spelling tutor, complete with simple pictures. In a slow and deliberate manner he tried, with obvious difficulty, to fill in the words representing the pictures before him. Taking basic literacy for granted, I was somehow shocked as I watched discretely while he struggled.

  Having had more than enough exposure to the hidden side of life in this country, I was glad to be able to return to my hotel room where I could hide from the realties of life for a few hours.

 Having succumbed to the effects of a batido de mango [fruit blended with ice and milk like a smoothie] which I drank on the way back to the hotel- delicious but dangerous!(possibly bad ice or sour milk) I didn’t leave the hotel until late afternoon.

   A 1km walk to the northern bus depot to check on bus routes and schedules brought on an episode of dizziness and profuse sweating which I attributed to a combination of hypoglycemia and dehydration. Afraid of blacking out on the street, I made a hasty retreat to the hotel, only straying as far as the adjacent café for a light supper once the dizziness settled down.

 Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.