A Quick Bit of Staistics

Sept 10, 2009
Johnson, VT

I am slightly obsessive about certain things and I have quietly hid these little obsessions over the years. I have decided to embrace them as I approach the end of my 30 years.

30 gigs of data / digital images were created on this last trip
63 rolls of film shot which equals 1032 frames of images. 451 frames made it through the first edit and have been scanned. 43.7% of film shot made it through the initial edit to move on to the second round. Not a bad shooting average at all.

Logic vs Gut Instinct in hand to hand combat in an all White Room

Aug 31, 209
Johnson, Vermont
Elevation 157m

I am sitting in my all white studio space with a window looking out into the parking lot with a perfect view of the construction workers using the porter potty. I know that photography is on the low end of the totem pole in the art world, but did that need to be made so obvious with a view of the shit house? (I am certain that my studio assignment does not reflect anything other than what is practical and convenient).

I am editing through 63 rolls of film from Mexico and Central America. I shot markets in 13 different cities and 4 countries. I can usually look at the proof sheet and tell you which town that market is as no two markets are a like. I am looking at 3 proof sheets of meat isles and meat stalls and I cannot tell you which country it was in, much less what town. I remember being at that particular market, I remember shooting the images, I remember each of the isles, but I cannot remember anything else. By the process of elimination, logic tells me that this mystery market is not in El Salvador or Nicaragua, but my gut instinct tells me that I shot these images late in the trip which means that it is El Salvador or Nicaragua. OMG! I feel like I am going crazy. My gut is certain, but logic dictates otherwise.

Maybe its not good for me to be in an all white room. Maybe I should staples some pads to the walls....

The brain shuts off when it hears the ocean

Aug 17, 2009
Little Corn, Nicaragua

This is not the first time this has happened. My brain hear the ocean and it automatically shuts off. All critical thinking stops. I am on a Caribbean island and the type A personality has meet its kryptonite. All I want to do is not move, read and stare at the ocean. I guess I don't need to be exhausted in order to stop.

===

I had to visit the doctor here on Little Corn. I needed some antibiotics. I have been out of the loop as to major news events for the last 7 weeks now. Every now and again, I get to browse through the New York Times headlines so at least I have some idea as to what is going on in the world, even if I don't get to read anything in depth. I know there is a health care debate going on in the US and I am very interested as I am one of the millions who are uninsured. This Caribbean island is POOR. The locals are living in one room shacks here on this island. But a visit to the doctor is FREE, getting antibiotics is FREE. Not just for the locals, but even for gringos like me. WTF? How is this possible for a nation like Nicaragua but it is IMPOSSIBLE to get any basic health care like this in a nation such as the US?

Chicken Bus Mystery

Aug 16, 2009
In transit to Managua for the Corn Islands, Nicaragua

Today I need to take a bus from San Juan del Sur to Rivas then onto another bus for Managua where I will get on a flight to the Corn Islands. The bus from Rivas to Managua breaks down before we are even at Granada (this is my second broken down bus on this trip). If I didn't have a flight to catch today, I wouldn't stress about it and would just wait until either the bus is fixed or... but today, time matters. So we grab our packs and hail down the next bus that comes along, which happens to be headed for Managua. The guy who collects the money gets off the second bus and around up nearly everyone who were on the broken down bus (both bus were full prior to this point) and attempts to shove everyone into one bus. OH MY GOD. I did not think a bus could hold this many people. There are 5 guys hanging off the back of the bus, as in, they are not actually inside the bus, and as we stop along the way, more people tries to get on.

The guy some how still manages to collect money from the right people who have not paid their fare.. how does he know who to collect money from when you can't even see the front of the bus? I thought we would have to pay again seeing that we are on a different bus now. But, no, we didn't have to because we have already paid for the broken down bus. Which then brings about the question, are the chicken buses in Nicaragua private enterprise like they are in Guatemala? If all chicken buses are private enterprises in Central America, which I assumed they are, its AMAZING to me that they manage to arrive and depart as promptly as they do.


If the chicken buses are not privately owned and operated then how does the fare collection work? The guy who collects the money sometimes gets off when the bus stops at a certain town, with the money, and another guy gets on and he starts to collect money from the new passengers. All of this happens very seamlessly with no time to hand off the fare collected by one guy to the next. What is going on and how does the system work?

Further more, all of these chicken buses in Central America were once yellow school bus carting children around in the US, how does it get down to Central America? Are they driven down? Are they imported in large quantities? Or does someone who wants to get into the chicken bus business saves up enough money and goes to the US, buys an old school bus and then drive it down himself?

I know this seems like a lot of question about the chicken bus but I can't help but be curious and fascinated by how the whole thing works. If you know anything about it, will you please enlighten me?

We are but dust walking...

Aug 13, 2009
Miraflora, Nicaragua

*This entry is being posted out of sync with linear time....

A bus ride from leon to estlie, a former strong hold for contras and sandinistas but only to be disappointed by how boring the town really is and how there is not much at all that echoes the sense of revolution. I guess I was somewhat serious when I said that I be doing a tour of leftist revolutionaries. I wonder what it is about revolution that really draws me in? Maybe its because they wish for something better, maybe because they stand for change and they fight for the little people?!

Another nearly 2 hour bus ride out to the reserva miraflora the next morning. Chicken bus packed to the rim, just when you think that they can't fit anymore onto the bus, they squeeze a little tighter and another comes on board. The road out to the reserva is a dirt road with rocks and GIANT pot holes filled with rain water. We get dropped off at what I assume is the start of the reserve and we attempt to trek 2km through mud to get to the place where we are supposed to stay. About a km in, we see this finca that I had seen a flyer for in town, we inquire about prices and etc, one finca is just as good as another, why trek another km with packs through mud? We get ourselves into this really cute finca, run by a German wife, a Nicaraguan husband, their baby nero and two fantastic dogs, fiona and snoopy. I was rather smitten with the dogs and really wanted to take one of them home with me.

There are 6 americans here already at the finca. All from northern Cali and here to do some volunteer work for a NGO. 3 of them are in their 60's, old hippies who have found god but are still a bit crunchy and still have a lust for the road. The other 3 are this one guy Mike's daughter, her fiancée and his nephew who has never been outside of California before. They are nice, they are friendly, we make friends and have a nice chat. All the while, I can't help but wonder how did I end up on a finca in nicaragua with a bunch of americans. Then again, 3 nights later, I am sitting lake side drinking rum and coke with a room full of brits.

We opt to ride horses through the reserva. We originally had wanted to trek, but my hiking shoes are nearly dead, tread less and not doing me much good on slippery trails. With the rock filled dirt road and giant water filled pot hole, a horse seems like a much better idea. Ernesto tries to find two more horses for us and in the meantime, we gulf down another plate of rice and beans for breakfast.

8 gringos and 1 guide sets off on horseback. I some how end up with the lead horse, she doesn't like it when there are other horses in front of her and if she sees another approaching, she will pick up pace and get ahead of them. Ian is on a horse that does not like to walk next to other horses, it seems to have trouble with personal space. Several different occasions something would set my horse off, whether because another has come from behind at a full gallop or she felt her position as the lead horse is threatened, she would break out into a full run and I would dig my heels in and hold on for dear life.

The ride through the reserva is beautiful. Gradual green hills dotted with small farms sets in between mountain ranges, just at the height of the clouds. There is green green and more green, all in different shades and textures. We finally get to a waterfall, tie up our horses and sit by the water for a bit. I have been under the weather since El Salvador. Today, I feel like shit. After the waterfall, the guide gave me a different horse for the ride back. This new horse does not like to have its reign pulled at all. You could barley touch reigns as it freaks out when you do. At first she just wanted to walk very very slowly. Feeling like death warmed over by this point, I am rather fine with just sitting on a horse instead of doing any kind of riding. In the meantime, the nephew gets thrown off the horse I was on previously and I am slightly glad that I am not on her anymore. About half way home, my horse freaks out and starts into a full gallop. Can't pull the reigns as that makes her even more crazy, verbal commands don't work, hanging on for dear life is the only thing to do. I can't sit up and ride with her cause there is nothing to hold on to, I would only want to pull on the reigns at least a little if I were to sit up. So now I am leaning closer and closer down to her neck and all of sudden she jerks her head back and head butts me. Once, twice, FUCK! I some how get her to stop running and I get the fuck off of this crazy horse. My face is a little bashed up and I have cut my lip open. I hand the reigns back to the guide and I start my walk home. Enough riding for one day. Ian runs his horse back to the finca and walks back down to meet me. As we both make our way back to the finca, the guide tells us that ian's horse, the one with the personal space issue is crazy as well that is why they named it Satan.

The rest of the afternoon was spent cuddle up in a hammock. Me with as much clothes as I can manage to put on, dozing in the hammock while Ian plows his way through war and peace.

Night comes and we stand out in the middle of the field and look up. There are so many stars out, there are no city lights, there are nothing for miles around. The last time I had seen a sky with as many stars, I was 100KM from MT Everest in a no name town with someone who I thought I was going to marry. 18 months later, I am in Nicaragua, wrapped up in another man's arms and once again amazed at the beauty that I am being offered, amazed at the twists and turns life has in store for us all. The fire flies are out. They blink on and off through out the finca and it is as if we are surrounded by stars above and below. We maybe but dust walking but do you think that we were able to appreciate this much beauty when we were stars?

This is not our chicken!

Aug 12, 2009
Masaya, Nicaragua

I take the first bus out from Lago de Apoyo to the market at Masaya. It is chaos as always. A beautiful chaos today and I am super excited, albeit exhausted.

There are there two live chicken/poultry vendors next to each other. One is separated from the other by a few stools and nothing more. I watch two chickens, tied to each other at the feet, struggle and escape the box that they were in. They attempt to wonder, or at least, one of them tries while the other doesn't understand that its in a 3 legged race. A man from the next "shop" comes over, sees the escaped chickens, picks them up and hands them to his wife, giving her a hard time about not keeping a better eye on the poultry. She has one look and tells him that those are not their chicken and hands them back to her neighbor.
Charlie Grosso
www.charliegrosso.com
310-592-0895

Ice Cream, Parque Central and Cashew Selling Boy

Aug 11, 2009

Granada, Nicaragua



We are sitting in Parque Central having an ice cream as it is unbearably hot and there is still a little bit of time before our shuttle leaves for Lago de Apoyo. A boy selling bags of cashews comes by and sits down next to us on the bench. Would we like some nuts? No thanks. He stays and kinda hangs out. He takes our ice cream wrappers and runs them to th trash can. He wears his baseball cap on a slant to indicate that he's got a bit of street in him, that he is cool. He at first mimics us and kinda makes fun of us, then he chats with us while keeping an eye on all the girls that walks by. He is 10 years old. He has been selling nuts on the street for 5 years now. He doesn't go to school because he can't afford to. He asks us for some of our water and we hand him the bottle. He takes a drink and tries to hand it back. We indicate that he can keep the bottle. He down the half liter that is left in one gulp and chucks the bottle aside (not in the trash but he walked our ice cream wrappers to the trash can). We wish him well and walk away. What can we do? Buying a bag a over priced nuts will not ensure a better life for him, maybe sharing our water and a bit of our time is all we can ever do.



*picture to come

Charlie Grosso

www.charliegrosso.com

310-592-0895

Folklores and Gruesome Torture

Aug 8, 2009

Leon, Nicaragua

Elevation 110m



I attempted a walking tour of Leon yesterday as per LP's recommendation. I have never tried one before as I usually just cherry pick all the things I want to see and then skip the rest. I can't say that the walking tour was a major success seeing that I only finished half of it but one of the museums it recommended as part of the tour was rather fabulous.



Museo de Leyendas y Mitos was a garrison during the civil war and it is full of life size papier-mache figures from Leonese history and legend. All set in contrast with simple deceptions of methods of torture on the wall by the National Guards (US trained and supported). The volunteer guide takes you through room by room and explains the local legend and folklores to you, then he easily shifts gear and tells you about methods of torture performed. It was quiet a surreal experience.



On top of it all, the papier-mache figures and other objects that makes up the display is so comical, simple, hence FABALOUS, that I can't help but be a little in love with it all. We visit major museums and see these carefully curated art, objects of antiquity, dioramas, and then all of sudden we are in Leon, looking at a museum comprised of strange papier-mache figures and halloween decorations. Then again, why should this be any less of a museum as the Museum of Natural History in say NYC? Are we all not simply trying to tell our story, our history, our folklores in whichever way we can?