Imagine homes equipped with a cleaning system composed of tiny robot helpers. The robots are built right into the homes, with quarters fabricated directly in the walls, with tiny, inconspicuous loading doors. The robots have designated probe units that examine the human quarters for mess using a variety of next-generation built-in sensors, and communicate discoveries for the immediate assemblage of a crew. This process takes no more than five to ten minutes for any new mess. The robots are equipped with mechanical saws, knives, and loading/carrying systems, and come in a variety of constructions; the appropriate model is sent for the given task—the minuscule model for liquid spills, the medium size model for crumbs and the like, and the extra large model for more substantial debris. Through a virtually instantaneous communication network, the robots work together in teams of the appropriate number to transport the materials back to their loading doors, using an all-terrain locomotive linkage to scale surfaces of up to 90 degrees, at which point they cut the material into a size permitting ready entry. The material is completely removed from the human quarters, where it is taken to small and complex recycling plants, never to be seen again. When a robot is damaged while in service, it is similarly removed, and replacement units are produced in the completely self-contained fabrication centres, which can create as many new units as that region of the house requires.

What would you say if I told you my house has this next-generation miniature robot cleaning system? Well, it does! They’re called ants, and they’re my friends.

While sitting on a bus for an hour here, four hours there, there are so many aspects of Nicaraguan bus culture I want to share. But by the time I sit down at the computer, I no longer have the words. All that remain are tidbits:

• the men are quick to give their seats
• there is better company than in Vancouver
• the buses are generally comfortable
• they are always decked out with carefully selected religious paraphernalia and slogans (as are the taxis), and fancy high-tech LED lighting—it’s nice to see the owners/operators take pride in their ride
• they are cheap (ex: $2.50 for a 3.5 hour trip)
• be prepared for laborious roof loading of chicken, cabbage (“re-chicken”, get it?), roofing materials, …
• the young men selling dried plantain chips have unrealized potential
• when a chatty 9:00am drunkard (“tengo poco alcohol en mi corazon”) has you cornered at the beginning of a multi-hour trip, giving your seat to an elderly lady is a good escape tactic
• when the bus driver parks and spends 15 minutes looking at stickers at a roadside tienda, he’s just keeping the schedule…right?
• if someone is selling a novelty lighter…or vitamins…people will buy—no, not just one or two people, it’s more like 4 out of 5 (well, you have to get that free candy treat that comes with the vitamins!)—maybe that’s why many don’t have much money…
• accidents happen
• 1 3/4 hours in Lonely Planet = 3 3/4 hours in real life (ie: my Esteli trip last Tuesday, for 7+ hours on the bus, 3 hours investigating the town)
• the roads are always under construction, but this doesn’t seem to slow the bus down much
• the music is too loud (what else is new)
• they love their late ‘80s, early ‘90s music (what else is new): Brian Adams, Elton John, Spanish dubs of the same, Michael Jackson, with some Mexican ballads thrown in; the funny thing is, I feel much more at home surrounded by these classics than with North America’s R&B/Hip Hop fixation
• high population density?—no
• amazing scenery—flowers, hills, a sprinkling of expansive ancient trees
• pastoral, pastoral, pastoral

6:30-7:00am

• I wake-up with Eowyn and Elias
• I take them downstairs
• Haylim is often cleaning the floors
• She gets them their choice of 2 oranges, 2 bananas, or one of each
• I wash up and check e-mail
• I prepare first breakfast:
  • dish out fruit salad (local watermelon, papaya, pineapple, banana, pitaya)
  • gallo pinto (rice and beans)
  • cereal
  • toast
  • or some combination thereof

8:00am

• Juana arrives
• She makes fresh-squeezed jugo de naranja (O.J.)
• She makes porridge as we taught her, with raisins, apples, and papaya

Morning

• I often do some work in my office, or take Eowyn and/or Elias for a walk or errand in town
• Juana does the dishes, changes the garbage, does the laundry, and does other cleaning
• Haylim assists Asheya with holding the baby and assists us with looking after Eowyn and Elias

11:00am

• I heat up lunch (usually leftover dinner as is our family routine)

Afternoon

• I put Eowyn and Elias down for their nap, and have a little rest with them
• I go for a long walk around town doing errands, or do some work, reading, and/or studying, preferably on our balcony overlooking the hills
• Juana goes to the market and the Pali across town to buy local fruit, vegetables, meat, and other groceries, and begins preparing dinner
• Sometimes we go for a family walk

Evening

• Asheya finishes making dinner (after preparing just about all of the family meals for close to 1.5 years, I’m taking half a year off)
  • Chicken soup
  • Rice and beans and vegetables (the vegetables are so sweet and flavourful, they don’t need any sauce at all)
  • Fajitas (Juana makes our corn tortillas from scratch)
  • Baked chicken
  • Or something else yummy
• We all spend time with the children
• I prepare Elias & Eowyn for bed, and put them to sleep
• I do some work

It’s mostly our normal routine, with a few pleasant differences:

• Housework, grocery shopping, and much of the meal preparation is replaced with supervision
• We can walk and play outside in the hospitable land every day of the year
• Some of the busy-work with the children is relieved, making it easier to have more quality times together, and be more productive in our other pursuits

La vida es bella

Oh wait, never mind, it’s just the Christmas things-that-go-BOOM fixation. Here’s wishing you a more peaceful evening than mine.

Not the usual eve day before the eve day before Christmas:

Elias contemplating the valley walls we were about to climb
(opposite side from the cross)

A good part of the journey was spent something like this

But not all

Butterflies and flowers are everywhere

We crested the hills and discovered farms on the other side

The view down to Jinotega

The red arrow is the cross
The black arrow is our casa 

Way to go, Elias! (and done with a cold, too)

Happy birthday, Jesus, and Merry Christmas to all, wherever you are in the world!

Ever since Eowyn was born, I’ve made sure to take Elias on frequent outings just the two of us. We have treats we rarely have otherwise, eat at restaurants, and do something physically active. It gives me a chance to just say “yes” to him, and gives us a chance to reconnect, with the flurry and rules of home-life behind.

Now, I have good reason to go to Costa Rica in early January. So here’s the question:

Should I take Elias on a two week long Daddy/Son date to Costa Rica? I’ve considered many positives and negatives, but I want your input (thinking purely from Elias’ perspective), so let me know what you think!

In Nicaragua, everything is cheaper. It has to be, or nobody could afford it. The bakery three blocks from our house is a perfect example. It never ceases to amaze me.

Today, I bought a sugar bun (all the breads are sugared, and this one has a sugar coating on the top), four cookies, two milk pudding squares, and a doughnut—yes, I was hungry (though it wasn’t all for me), and though we generally avoid sugar, like I said, it’s not possible unless we bake at home. Guess how much this cost? 13 Cordobas. That’s right, a little over 50 cents.

To be fair, I should make a follow-up observation. This isn’t so much a complaint as the reality of my experience.

So I took my snack (with Eowyn) to the parque a couple blocks further (there’s a carnival there this month, so lots to see). While eating, I reflected on my experience with treats in general in Nicaragua. Sure, they may be like 1/10 to 1/4 the price of Canada, but they also only provide like 1/4 to 1/2 the enjoyment: the cookies were dry, the breads, though always baked “hoy” o “ayer”, never quite taste that way, and the doughnut is more like a sugar drenched bread. The milk squares at least never disappoint.

And so it goes. The $4 restaurant meals might be over-salted, or just not very tasty (why, in the land of sun and life, are the only prepared vegetables ever slices of carrots, potatoes, and broccoli stems?), the premium steaks aren’t tender (somebody told me they don’t follow great butchering practices here), and the $1.50 banana split is coughed on and made with toppings that have been unrefrigerated for who-knows-how-long (at least the ice cream is decent, and yes, Elias & I got a cold shortly after).

I freely admit my country has spoiled me…but good is good, and I like good. And if it’s possible in one country…

So I try to fit my expectations to the reality. Unless it’s made at home (fresh local organic fruits, veggies, and chicken are standard), don’t get too excited, unless all you want is a full belly and a sugar rush.

After almost 2 months, today is the first day of rain. Like, Vancouver-style rain (with fatter drops). We’re now in the dry season, but our stay did overlap the tail end of the rainy season. And I’m not including the few days of deluge we had when a hurricane was in the general vicinity, nor the infrequent, super-short duration showers.

1 day of rain in 2 months? Ding!

Earlier this month, over a handful of days, I was helping Eowyn repeatedly with her intestinal distress between 2:00am and wake-up at 6:30am (she’d say, “Tummy owie,” and ask to sit on the toilet, sweet girl).

Naturally, the fireworks/crackers/bombs/whatever that people started lighting at 5:30am and 6:00am were unwelcome to our attempts at catching at least a little rest.

The mystery in all this, however, was the one particular 5:00am morning when the brass band played merrily outside our front porch.

How do you like to buy your vitamins?