The Hamilton in me

Got lots of love for the Toyota HiLux.  I own one with Oliver and yesterday I got it back after having it in the shop for two weeks.  It was overheating only slightly but enough to be an annoyance.  We traced the problem down to a bad head gasket which I decided to replace.  They repainted the motor and told me that everything (valve alignment, piston alignment, and block) looks good.  It has nearly 300,000 kilometers (about 180,000 miles), but it drives like new.  A tank.

Classic mom

A classic portrait of my mom dealing Black Jack.  Note her pinky and my hand.  Of course I went on to lose (along with the rest of us) to our blue-blooded dealer.

Granada hospital

Driving with Franchesca in Granada on Sunday afternoon I came across the old hospital.  It's almost forgotten now, aside from a lone police officer who keeps vagrants from stealing the few remaining construction materials.  All is for naught however, a record rainy season has saturated the hospital walls and they are quickly deteriorating.  I was warned not to straggle because walls sometimes collapse without warning.  The police officer also mentioned a tunnel system that housed remains of the dead who had no family members (think lonely souls).  With sundown approaching I felt it best to leave.  When I came back to Franchesca she asked if I believed in spirits.

Low light surprise

Hiking for half an hour after sunset I arrived at a petroglyph nearby Palermo.  It was too dark to see the faces of Mauriel or Arthur, who accompanied me on the walk.  I felt like an idiot for having dragged the camera through the jungle, but then I thought I'd give the waterfall a try.  After three 10 second exposures I looked at the preview screen on the camera, and hiked home happy.

Credit due

Here are some shots of Arthur's house by Arthur.  He's a photographer and has helped me out and been a good voice of criticism.  (Note: Arthur has not signed a release)

Fútbol sunset

Ended the day on a good note in the form of penalty kicks.  Three players, a younger sibling, and a dog.

A case of the 'Mondays'

Got the truck stuck in the mud today.  Not usually an easy thing to do, however over a foot rain destroyed the dirt roads.

Cara más perdida

Had dinner with François, Brenda, and Shani.  It's been several weeks, if not months, since I last saw Shani.  I missed her birthday party (que mala honda), and I've flaked on my visits to the house.  She warmed up to me quick though, and I was glad to see her.

Rainy days, rainy nights

Lots of rain lately in San Juan del Sur left me on the sofa, camera in hand, and jiggling.  I won't admit how many I shot, but these are my favorites.  Who knows what they might become.  They remind me of tagging.

Looking for shots

Supervising the installation of Arthur's garden I took time to 'find' shots of his house.  Eventually I will come back when the garden starts taking shape and shoot these again.

Driving to La RAAN

A 1200 km round trip to La RAAN provided a memorable trek by pickup truck.

La RAAN

The longer I live here the more I see this place as wild (in the fierce sense). Walking into the forest is like entering a battle. Vines strangle the trees that choke the light from the vines. Plants on the forest floor grow where light is available, they create a maze of roots, rocks, soil, and insects. Every living thing competes for its chance to survive.  In the cities the people live this metaphor.

So my trip to La RAAN (Región Autónoma Atlántico Norte) this past week had significance before I even left.  I was going to a region that I did not known to learn more about where I am.  It was a hard journey to complete in our allotted three days.  On the return trip my ass was sore from bouncing on a cushioned car seat - think of all the people that traveled with us as hitch hikers in the bed of our pickup truck.

Emotionally the trip was tough also.  We went mostly to see damage from hurricane Felix, a level 5 that tore through La RAAN a few months earlier.  Thousands of square kilometers of natural forest are destroyed and the Sambo (mixture of African salves and native Central Americans) populations that survive from these forests are reeling.  The climate has changed and the danger of fires is approaching as rainfall lessens.  The struggle goes on.