Tuesday, October 28

The Ride to Work

What follows is a verbal snapshot of my ride on the motorcycle from the house in the south end of town to the office located in the north end of town. As I wait for Steve to start the bike, a man walks by, carrying a large blue bucket and bleating like a sheep. He is selling something, like the hundreds of people who walk the streets, selling sandwiches, bread, cookies, veggies, fruits, imitation watches, clay pots, and anything else you can think of, all calling out their wares in their own sing-song way. We aren’t sure what this old man is selling, his bleating doesn’t sound like Spanish or English. Steve is ready, so I hop on back, sunglasses but no helmet. It’s only a 5 minute ride, so I only use the helmet when we go out to the countryside. But the drivers have to wear helmets. A large truck full of glass Coke and Fanta bottles in crates rattles by. Steve is convinced the Coke has a better taste out of glass bottles. We wait for a string of taxis to pass by, then head out down the road. I see the mountains rise before us, today the clouds cover the top, and I wonder if the rain will come before lunch. Men lounge on the corner, watching the traffic and debating about the latest antics of the government or dictatorship, as some have come to call it. We pass large graffiti on the wall that shouts, No to the dictatorship! Yes to democracy! Political tensions are running high, with elections in 2 weeks. We stop at the traffic light, on the corner of the park called Dario, named after Nicaragua’s famous poet Ruben Dario. As always, women sit on the one side, painting their clay pigs, roosters and plant pots. They spend all day, under the trees, painting their creations. The colors are brilliant, and I think, Ooh! I need to get over there and snap a picture, and buy a piggy bank. The light turns green, and we zoom forward, past the park. Several men are getting their shoes shined in the park; there are always boys waiting for their next customer. For a measly $0.20, you can have your shoes shined until they are practically new. A crowd waits for the next bus. A taxi quickly pulls over in front of us as a woman waves her hand. I watch as she quickly tells the driver her destination and then hops in. The streets are busy, men are getting their tables set up and pirated movies arranged. Women put out seasonal fruits and veggies under umbrellas and wave their handkerchiefs to cool off. Groups of school girls and boys in uniforms saunter by, laughing and giggling as they make their way to school. All students wear uniforms, and you can sometimes tell which school by the color of the uniform. We zoom by our old apartment, and as I hear the public bus roar by, I thank God, once again, that we don’t live on this street. I see the old, blind lady in her usual spot, left hand out, shaking, begging for money. When the sun rises above the buildings, she will move to another location where there is shade once again. We stop at the end of the main street, at the stoplight in front of the other main park, Parque Morazon. The police headquarters is to our left, and I watch as two soldiers, dressed in black and with machine guns casually thrown over their shoulders, walk past us, and their eyes carefully watching everything. The presence of soldiers and throngs of police startled us at first, but now I hardly see them. The light turns green, and we zoom past the Walmart owned supermarket, called Pali. Several vendors set up stands outside, hawking their fresh wares at anybody who glances their way. We take a quick right and stop in front of the office. Time for work!

1 comment:

Alan & Beth McManus said...

What an excellent word picture! I can totally see it! Oh, and Steve is right. Coke definitely tastes better out of a glass bottle. =)