Time for a Baho movement! (Nilbog)

Fresh off a banana-leaf-lined-hushpuppy-style-serving-basket heaped feast of Baho -- all that long-boiled to disintegration-soft spiced yuca, plantain, and tomato, hiding skewer-length hunks of fatty beef, topped with cabbage salad and a tomato and onion chili -- and coconut cake, it's time to relive a few weeks of, well, nothing.

My time in Estelí can be summed up in a few sentences. Situps (which make the bed creak loudly, convincing my neighbors through the unclosed-at-the-top walls, I'm sure, that I'm involved in another vigorous bout of morning masturbation), pushups and a run when I awake. Daily breakfast (gallo pinto, huevos y platanos maduros fritos, con crema, queso, y un cafecito) for C$25 at Super Las Segovias. Returning to Hospedaje Chepito to deposit a Frosty in the freshly-cleaned men's toilet closet (the consistency may or may not be related to my decision to save a few bucks by drinking tapwater). Internet. Short spanish study. Stroll to the public market to buy bags of tomatoes, mangos, or a melon, and every other day a liter of milk; the daily lunch rotation, for vitamins, you know? Maybe sip rum and play cards with the cool folks I met in the Hospedaje, Ryan and Sarah. More likely, flirt with the 19-year-old fritangera I'm currently half-linked with, which rewards me in more ways than just extra gallo pinto. Like Spanish practice. Or the semi-date to La Casita that cost a whopping $4 including cab fare, food and drinks. For dinner, always fritanga hopping -- though I finally tired of the nightly greasebath and took a break for as long as it took me to go through a jumbo bag of wheat bread's worth of peanut butter and banana sandwiches (a few meals).

Estelí being a world renowned hotbed of fabricas de puros -- the expansive tobacco farms expanding from the cityish center filling the twentysome factories with plenty of strong smelling harvests for their highly regarded products -- I toured a cigar factory. A week later my eyes are still watering from entering some of the rooms (barely) filled with tobacco. But I did smoke a fat stogie that was one of the "throw-outs". Not that I'd be able to appreciate the difference.

Semana Santa encompassed my week in Estelí, though it was much quieter than expected. There were a few processions of candle-bearing devotees leading crucified Christs through the streets, and a big church night or two, but I witnessed none of the alcohol-fueled fury I grew so accustomed to during Guatemalan ferias. More than anything, Semana Santa appeared a weeklong excuse to avoid work. With less teenage girls selling bootleg whatevers on the main drag, I had nobody to excite with a smile and "adios", so I adopted an adorable 9-year-old Nicaraguan, Milagros, as my honorary little sister. Her family was, in typical Central American fashion, exceedingly sweet, and because I was chatty and, especially, because I made quick friends with Milagros and her older brother and sister, Joseph and Karin -- lots of half-understood conversation, fistbumps and handslaps -- I was fed freshmade gallo pinto and bread, and then gifted a pair of fOakley's on my way out. Yep, I miss my little sister.

Finally, edging slightly closer to bored after a week of doing nothing, I hopped a bus to Matagalpa, another of the larger northern cities. It's much more city-looking than Estelí, with more of a packed urban grid than Estelí's one forever-long packed street, with Matagalpa's barrios spreading out of the center and climbing the surrounding mountains. I met a cute Nicaraguan lawyer who spoke some English, though her constant refrain of "Yeah" and headnodding whether I was telling a story or asking a question undermined her claims of understanding. Every breakfast I ate in one market comedor, where the handmade tortillas were the best I've had in Nicaragua, and the younger server-cook took advantage of the gringo presence to learn essential phrases in English, perfect for attracting extra clientele (i.e. "I hate you"; "You are fat"; "You are an idiot"; "You are boring"; "You are a hypocrite"; and "Eggs.") Daily for dinner I ate a few feet worth of fresh baked pan sencillo layered with honey and peanut butter (leftover from the Estelí binge), and four to five bananas sliced lengthwise.

And I enjoyed the fuck outta the tiny TV I splurged for, those $7.50/night nights. I was mezmerized by all sorts of terrible movies and softcore porn on Cinemax later at night. And I got to watch Troll II, one of the best worst B-horror-movies of all-time. And, get this, not just once. As soon as it ended on one channel, it started on another. Got my fill of Goblins, I did. Went to an organic coffee farm, Selva Negra, further up the mountains too, but that was rather uneventful. The brakeless, breakneck, hitchhiked truckbed mountain descent was exhilerating however. Matagalpa was also noteworthy for the mobile hot dog carts in the park, similar to those ringing parks across Nicaragua, plastered with painted icons who, previously, had managed to hide their hot dog addictions from the public. Spider Man swinging through, snaring a hot dog in his web. There's Winnie the Pooh hoisting a giant hot dog over his head, like some sort of trophy. Winnie's pork friend, Piglet, is noticably absent...or maybe not so absent.

After admiring the hot dog carts, especially the ones decorated by the inexplicable Nike checks, for a few days, I decided to take the watch-me-do-nothing show on the road. Next stop, Jinotega. A beautifully set valley city encircled by peaking mountains, significantly smaller than Estelí or Matagalpa, its Nicas exhibiting that same natural northern beauty. For people that must have something to do, there is a steep ascent to a peaktop cross posted hundreds of meters over the town, above the cemetary, certainly an essential mirador as the skies streak orange and pink and cloudy wisps slide from sight. (A 50/50 combination of sprinting and panting the upward struggle is recommended for those who wish to enhance the reward of Hotel Mendoza's Baho.)