Newcomers vs Locals

Still thinking about how newcomers change a local environment, I was reminded of my small town in New Hampshire. Temple, NH was a picture post card town. There was pretty much nothing there that didn't fit into a classic description of quaint, scenic, peaceful. The town had about 650 people. That was about the same number that was recorded on the sign on the Women and Children Cemetery during the Revolutionary war.

Even so, one of the great discussions at the annual town meeting was how to deal with the population growth. But, they clearly didn't mean population growth, they meant newcomers. I was one. Even after I held elected offices in Temple I was a newcomer. Even after I made the town famous with my story in Readers Digest, I was one.

I got a tax bill after I bought a house and I was shocked by it. The house was a little cabin on a little quarry in the middle of 32 acres of woods. The house was mostly a log cabin, but the not log cabin part was sided with bark. It was built around two pine trees, one of which was still alive. The house, in fact, was alive. Quite a lot of chewing going on in the wood by night.

So, I got this tax bill which kind of shocked me. It took me about two weeks to find the town clerk. She really didn't like to be bothered. I showed her the bill and kind of filled my face with a big question mark. She looked me over a while and then ripped it up. I asked her what the deal was and she allowed as how she would change the bill. I had been billed at the rate of rich summer folks and now that I lived there, it wouldn't be a problem any more.

As long as I lived there, however, it was called Frances Day's house. (the rich summer folk). But the new comer problem showed up in different ways. Some crusty old farmer who owned a property with a fine hill had rigged up a rope tow so the local kids could ski after school, right there, right in town. Some newcomers got all alarmed about safety and demanded that he improve different things. Then they thought he should carry some big liability insurance. Then he dismantled the thing and a fifty year old tradition ended.

We had cows out to pasture on the town commons. This had probably been going on since the 1,600s. This one feisty cow got loose every once in a while. The old timers just shooed her back. No big deal. The newcomers (myself most certainly excluded) called up the farmer all freaked out. A cow for God's sake! One Christmas morning when we lived in the old parsonage in the middle of town, we were relaxing by the fire before packing up to drive to Connecticut and we hear a gun shot right near the house. This is not a common thing in that town. The kids bundled up and went out in the two feet of snow to find the cow shot dead in the commons.

The poor thing had escaped once more and tried to eat some greenery on some newcomers yard and, well, we couldn't have that.

Mostly we got along very well. Our town paid for plowing every one's driveway. At least the first five hours of every town meeting were occupied by a discussion of this. You see, in the old days the roads went right in front of the houses and the barns were right next to the houses. This was because it was fucking freezing in the winter and because the purpose of a road was to get farm stuff to market. So, the meeting always started with someone saying that all the newcomers built their houses as far from each other as they could and why should the tax payers pay for such idiocy. I hid my face. My driveway was a mile and a half long, full of curves and hills and too narrow. A big pain for the tax burden. After about five hours and this being the first thing on the agenda, someone would get up and say,"We have always done this plowing and we are still going to do it so why don't we all shut up." And that, miraculously was the end of that.

I am experiencing a heavier push pull between the locals and the demands of the expats here. It should still be cheap and it should still have flavor, but it should also have all the conveniences of home. My friend Karen wrote her observations of the current scene here:

"I spent the last three weeks with my friend in Granada, a low key Spanish colonial style town, forty five minutes from the capital of Nicaragua, Managua. It lies a stone’s throw away from the mighty Lake Cocibolca, or Lake Nicaragua as it is called in English. It’s favored by Managuans and tourists alike for its cooling breezes. On weekends folks from the capital arrive in great numbers to sit by the lake and enjoy the local restaurants, many offering diverse cuisine that caters to visitors. These restaurants are mostly run by foreigners. 

Granada has increasingly become a haunt for expats from northern climates, notably Canada, for its warm and at times very hot, tropical weather and the still inexpensive cost of living. Many of these transplants have arrived via Costa Rica, which they feel has become too expensive, overrun by Americans and therefore not as Central American in character as they would like. Some get involved in bettering the lives of local children through after school tutoring, teaching circus and hammock making skills or providing free medical care in outlying villages and underserved areas of towns and cities. They learn Spanish and have Nicaraguan friends. Others stay rather separate and have a fundamentally untrusting attitude to the Nicaraguans, though they are quick to employ them for maid and garden services. Yet others I met come short term from southern U.S. states to “tell the people about Jesus” as one little Texan girl explained to me when I met her in one of the hotels that caters to large groups from abroad. Other Texan men –some ex CIA – sit around for morning coffee and complain about all the damage Obama has done to the homeland.

The local people I met, many of whom were known to my friend from her long term visits to Granada in the past, were warm and friendly and appreciated that I spoke Spanish. My friend has experienced much kindness from them in the past when she was at times in need of help. All advised us to watch our purses, take taxis at night and to lock up our houses well.  This we certainly did, but no more than in other countries I’ve visited in central and South America. When all is said and done, we do have so much more materially than do the local people, so how can we complain that some want to rob us?

The vegetation in the many beautiful interior courtyards of Granada and outside of town is very reminiscent of the plants I’m familiar with from Hawaii: banana trees, coconut and travelers palms, heliconias, wild ginger, bougainvillias and bromeliads; many of them magnified outdoor versions of familiar green houseplants. The architecture of grand establishments near the center of town is not revealed until you step inside the imposing tall wooden doors that face the street. Inside you enter extremely high ceilinged, tile floored, cloister-like walkways, open to a central courtyard that is filled with exuberant tropical greenery planted around a fountain or pool. The roofs are covered with red Mediterranean tiles; the ceilings are made of varnished cane stalks and supported by slender wooden columns. The kitchens and many of the living spaces are not closed off from the open patio, so the warm breezes waft in and out, assisted by many ceiling fans that keep the air circulating. The front door is usually covered by a wrought iron grill which allows the doors to be opened for still more air currents to enter. In our traditional building, only the bedrooms were walled off, their doors and windows opening into the interior.

A memorable sound in Granada is the clip clop of horses trotting along the straight and narrow streets. Near the central park, which lies in the shadow of a large mustard yellow cathedral and surrounded by arcaded hotels, lean and hardy little animals pull gaily decorated carriages which carry tourists around town. In addition, simple, two-wheeled horse-drawn carts transport everything from feed to furniture. Gas is much more expensive than in the U.S. so carts, bicycles, mopeds, public buses and collective taxis are the preferred means of transportation. Friends who rented a small car were thrilled by how empty the roads are, except of course when a herd of sleek and dreamy Brahmin cattle are being led on their way to or from pasture. They can certainly slow you down but what’s the rush!

Looming above the lake and south of Granada is Mombacho volcano, its head mostly in the clouds. One day we drove up its steep flanks in a noisy but efficient truck filled with rows of hard benches. Halfway up we stopped at a coffee plantation where we were treated to quite tasty shade grown coffee, grown mostly for export. Near the edge of the crater we walked in a thick mist on slippery wet paths around the vegetation filled crater. Just below the cloud cap we put our hands into steamy, warm fumaroles and enjoyed a great view north that took in Lake Managua and a cluster of islands just below us to the East. These Isletas supposedly were formed by an old eruption of Mombacho – a now greenery covered reminder of what the mountain is capable of when awakened. To the west of Granada, a crater lake called Laguna de Apoyo, was also visible. The following day we visited American friends who are renting a charming house low on the shady slope of that lagoon, close to the shore. After a lunch overlooking the crater, we spent enjoyable time swimming in the warm and mineral rich waters.

Early in my stay we took a boat ride out to the small Isletas near Granada. Many of them are owned by gringos and wealthy Nicaraguans with names associated with rum, sugar plantations and Nica politics.  There’s usually space for no more than one residence, a boathouse and servants quarters, though we did see one island that housed a restaurant. Some were for sale, so if you’re looking to buy an island . . . . .  All visitors are shown the famous Mono Island where a congress of monkeys swings among the trees and one or two cautiously approached our small boat for a banana or two. There are no fruit trees on the tiny island so the animals are fed by the local community. I learned they were rescued from somewhere and brought to what has now become their sanctuary. Luckily they looked well fed and healthy. Close to the monkey island, our pilot pointed out a large kingfisher on a rock who when given a small piece of bread used it as bait to attract the many small fish that immediately rushed to the surface. We also saw fish hawks, herons, egrets and cormorants drying their feathers, wings extended. Altogether, a very peaceful and pleasant outing.

My longest trip beyond Granada took me overnight to a much larger island called Ometepe, nahuatl for “two mountains”, and situated a 45 minute drive south of Granada. Two large volcanoes, one active, the other dormant, formed the dumbbell shaped island centuries ago.  Archaeological finds there date as far back as 3000 B.C.  From the mainland port of San Jorge we had to take a colorful and rather alarmingly full ferry to reach Moyogalpa on the western side of the island. It was the fully loaded 18 wheeler on the car deck that made us wonder before deciding to proceed. The ferry agents assured us that the waves that were crashing onshore when we arrived were nothing compared to days on which ferry crossings are suspended, so we proceeded with our travel, setting aside any doubts we might have harbored. Although the choppy water lengthened the usually hour and a quarter crossing to two hours, we all travelled without incident or motion sickness to the other side. There we stayed in a tranquil inland eco retreat for $11 a night with splendid views of cloud shrouded Concepcion volcano and of the still animated lake a short distance away.
 Before retiring for the night we visited the much mentioned Ojo de Agua, a large pool constructed of lava rocks through which flowed pale blue water from within the Madera volcano. (That’s the dormant one.) When we paid our admission fee we were assured with a smile that bathing in these mineral rich waters would take 10 years off our age and sooth any aches and pains we had brought with us. Indeed, we did feel both refreshed and healed by the soft, clean water.
 Livestock and plantains seemed to be the main products of the island. The islanders live simply in dwellings constructed of thatch and wooden slats, a hammock swinging from the roof and a pig tethered by a rope out front.  Others were of an upgraded but less picturesque type made of concrete, which at night were lit by one central light bulb. Apparently electricity for the first light bulb is provided by the power company for free. Nicaragua is the poorest country in Central America and this is quite visible in the countryside. No doubt also in the outskirts of Managua and Granada, though we did not visit those areas, since they are not safe unless you are there at the invitation of one of the many organizations involved in those communities. There are many of these from overseas, from Scandinavia to Saudi Arabia, working to improve conditions for the population.
Daniel Ortega, the former Sandinista leader, is still in power. Locals refer to him as simply Daniel. Many I spoke to feel he hasn’t done enough to improve the lot of most Nicaraguans and are skeptical about how he is serving the country. This includes how they feel about his plans for a trans Nicaragua canal which would potentially provide much employment as well as an additional means for ships to cross the continent now that the Panama canal does not suffice. It is to be financed by a Chinese investor who has a reputation for never finishing projects that he starts.
Considering the very difficult history that the Nicaraguans have lived through in recent years and the slow recovery from this, people in Granada at least seemed cheerful enough on the surface and want to move on beyond the bad memories of war. It seems some Granada citizens have benefited from the growing influx of tourists. I hope that influx will continue to be of help rather than only of benefit to some foreigners in the end. If I lived there longer, I’d certainly want to be involved in an activity that would in some way compensate for the warm hospitality extended by the friendly Nicaraguans. I’d also like to get to know them and their country better sometime in the future."