It is now August, and not only did I not make it through July, its actually 15th August and I’m even later than normal. Its kinda interesting to see how many things I predicted, that completely failed to materialise. For one thing, I am back in Britain, I did a month in Nicaragua, then had to come home. I studied education a little, but actually ended up running drama workshops for teenage clowns. Mark is still here, but NOH isn’t. He never learnt to cook. So, we are all back to where we were last time I bothered to write.

Today’s entry is going to be difficult to write since the only thing that happened today is that Mark moved in. Difficult, because he is no doubt going to read this in a minute, and thinks I am being rude about him. Well, since provoked, I have to point out the General Blokey grasp of physics, which still eludes me to this day. We loaded the car up with his stuff, literally loaded, couldn’t squeeze any more in at all, but both Carl and Mark were convinced it would all fit in his already-furnished room. And it did. Dunno how.

Today I staggered unhealthily up Cardiac Hill and eventually found the Education Library (Exciting! Never been there before!). Lo and behold, shelf after shelf of Teacher’s Resources, books of worksheets you photocopy for the little brats to scribble on/ wipe their nose on/ give to their parents to fill in for them/ feed to their dog etc. The typical grey-hair-and-glasses, timid looking, overworked secretary, and the matriarchal librarian, with plastic nails too long to type with. A dilapidated photocopier with the immortal sign “Out of Order” scribbled on it. Nice to know, wherever you go, you can rely on stereotypes!

Some of the conditions of Mark’s arrival here were the following: Mark attempts to keep Carl sane and fed for 2months. In return, Bel teaches Mark to cook, so that neither of them starve. Sounds good in principle, until I realise quite how difficult it is to explain the intricacies of my recipes to another mind. How is Mark to know how much a “splop” of butter is? Or “more chillies than you think you need”? How can he follow instructions like “cook casserole in oven until boyfriend can smell it and starts looking hungry, then wait another half hour”?

It’s ThatTimeOfTheMonth again, and my innards are being put through a mangle. It’s worse than usual, because I’ve had to start taking malaria tablets again, and something in them has very strange side effects. Making period pains worse is not unusual since it doesn’t take much to turn me into a rabid werewolf normally. But they also have other more peculiar effects, which aren’t even mentioned in the Precautions leaflet in the box. Things like making my teeth more sensitive, I now wince when I drink hot tea or cold ice-cream, and everything else tastes more acidic than normal. Bleeurgh.

I have braids! Its occurs to me that having heavy, shoulder-length, dry, damaged and dyed hair which requires its daily chemical replacement, in a very hot country with dangerously electric showers -if you are lucky- is not a great idea. However, I don’t want to cut it off, because a) I can’t afford it, b) I look like a bloke with short hair, c) Carl will moan, and d) I want long hair for the wedding. So, I have about 15 untidy braids all over my head, which don’t require brushing, conditioning or even washing quite so often. Me likies.

T – 2days and counting! Mark and I decided that since I am leaving soon, we ought to have a Drunken Evening. I have no idea exactly what we were drinking, some sort of cheap Martini? Wasn’t too nice, but had the desired effect. Lots of laughs, very peculiar game of Verbosti, and a huge debate about university life. It’s been fun having Mark here, I hope he’s able to cope with us too. I’m just worried in case in my absence Silence will descend – Carl and Mark only really talk when I’m there, they don’t know each other without me.

Tonight we met the New Other Half (henceforth referred to as the NOH). NOH shall remain anonymous because Mark is so paranoid about the whole relationship blowing up in his face, that he doesn’t want anything to remotely jinx it. Fairy nuff, considering Past relationships. He’s been through too much before, too much that he didn’t deserve. However, I remain convinced that if you are sure things will go wrong, they are far more likely to. There isn’t a problem until you think of one. And NOH seemed like a nice guy. But hey, I said that about Lee too…

What do you buy a guy who’s hobbies you really really don’t understand? I can let you in on a little secret, dear reader: Carl is getting a telescope for his birthday, from my parents who have enough money for these sort of things. What am I supposed to get to follow that up? If a telescope is like a car, what is the telescopic equivalent of furry dice, for example? Map of the stars? Only one I could find marked the Zodiac predictions for next year, which Carl would have vomited at. I dunno. Beer mugs it is, then.

Carly-Warly’s birthday, and today I am loading up my stuff ready for the overnight bus to London. I can’t wait, but I’m feeling awful about leaving Carl. I’m going to miss him like crazy. But, if it wasn’t for him, his support and encouragement, his unconditional love and, well, even his inspiration, then the chances are I wouldn’t have the confidence to go off and do things like this. We’re still together in someway, if not physically. He means the world to me, it’s just he ISN’T the world, exactly… I’ve still got things to do and see Out There.

I am here!! LONG LONG LONG journey – seemed longer this time because I didn't meet anyone going direct from London (strangely enough) So, I sat there for nine hours to Miami, wondering if I was doing the right thing, worrying about everything, feeling sad about Carl. I finally arrived after over 21 hours of travelling, starving hungry. I walked into Central and there was Bobby and Wayne and Cheryl and all the familiar waitresses. I ate spaghetti until heat and exhaustion got the better of me, and I chucked up noisily in the bar. Quite embarrassing. Talk about dramatic entrances.

I'm becoming a great believer in the The Luck Of The Traveller. I went to Masaya to buy souvenirs, ran out of money and was planning on heading back, when I heard "Annabel!" It was Olamide, the guy I'd met briefly in Miami. This guy has serious money in Nicaraguan terms. He instantly invited me out since he had a truck with him. We went up to see Laguna Apoya (a lake in the crater of a volcano) which was amazing. Then we went to Las Isletas – a boat-trip around the gorgeous, lush, green islands on Lago Nicaragua. Thanks mate!

My presence in Nicaragua has been noted and remembered. Not just the people in Hospedaje Central (although I did get to witness Bobby getting drunk and attempting to hit on some poor French guy!). I'd sat in the park for a whole 2 minutes when a small something in a red shirt launched itself at me. One of the kids from Quintas, delighted to see me again, couldn't believe I'd come back. I can't for the life of me remember his name but it's so nice to be remembered, especially since I knew those kids for less than a week.

I'm cheating. The previous 13 entries all happened last month. Disjointed space-time continuum compacted into centime soundbites, for voyeurs who have no concept of who I am, where I am, or what the hell I'm raving about. I wrote those words, does it matter that I'm in the wrong time zone? Existential tardiness? Can I excuse myself by theorizing that time somehow goes twice as fast when you're paying for internet by the minute? Being so close to the equator warps the length of an hour on the internet, meaning I could not possibly have completed July, actually in July.

Rain!! Today has been unbearable, 40degrees, 100% humidity. The air could not hold any more water, and I felt like I was breathing through a wet sponge. The clouds are thick and heavy and oppressively low, and for the past half an hour, the landscape has gotten more and more purple. Volcan Mombacho has disappeared into the mist. The birds started screeching and flying around insanely, crashing into the electricity cables. The air is full of them. Then the rain came, finally, huge blobs, calming everything down, and now there is no noise except the rain on wet palm leaves.

Have come to the conclusion that I‘m not designed to house-share. I think the first rule of living together should be good communication. Since I’m living with two Germans, two Austrians, and two French people who are all better at Spanish than me, that one’s kinda gone out the window. Common interests? Well, all of them do culturally-musically-arty classes in Tres Mundos, and I’m working in a school the other side of town. Similar living habits? I get up early, so I go to bed early. They talk loudly on the balcony outside my room all night. Let me out.

Since we’re on an “I’ve–come–al l–the–way–to–Nicaragua–and–now-I’m–going–to–moan–about–it” roll, what the hell is up with the cathedral??? Ok, I am an open-minded non-ethnocentric studious anthropologist; I am not supposed get irate about things like this. Nevertheless, what possible reason can they have to let off FIREWORKS at 5am, when there’s no-one to see them, and it’s light anyway?! And why program a car-alarm to be set off by loud noises, park it next to the cathedral, so it goes off after every firework? They’re doing it to spite me.

This Luck of the Traveller thing is becoming a regular occurrence. At the project, the kids are great, but difficult to control by myself. My only complaint there is being a tad lonely. Everyone I meet is only here for a few days, I’ve got so many ideas about the project and no-one to share them with. Lo and behold, Ross appeared. He’s from Conneticut, also volunteering, English-speaking really friendly. AND, he’s really into a martial art called Capoeira, which is accompanied by music, specifically the Zoom-Zoom song!! My favourite car advert of all time. The world is too bizarre.

Bel’s definitive guide to travel-music Part1: Music to remind you why you left in the first place. Pulp: ‘Glory days’, The Thrills: ‘One-horse town’, The Levellers ‘Leave this town’ Tracy Chapman: ‘Fast car’, Ooberman: ‘Running girl’ Men At Work; ‘Land down under’ JJ72: ‘Oxygen’ Mansun ‘Wide open space’ and there’s the one by Mana which I can remember the name of, about ‘Why am I here in the same town with the same people?’ Of course, these are all meaningless if you don’t know the original songs. I dread to think what a psychoanalyst would make of my music collection!!

The Street Academy is Donna’s attempt to expand the school. She cannot persuade every single street kid to give up working and go to her school, so she brings the school to them. So today, we sat around the Plaza, reading with any kids that came over. The attitude is so saddening here. Education is inseparably entwined with work. You learn to read so you get a good job. But these kids know there are no jobs, so they don’t bother with education. Why learn to read poetry when you are going to clean other people’s shoes all your life?

Oh joy! Happiness! Pride! CafeChavalos is opening next month!!! 22nd September will see the doors open on Nicaragua’s first café run entirely by ex-street kids! Donna has done it, got the money together to build the place, and trained the kids, who, less than two years ago were begging on the streets, and can now all read, write, cook safely, manage the finances, wait tables and manage the whole café on their own. There’s an advert in the tourist mag, with my beloved Moises, Luis-Manuel, Juan-Carlos and Julio all beaming on the front. I am so so pleased for them!

Tonight the revolution happened. The Luck of the Traveller reared its head again, meaning that I just happen to be in Nicaragua for the anniversary of the Sandinista revolution. Twenty-six extra buses were laid on to transport all the Sandinista supporters (and a few Gringos literally jumping on the bandwagon) to Managua for the rally. Every single person was wearing red and black. There were more people there than I’ve ever seen together in one place in my life, and we were there, right in the middle. We think we even saw Fidel Castro. ¡Viva Sandino! ¡Hasta la Victoria siempre!

[OOC: after long debate with self, have decided 100words should not be edited in hindsight.] Help. Johanna has popped into my world and now everything is chaotic and confused. Why do such intense friendships just seem to happen when you’re travelling? There has to be more to it than just time, place and co-incidence. And why does she have to be disgustingly attractive, intelligent, talented and damn NICE too? And why did the woman get confused at the beach and give us a room with a double bed? Now I have to spend another six weeks working with her everyday…….

ALEMU.

Alemu was never introduced to me properly, I met a guy called Graeme who wouldn’t go anywhere until “the Ethiopian catches up”. Alemu turned out to be that Ethiopian. An Ethiopian who’d somehow got across Central America, relying entirely on the kindness of strangers, since he did not speak a word of Spanish. Quite a feat, considering. He conducted social research, asking people the most personal of questions, acting completely daft, to see how they would react. Questions that I didn’t really want to answer, and yet giving nothing of himself away. Was my reaction typical, Alemu? Frustrated intrigue?

Johanna says:

‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.’

Basically, whatever decision I make is irrelevant because life just happens to me and there’s not a lot I can do about it. I planned to go to Nicaragua for two months, to study cross-cultural education in the different types of schools here.

Que Bollockos.

In this plan, there is no mention of doing drama classes for 12 adolescent Clowns, convincing Venezuelen mavericks to let me cook everyone curry, or persuading aforementioned clowns that they aren’t really madly in love with us. But this is what’s happened.

Having retyped most of the Nicaragua entries, here’s some reasons why I left early: I was getting really in to the Clowns and realising that, gees, I can actually teach, and panicking about that fact, and adoring the company of Johanna far too much for comfort. I got to the point where if I didn't go NOW, I probably wouldn't have come back at all, and I mean that in all seriousness. Things would have worked out, they always do, Carl would have been persuaded to come out too... I needed to be dragged away before these thoughts won out!!

The most important reason for returning, and the one that made me make the decision so quickly, was Gran. I knew she was ill before I left, but I don’t think anyone expected her to go down hill as fast as she did. The Parents rang me in Nicaragua to say she probably wasn’t going to make it through the week, and of course told me there was nothing I could do so I needn’t worry and should enjoy my trip. Hm. I got on the next plane. The most gutting feeling, she died two days before I got back.

So, I got back to a funeral. I still hadn’t told Carl I was coming back, and he headed over to the Parents’ house just for the funeral, suspecting nothing. So, at least his utter shock at seeing me was cheerful. Heh. Made me realise how much I did miss him. I just adapt to him not being around when I’m travelling; Nicaragua is my world and not something I can share with him, though I would if I could. But I have another world with him, and somehow that world feels safe and warm and everything is Ok again.

And now I’m back in Durham. Mark is still around, which means I have someone to talk to whilst Carl is struggling with the final parts of his thesis, and he has to someone there for him when he locks himself out of the house. I have successfully job-hunted to procure me barwork at the Working Men’s Club. (Cultural hot-spot that it is!) I’ve even unpacked my backpack, three weeks after returning. The hamster is still drawing blood from anyone who dares disturb him, the mould is growing happily up the bathroom wall, and everything has almost returned to normal.

….However, not quite normal. I am not normal. I am an emotional wreck I am becoming obsessive, and I am sad. I have photos of Nicaragua all over the floor because I don’t want to file it away in the albums just yet. I wait patiently for the post and check my emails constantly, just hoping for letters from Johanna or the others. I’ve even started writing up my dissertation ALREADY, before university even starts, just because I get to think about Nicaragua again. When I travel, I miss Carl like crazy. When I’m back, I’m itching to go again.

Who designed this library? Was it actually designed? Or did it just appear? Over there, you should be able to see the cathedral standing tall above the trees on the river bank. But you can't, because they've put massive pillars in the way, obscuring the windows. The only wall that is properly windowed faces onto the A1 junction, fantastic if you're a bus-spotter. The building is an optical illusion – it's actually L-shaped, but once inside, you cannot escape the feeling of being in a cold grey box. And right now, the "air-conditioning" is blowing a cold draught down my neck.