Enduring Juigalpa, enjoying Leon

(The greater Juigalpa metro area)

We arrived yesterday in the university town of Leon, which is definitely my favorite of the places we have been so far. Not so artificial as Granada, but still with a fair sprinkling of ex-pats and veggie cafes, the town is cheerfully active at night as throngs of college kids hang out near the filthy but still picturesque cathedral. (The number of squeaky, grating pieces of metal I have had to listen to throughout my trip so far - somehow I always end up sitting in the least lubricated part of the bus - makes me want to take a giant can of WD-40 to the entire country; but the Granada cathedral will require a copper scrubby pad the size of a Volvo…)

I got to take a motorcycle ride to Chichigalpa, a pretty little “peri-urban” town, and my credit officer this morning was very nice, introducing me with all manner of details about the project and generally going out of his way to make my life easier. Such a contrast to Juigalpa, our last post. The town itself is a small cowboy town with fantastic views, but the office was overwhelmingly unhelpful and all too clearly NOT psyched to have us there. (How do you say "passive-aggressive" in Spanish?) They left us behind in the office, sent us off alone to change buses for blink-and-you-miss-it towns helpfully named “The Crossroads” and “The Intersection,” and told us that the bus for X city left an hour earlier than it actually did in hopes of scaring us off. Not a chance, cupcake - you’ve only succeeded in making it a question of our honor versus yours. Don’t mess with the tired, pissed-off chelas* with only our North American work ethic to keep us going…

So after three days of introductions that either didn’t exist or consisted of “This is Erica. She’s going to interview you,” today’s thoughtful and reassuring presentations were a delightful relief. The folks I talked to here were really enthusiastic about FINCA. They were also really talkative - every simple question elicited a half-hour of life story - but we’re in the home stretch now and I just kicked back and went with it. It still startles me how unconcerned people are about telling a total stranger all about their finances, food situation, and love life, not to mention casually welcoming everyone who happens to wander by and show interest to listen.

*Chele/a means “white,” deriving from leche, milk. It’s sometimes used for light-skinned Nicaraguans, but also means “foreigner” - what Nicas say rather than “gringo.” Locals who chase after foreign tourists are known as cheleros. Jeanette, who is a medium-tan Chilean, is all kinds of annoyed to be called chela all the time, but frankly, Santiago is every bit as different from Central American reality as is Washington, DC, so I think it’s fair enough.