An Eye-Opening Perspective

Some of you may or may not have heard about Oprah's trip to India.  If you hadn't, well, she filmed it and it's being aired on TLC.  I hadn't heard about this until one of my students from India (currently studying at my undergraduate college) sent me a link to an article on an Indian blog reacting to the first episode of the special.  Always curious to see what foreigners think of Americans parading around their land, I read the article.  As I read, I found myself becoming more and more dumbfounded by the way Oprah was purportedly reacting to Indian culture and to the Indians she met.  It made me want to curl up in my skin and die out of shame for this awful representation of our country.

Admittedly, I haven't seen the episode.  I don't have cable and I couldn't find it online (at least, not anywhere that wouldn't riddle my computer with viruses).  I did, however, find a few other articles discussing the rampant stereotypes portrayed in her series.  One in particular from ABC compares American with Indian reactions and, I'm sorry to say, the American reactions are more positive.

But, don't take this from me.  Read the side of the story given by another one of my students from India who is also currently studying at my alma mater.  He addresses not only the Oprah episode (which he did watch), but also what it's like to be a foreigner in America.  This will change how you think.

If you're interested in more related reading, this article from the APA discusses D.W. Sue's work with microaggressions, which he defines as being "everyday insults, indignities and demeaning messages sent to people of color by well-intentioned white people who are unaware of the hidden messages being sent to them."  As we discussed this in my Multicultural Issues class in fall of 2010, microaggressions can also be produced by anyone who benefits from a position of privilege, such as Oprah.  The key word there is "well-intentioned."  If you're familiar with the old adage, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions," then you can probably understand how someone can think they're saying the right thing, but because they're unaware of their own personal biases, actually end up inadvertently causing harm to the other person.  It's some of the most interesting, thought-provoking research I've come across during my time in grad school.  This class changed how I thought about a lot of things and I promise, if you read more about it, it will change you too.

Hasta Que Salga el Sol

("Hasta Que Salga el Sol" means "until the sun rises" and is also the title of a song I'm currently obsessed with.  Go forth, download, and dance.  You'll thank me.)


27 June 2012
roughly 8pm - Hotel Estrella, San Juan del Sur

Upon our arrival to San Juan, the chicken bus dumped us gringas (and one gringo backpacker) off in the the middle of the street and drove away in a cloud of dust.  I successfully asked for (and understood!) directions to the Barrio Cafe, where we were supposed to catch the shuttle to the Naked Tiger, the hostel we had booked for our stay in San Juan.  The shuttle, which ran every 2 hours, was at the Cafe when we arrived, but so full that there was hardly a hope of all three of us, plus our belongings, fitting on board.  We waved off the advancements of the taxi drivers promising to take us to the Naked Tiger ("for good price!"), deciding to have a leisurely lunch at the Cafe and catch the 2:10p shuttle instead.

Hotel Estrella.  I just realized I can see my relflection in one of the windows

While we were waiting for the shuttle (which took forever), we observed individuals in varying stages of hangover begin straggling into the queue.   That, coupled with what we'd heard about the Naked Tiger being a party hostel, plus its distance from the beach, made us rethink our game plan a little bit.  We rethought it a lot actually, since when the shuttle finally arrived, we chose to stay behind.  Instead, we wandered around a bit until we came across Hotel Estrella, which is apparently the oldest hotel in San Juan.  It is in varying stages of disrepair, but I like it.  It's also right across the street from the beach.  So close, in fact, that as I write this, I'm listening to the endless ebb and flow of the occean.

Oh, hi there, beach.

This hotel is a little dilapidated, but it has charm and is only $8/night for a three person room.  You can't hate on that, even if the bathroom happens to be downstairs and reminds me a little of some of the bathrooms we encountered in India (however, considering I've seen far worse bathrooms in America, this really isn't an issue). The floors are possibly original - stripped down, warped, gray planks - and the stairs are narrow and appear to have been worn down by decades of visitors climbing up and down.   

The second floor.  That sink is where we washed our faces, etc.

Note the depressions on the steps.  So much more noticeable in person.

Not my loofah.

Toilet/Shower hallway

The only actual problem thus far appears to be the fact that we're without a fan.  This may prove problematic as I'm currently wearing as little as possible without risking indecency and am still overheating.  It's like being in India during one of the power outages:  the air is still, thick, heavy, and oppressive.  The only difference is that we have power.

On an unrelated note, my shoulders are rather sore from ziplining yesterday.

Once we got settled at Hotel Estrella, we put on our bathing suits and headed straight across the street to the beach.  The sand on the harbor beach is really more like packed dirt and less like the sand we're accustomed to.  The water was warm and a little bit gritty, thanks to all the sand it stirred up,  After I submerged myself, my face had a fine layer of grit on it for the rest of the day.  We eventually retreated back from the water to some beach chairs that were set up in front of one of the restaurants to have a few beers and watch the sun set.  We're very romantic.

Beach restaurants with beach chairs need to become a thing here.

There was a little girl of about 3 years old running around near us as we sat there.  She ran back and forth from the ocean to where she was playing in (and occasionally licking) the sand/dirt.  She also befriended a random man and his son (who appeared to be about the same age as her).  She was completely unfazed by where her parents were in location to her, by the energetic game of soccer being played by roughly 25 teenage boys on the beach near her, or by the fact that strangers were around her.  I was in awe of the amount of freedom her parents were giving her and am still torn by whether or not I think that's a good thing.

I really like how this picture came out

While we were on the beach earlier, Sara and I were talking about how much this place reminds us of India.  I hypothesized that this is because I, at least, think I'm somewhat subconsciously looking for an experience that recreates what we had there, but which I'm obviously not going to find on a one week trip to Nicaragua.  India was an authentic experience because we had time and connections, two incredibly integral pieces to successfully encountering and assimilating to a culture.  We were able to immerse ourselves in a dramatically different culture because we had those things.  Right now, we have only a week and no connections.  It's much harder to have a truly authentic experience when you don't have the time to learn the area you're in and become familiar with the subtle nuances that tourists tend to miss as they pass through.  If I want to enjoy this trip, I need to accept that right now, I am a tourist.  It would, however, be really nice to at least experience true Nica food however, rather than the imitation (or worse, American/Italian food), which I've been trying to avoid.

In Which the Author Makes a Disclaimer...

25 June 2012
8:20pm - Casa del Agua Hostel, Granada, Nicaragua

View of Granada from the top of La Mercede Iglesia.  The large yellow building is the Catedral de Granada & the blue behind that is Lake Nicaragua.

I am absolutely glorifying in the fact that I'm in a foreign country, in a completely different culture right now.  It's like all the stress and madness of this year was actually worth it.  How can I ever be content in one place again?

I wasn't expecting this place to remind me so much of India, but it does, powerfully so.  On the 40 minute drive from the airport in Managua to Granada in the taxi sent for us by the hostel, I was struck by how many similarities there were between Managua, Masaya, and Granada and what I experienced in India.  Most strongly, the smell in the air:  sometimes unpleasant, (like urine, animal feces, diesel/exhaust, or garbage), but sometimes not (like burning leaves, meals being prepared, or flowers).  The arrangement of the streets, as well of the overall trend in billboard advertisement styles.  The discord between lush green trees and the garbage strewn along the side of the road and in creeks.  The insouciance with which pedestrians crossed the street, often right in the path of a speeding bus.  The fearless driving styles, the occasional honk of the horn or high-beaming to let another car know you were going to pass them.  The kids in uniforms walking home from school and waiting to catch a bus.  The truck of mattresses we were stuck behind at one point - one mattress in particular reminded me of my mattress from Agartala.  The tin-roofed shops by the side of the row, brightly colored with their display of wares.  Movistar (a cellphone service).  The sickly green colored sheets provided to us at the hostel (they bore a strong similarity to sheets used at the Holy Cross Centers we'd visited).  I'm fairly certain I could continue with this litany, but I'll try to restrain myself.  

I would now like to state, as a disclaimer, that I am no expert on Nicaraguan culture.  I will only be here a week (we're still struggling with why we thought such a short period of time was a good idea).  Therefore, take very little of what I say as fact.  Know that these thoughts are merely the observations of a girl trying to connect with a very large world.  There is little doubt in my mind that I will say stupid, inaccurate things.  I have a nasty tendency to do this.  This is by no means a factual representation of the Nica people, their culture, or heritage.  This is only my perspective, my experience, and we all know how much those can differ based on individuals.  It is also important to consider that I will be perceiving everything through the lens of someone raised in a fairly privileged situation in a fairly privileged culture.  This taints everything and denying it is pointless.

That being said, here goes nothing...

Something More

You try staying in one place after being lucky enough to live in India for a year.  Now, try staying in that one place for two years, without major opportunities to throw yourself out of your comfort zone and experience dramatically different cultures.  Sure, where you're at is nice.  The city is nice and your friends are awesome.  Your family is supportive and your apartment is cheap.  Your job is challenging, even enjoyable.  You really have no right to complain.

...But you do.  You know deep down there's more to the world than a daily routine, more than just waiting to meet the right person, more than just being a "twenty-something."  More than Facebook, than Twitter, than the petty concerns of everyday life.  You find yourself wondering why you're complaining about stupid things that you realize are stupid, but you're caught up in the every day and you just feel stuck.

Cliche: "more than this provincial life." I'm all about the Beauty & the Beast references.

Fortunately, I'm not alone in these emotions and so, after half-joking conversations about hopping a plane to Nicaragua, a friend and I looked at each other and said, "let's actually do it."  And we did.

Story to follow.