VOLUNTEERING IN SAN JUAN DEL SUR

The entrance to the San Juan del Sur Library.

If you've got some time to spare between beach breaks and surf sessions, drop by the San Juan del Sur Library, aka Biblioteca Movil.

Just off the Parque Central about four blocks from the sand, the white-washed, one-story building trimmed out in ocean blue packs a big punch in a tiny package. 

In addition to hundreds of books in English and Spanish for kids and adults, they also offer computer literacy classes, study times, and best of all, a mobile library. 

For those unfamiliar with mobile libraries, first imagine a food truck, but instead of being a place to buy burritos, the library on wheels offers free books for loan in remote communities where libraries exist only in the dreams of the children who live there. 

It's food for the mind.

Travelers-turned volunteers are welcome to tag-along on the Mobile Library's scheduled three-times-per-week trips, which leave SJDS early and come back mid-afternoon. 

Sadly, the trips were on hold for a week-long holiday while we were there. If, like us, you're unable to make a trip with the Biblioteca Movil, the library also accepts new and used books, as well as supplies for their child learning and computer center.  

Drop by the Library for more info, to make a donation and of course, to sign up for a trip on La Biblioteca Movil.

Two librarians fill out library cards and educate visitors about volunteer opporutnities at La Biblioteca Movil. 

In front of the library, Kip waves hello after we dropped off some books and craft materials.

MOTORCYCLE SCHOOL BUS

Relieved to have arrived safely, Todd and his school-kid passengers wave for the camera. 

What started out as chance to explore the hills and beaches around San Juan del Sur by motorcycle turned into much more--that is, once we finally figured out how to start and shift and stop our motorcycles properly. 

Nicaragua's booming surf town has become somewhat of a tourist haven, at least since Kip took Spanish lessons here 15 years ago. Hotels and restaurants now line the long, crescent beach. Souvenir stands and surf shops abound. 

Yet just outside of town, the area remains remote, navigated by dirt roads through monkey-filled forests and onto deserted beaches more frequented by sea turtles than sun-loving travelers.

Kip gives a student a ride home.

It's also a place where kids have to walk long distances to get back-and-forth to school, as Kip and his brother Todd discovered while passing an elementary school a few miles outside of town. 

After driving slowly past groups of backpack-toting students walking the road with no houses in sight, we stopped to talk to two young boys. Nico and his cousin Tomas were heading home, and they immediately asked if we could give them and their friends a ride. So, while driving extremely slowly and carefully, we did. And then we did again.

Finally, after dropping off the final student in front of his house and waving to his smiling parents, we got back to our ride. 

Todd doing some serious downhilling.

The road's end--Kip on a deserted beach a few miles north of San Juan del Sur.

VOLUNTOURISM WITH SOFT POWER EDUCATION UGANDA

Kids take a break from supervising Liz's painting skills to wave hello. 

Sadly, there are folks out there who still don't comprehend the value of short-term volunteering. 

For example, guidebook publisher Lonely Planet's Africa guide informs potential volunteers that, "Unless you’ve got some expertise, and are prepared to stay for at least a year, you’re unlikely to be much use anyway." 

Really, Lonely Planet? A year or nothing? 

Perhaps the publisher should discuss its ill-advised statement with the folks at Soft Power Education or with the thousands of kids that Soft Power and its short-term volunteers have helped over the years. 

Like Big Brother Mouse in Laos, Soft Power seeks out travelers who aren't able to commit to weeks or months (or a year) of volunteering. The nonprofit offers visitors various options, including a "One Day Volunteering" program, which enables participants to tour its facilities, learn about issues affecting the area, donate, and work on an ongoing project such as painting a school or helping construct a building. 

Kip trying to stay between the lines.

Liz having a much easier time than hubby.

We had a few extra days in Jinja, so we emailed Soft Power through their website to see if they had anything available (click here for tips on finding volunteer opportunities on the road). From there, they hooked us up with an opportunity through their school refurbishment program. 

We were told to meet Kibii, their energetic volunteer manager who grew up nearby, at a local Nile River rafting company. From there, Kibii gave us a tour of some of the projects the organization had completed, including the Amagezi Education Centre and the Kayabirwa Children's Centre. After the tour, off we went in the back of a pickup to the site where we'd spend the rest of the day.

Kip and our guide Kibii, who manages volunteers and organizes projects for Soft Power Education. 

Painting walls back home can get tedious quickly. Yet, there's a certain joy in brushing some color to the walls of a noisy school while being closely-watched by kids who would much rather critique two muzungus working than play outside during recess. The students didn't seem to be going anywhere, so we put them to work and started testing out their English skills. 

"Which letter comes next?" we asked, as we painted our alphabetical-way around the room. In unison, the kids would shout back their answers. "Name an animal that starts with that letter"...and the game continued. 

All was well and good until a teacher came by the room. Playtime was over, it seemed, at least for the kids. 

For us, we still had hours and another alphabet or two to go. And despite the duties at hand, we couldn't wait to keep going.

Interested in volunteering with Soft Power? Check out there volunteer page and see what option works for you. 

Oddly enough, this sign is directly next to this "interesting" building.

THE KIDS OF ILE STE MARIE

While riding a rented motorbike around the rocky roads of Ile St. Marie, a hilly strip of land 30 miles off Madagascar's east coast, we came across a sign for "Orphelinat Zazakely." 

We weren't sure what the words meant, but the sign was colorfully painted and featured what looked like happy kids and a tiny school house. Considering we didn't have a destination (or a map), and the Orphelinat was just 6 km away, we figured we'd go take a look.  


Diversions like these don't always pay off for us, to say the least. But this one certainly did. 

After six kilometers of some of the roughest roads we've ridden on the trip, we spotted another sign that looked like the one from half an hour before. We pulled to a stop and heard the unmistakable sound of children playing. 

Seconds later, a Malagasy woman smiled and waved us up the dirt track. After determining that we weren't lost or in need of directions, the woman explained in her limited English that the Orphelinat was in fact the island's only orphanage, established 10 years ago by a French woman to house and educate local children. As she talked, she gave us a brief tour of the facility, introducing us to gaggles of giggling children along the way. Before we could finish the tour a group of six girls dragged us into an intense game of jump rope. Luckily, we were able to overcome our clueless-ness with height, and we would've won but Kip tripped trying to imitate a double-rope jump one of the six-yr-olds pulled on us. 

Although we like to think the kids had a good time playing with us, our shiny red motorcycle helmets stole the show. The kids passed them both around so everyone got a turn to wear one.

We were also fortunate to meet a family from Belgium, living at the orphanage and volunteering with the kids for several weeks (the organization welcome long- and short-term volunteers). Thankfully, the Belgians spoke English and gave us some background on where the children came from. Although the organization is an orphanage, not all of the children are orphans. Many are without mothers, we were told, and their fathers were unable to care for the children, so they were brought to the orphanage. We also learned the children at Zazakely feel a very strong sense of family and community, with many of the older children who were raised in the orphanage returning frequently to visit their Zazakely brothers and sisters. 

Photo #1 from the future
Ansel Adams.

We had such a fun time playing with the kids, we went back the next day for more. Our motorbike helmets were already old news, but one precocious kid was adamant on using the camera. Kip was only too happy to show him how the camera worked, and after a brief photography lesson, off he went filling up a memory card with photos of everything in the area. And we mean everything.  

From rocks, to rooftops, to lots of photos of the ground, he covered it all. As his benevolent instructor, Kip thought he did a great job, considering he'd never used a camera.

Another photo from the budding photographer. Interesting composition.

Who is this bearded volunteer in the bead necklaces (designed and sold by village women to help fund the orphanage)?

Liz's favorite, little Francia.

For more information, or to support this organization, information is on their website (in French): http://www.zazakely.org/parrainage.html

BEAUTIFUL BELO SUR MER

So, eight hour boat trip aside, this place really is beautiful. We can admit that now.

When we arrived, however, hot, thirsty, and sunburned with still a 1 kilometer walk through a sandy marsh to anything reminiscent of a hotel, we can't say it made the best first impression.

But, we were glad to be on land. And, Liz was particularly excited about the diving. We'd heard stories about the reefs offshore in the deep, clear waters of the Mozambique Channel, which was one of our main reasons for heading to this very out of the way place.

Alas, the universe had other plans. After struggling along in the mud and sand, we stopped at every guesthouse (there are four in total, even counting the uninhabitable one barely standing after cyclone damage). Each one we passed was either closed for the season or full (though we saw no other foreigners for miles). Sounds like a typically planned Liz and Kip trip so far...

As we went to what we thought was the final hotel (they were closing down for the season and wouldn't let us stay), we were lucky to meet one of the owners of Ecolodge de Menabe, who told us he had rooms. The owner ran the only dive shop within 100 miles. Despite his perfect English, he only wanted to speak French, so Liz decided to wow him with her skills, asking, "Plongee?" For those without such an amazing command of the language, this is the French word for diving.  And he replied, "No plongee." To which Liz said, "Oh no!" and he replied in his heavy French accent "Oh, yes!"  She was not amused.

But, his place was marvelous and he gave the three of us (thank you Ernest for not smothering us in our sleep) the best bungalow in the entire place. We felt special. We were the only guests in the entire village, and the local kids showed off for us a bit  by having a contest with their spinning tops.

We were also served some tasty samosas by these adorable and precocious kiddos. We can honestly say, nothing tastes better than a fresh fish samosa. Especially when it's delivered right to your doorstep, with a smile.


And then, there were the sunsets.

All of this ALMOST made up for the fact that we had an eight-hour boat ride back...which, in true Madagascar style, was really 12 hours. 

Market stuff in Belo: Clockwise, starting with dried sardines, weird hush puppies, two bowls of salty fish patties, and six fuzzy round fruits from the baobabs, which Liz took a liking to.

Liz with a sunblock-covered friend we met after picking up trash along the town's main road (a sandy path). 

The kids could work wonders with their homemade tops.
Winding the rope around the spindle, they would hurl
the balls into the air  and at just the right moment,
pull back so the top dropped, spinning madly,
into their palm or on their chest or even
on one guy's head. Good show.

FUNNY MONDAY: LIME LADY, GOOFY KIDS

Selling fruit can get boring, or so it seemed when we met this lady at the market in Belo. After we bought a few limes, she did her best to convince us we needed a tomato ,too. We assured her we didn't, which she for some reason found hilarious. She then proceeded to make funny faces at us, cracking up us and all the kids around her in the process. 

In case you're wondering, the yellow stuff on her face is a local version of sun block made from thanka, the same stuff ladies in Burma use. Small world.

As a bonus, here are a few other funny faces we saw in Belo...

PHOTO FRIDAY: FUTURE BOAT BUILDER

The seaside village of Belo Sur Mer on Madagascar's east coast is known for its boat building. The little boy above, who we met playing on the beach, is Belo's next generation, learning to construct vessels by hand as his family and others have done for as long as anyone can remember. 

Tune in next week for a story on the nine-hour 'boat ride from hell' we took to get to this place. 

STILL MORE BAOBABS IN MADAGASCAR

Baobab Avenue...it's almost as photogenic as the Pushkar Camel Fair. But when there's a grove of 1,000-yr-old trees around, the photos tend to look pretty good from no matter what angle you shoot. 

If Avenida de Baobab  was in the U.S.,  it would be one of the most popular, well-protected national parks on Earth.  Here in Madagascar, families live under the trees' shade and huge trucks drive within inches of their trunks. 

A half-moon shines through  a baobab's branches.

A family  leaving the Avenida de Baobabs.

BUSH TAXIS, BREAKDOWNS, AND BAOBABS

A boy holds his baby brother on the Avenida de Baobabs.

For those who may not be aware, Madagascar is a gigantic island. The fourth largest in the world, in fact, behind Greenland, New Guinea, and Borneo. And with so much to see (lemurs,  baobabs, islands, more baobabs, LEMURS!) we got started right away. We both remembered reading about the baobab trees in Saint Exupery’s famous story, The Little Prince, and on our map, the famous Avenida de Baobabs near Morondava looked like a manageable distance (just a couple inches!) for our first destination in-country after leaving the hilly capital city of Antananarivo.  

Soon enough, we learned that unless you can afford a car & driver or overpriced domestic flight, transportation in Madagascar is a long, hot, and exhausting process. As our city taxi from "Tana" neared the local taxi-brousse station (literally, "bush taxi"), people began running alongside our window shouting, tapping the windows, and grabbing the mirrors. The driver mistakenly slowed slightly, and one agile fellow opened the passenger door, jumping right inside. It would be this lucky athlete who would eventually sell us our bus tickets...for triple the going rate, of course. Lucky us.

Packed into the bush-taxi (a van made for 10 but usually seating 18 at a minimum) we flew down the road at breakneck speed, slamming on the brakes every few minutes to cram in additional passengers. Our three-hour journey only took us five and a half hours. Not bad, but we were still a good 14 hours from our destination, the Avenida de Baobabs. Since no bush taxis were leaving, we stopped for the night in the town of Antisrabe.

Thankfully, the amazing front desk staff at Hotel Hortensia told us of two guests with their own car who were heading to the same place. They spoke no English, and our French is limited to a few phrases Kip learned at Mardi Gras, and our Malagasy is non-existent. But, they agreed to take us. As we set off at 5 a.m. the next morning, we were overcome with joy at being in a real car and confusion of not knowing what to do with all the extra space in the back seats.

After 17 hrs in a bus/car, Kip had to climb it.

About four hours later, on a very deserted stretch of road, the radiator blew a hose. Fearing the worst, we began constructing a shelter of palms to stay the night.  Not really. We just listened to the radio while our incredibly competent driver smiled, grabbed some parts out of the back, and began the process of sawing apart the radiator hose…and then fixed it somehow. His fix worked for about five miles. Then we repeated the process.  We did this every few miles for the next seven hours. After stopping at a lake to refill the radiator one last time, we cruised the final few miles into Morondava, a town on the coast, and home to the Avenida de Baobabs.

We thanked our fearless driver/mechanics, and set off to see some trees. 

As Kip said, “We really traveled for 17 hours to see some trees?”  

We really did. And they were so worth it.

Baobabs at sunset.

On an island where more than 50 percent of all creatures are endemic, you see some interesting things, such as these unidentified insects.

Another photo of Baobab Avenue. Above, a pair of zebus (local cattle) pull a cart full of kids and vegetables headed to market in town. 

PHOTOS: ANNAPURNA SANCTUARY

Words don't do justice to the stunning beauty and random hilarity delivered by a hike through the Annapurna Sanctuary. For your viewing enjoyment, below are a few photos from the trek:

Some sheep Kip befriended on the trail.

View of the Annapurna peaks from Annapurna Base Camp at 13,549 feet. The strange lines of clouds high above the peaks are caused by high winds, we're told.

Liz with her soul sisters Nada and Sim at Annapurna Base Camp.

Some very camera shy Nepalese girls. They had a great time telling Kip all the English words they knew.

No chicken, pork, or buffalo meat beyond this point of the trail. Not a high point for us non-vegetarians.

Safety first? Not in this hot water shower, powered by a propane bottle and clear plastic tube that remain in the bathroom as you shower. Shockingly, we decided to pass on the gas.

Looking forward to buying some holes at this "hole sale" provision shop.

Considering there are only four lodges in Chhomrong, this sign seems a bit dated.

A herd of goats blocks the road on our ride back to Pokhara. Their horns are painted blue to identify them to their owners. On the dashboard of our car spins a solar-powered prayer wheel.