Isla de los Monos? More like Isla de los Strung Out Junkies!

I know, I know. If you´re going to do a ____________? More like ________! post title, then it should be a pun. Trust me, I worked through all of the possibilities for puns on Monos (Monkeys in Spanish). Phonos (phonies) Homos (homophobic and not at all indicative of the actual behavior of the monos) Mopos (not even really a word) etc... Leave a better Pun Title in the comments if you´re so smart.

Returned to the Zona Turistica today to search out a trip to Las Isletas, particularly Isla de los Monos (I´ll tone down the self-righteous indignation on the Spanish translations a bit). I was once again struck by the weird abandoned playground equipment everywhere. Varied from brand new to rusting and overgrown, but I saw maybe three children playing over the course of two days on probably twenty five separate apparatuses. Apparatti? It had the air of a J.G. Ballard story minus the eroticized car crashes and mastabatory Ronald Reagan assassination fantasies. My favorite building was the hilariously titled "Optomisticas of Nicaragua" school of sailing instruction that was rundown, abandoned, and all but boared over. However, the inside was still full of windsurfing gear and other sailing equipment. Pictures to follow as soon as I can figure out how to put them inside this here fancy computer machine.

Anyway, walking along I struck up a conversation with Lester, who, as it happened, owned a launch that he wanted me to book a tour on. His quote was slightly higher than others I had spoken with yesterday, but he was very pleasant, and I enjoyed talking with him. Like many native speakers, he made sure to praise my clumsy pigdin Spanish, and god knows I´m a sucker for facetious words of praise. What follows is my attempt to translate his conversation for yor reading benefit. Note: I´m recording iut as a monologue, although technically it should be punctuated with uh´huhs, sis, and clumsy, childlike questions on my part.

Yeah, so my dad has done this launch thing for 30 years, and I´ve been helping him out for the last 5. But that´s not me. Really, I go to school. I study some english (author´s note: as near as I could tell he couldn´t speak a word.)and cumputers. But what I really do is music. I play guitar, and a bit of the piano. I write music, and also sing in a chorus where I´m totally the first tenor. You could say that music is my life.

So as you can see, it´s not beyond the realm of possibility that we are forging some sort of connection. I´m happilly plugging along, beaming inwardly at my successful window into the personal life of a real live Nicaraguan. When I tell him what I do, he laughs and says that all primary school teachers in Nicaragua are women because men are needed to keep the older students in line. (By the way, on the way to the lake you walk past a primary school.
It´s been filled with screaming children each time I´ve gone by, and I can´t imagine any teaching or learning actually happening. That being said, it surrounds a central courtyard, and the open to the air windows are all barred. I guess that´s to help some of the less imaginative children complete the school as prison metaphor that sustains so many of them.)

So we finally make it to the port, and Lester tells me that it won´t be him taking me out, but rather his brother. He has to go back to town to prepare for class that afternoon. I´m slightly bummed to be parting company with my new friend with barely a ¨mucho gusto,¨but we´re off and cruising within a matter of minutes. His brother (who´s name I never caught)was monosyllabic until we were well away from the dock when he immediately began to try and change the agreed upon price with me talking about tides, the cost of gas, and some other ridiculous nonsense. What insued was a lengthy and draining argument wher eI conssitently refused his price. It took almost the entire way to Isla de los Monos for him to finally back off.

Isla de los Monos was tiny, but as soon as our launch started to approach, we saw rustling in the trees ahead. Monkeys!
Several of them, hardly the horde I had expected to see, but the Isla itself was pretty tiny. I noted to myself that it wouldn´t have been big enough to support more monkeys anyway. I didn´t think about how they had gotten there to begin with, or why they weren´t on other islands as well. As it turns out, they had been introduced there five years ago, and are now completely dependent upon food offerings from tourists. I got some great monkey shots because they came right up to the boat expecting a handout. One of them even held its hands out to me plaintively and only a "Will Fuck for Food" sign separated it from bums you or I might see on the street back home. I always get bummed out to see the natural order of things (animal or human) become twisted and dependant upon tourist dollars.

After a curt farewell to my driver I began the long hot walk back to town. (Note if you ever do an Isletas tour, spend the 40 cents on the cab back to town afterwards.) Had a delicious meal in a Mexican restaurant which I went to despite resisting the siren´s call (literally) of a local pizza place. They´ve hired a car to drive back and forth with enormous speakers bolted to the top blaring out the virtues of their establishment (La Pasta mas fresca de todo de Nicaragua!) and the sound is literally unignorable. Needless to say, the ploy did nothing but guarantee that I wouldn´t visit their establishment. After a couple of lazy relaxing days in Granada, I think I´m pushing on for Ometepe, a volcanic island further south in the Lake, tomorrow. It was Nicaragua´s sole entrant in last Summer´s new wonders of the world contest, and the signs urging people to vote are still up everywhere. Not sure what the interweb sitch is there, so I may be out of touch for a couple of days.