Thinking ¨finding oneself¨ applied only to wanderlust beatnicks, I ignored its implications. However one phrases it, one of the biggest parts of growing up--exacerbated by living abroad--is finding a way to anchor oneself. Without family or friends, there is no discernable point of reference. One is left with a matrix of previous perceptions and pretentions on which to build, but there is certainly no architect but myself.

After my recent vacation to the fabulous colonial house my friend is sitting in Granada, there were things that I had missed. I put off one meeting and completely blew off another. With the excuse of the fiestas patronales further complicating lengthy bus travel, I was easily let off the hook. After a week of no classes, and having forgotten to mention to anyone that I was judging a competition an hour South of me instead of giving class the following day, I had come back to a mess of my own making.

This tension was compiled by senseless jealousy that all of the guys in my group had found a girlfriend or at least a playmate. By yesterday morning I was sour and an hour outside of town at a coffee farm. The whole day became consumed by a beautiful rainstorm. With no chance of escape or making it to our second appointment, my counterpart, the producer and I buckled down to work. We got all the paperwork immaginable out of the way by the afternoon.

The rain begrudingly halted as though it had run out of water but not the energy with which to dispell it. Conversation had turned to native plants. Our host took us out to his modest plantation while fog and clouds silently unzipped themselves from one another. I stood on the flatbed of the truck smiling as we passed under trees spewing Spanish Moss-like barba del viejo. I smiled so hard I found myself laughing at how miraculous the spectacle was: thousands of glossy coffee plants dwarfed by monstrous trees bedragled by barba del viejo. This is my Nicaragua.

Being unanchored as I am and thus subject to every emotional squall, I find it hard to remain politically neutral. Peace Corps policy is officially neutral, and we volunteers are obliged to follow suite. The Danielista* party headquarters are directly across the street from my humble abode. Sandanista songs about ¨Killing the Yanqui¨ and ¨Kill the Gringos¨ play day and night. Those don´t bother me because they are often coupled with Michael Jackson or Stairway to Heaven. What does bother me is that my host mother lost her job as a high school teacher last year because of being Liberal. My host sister and counterpart will be losing the same job this November because she will vote Liberal.

*US backed Somoza dictatorship overtaken by socialist Sandanista party in1979. By mid 1980´s, the Sandanista party--headed by Daniel Ortega indefinately--had increased public welfare and infrastructure, though was no less oppressive than Somoza. The Contra army began in the town two hours North of Yalí, La Rica. With US support and unneccesary ruthlessness, it overtook the Sandanistas. Free and fair elections have been held since 1991. Because of a party split in the last elections, Daniel Ortega won the presidential seat for the old Sandinista party, FSLN (mockingly called the Danielista Party). The FSLN has since disabled the participation of various political parties. They have also rigged the upcoming municipal elections through dislocated polling and obvious gifts to party members. Weekly, the FSLN blatently delivers livestock or construction material to party members.

On a more regional note, Latin America is becoming an even more interesting place to live than usual. Bolivia and Venezuela have recently asked their respective United States embassadors to leave. The American government stands accused of encouraging the Bolivian seperatist movement. Venezuela has followed suit to show solidarity. Nicaragua, being economically reliant on Cesar Chavez, often takes political hints from Venezuela.

Venezuela does not have Peace Corps Volunteers, and Bolivia is not accepting new ones after a recent political misunderstanding. So we will see how the remaining volunteers are dealt with as a lithmus test for any potential embassadorial changes. Honduras is also pending the expulsion of their US embassador, which puts even more regional pressure on Nicaragua to tow the line.

With no current gubernatorial changes in motion here, life will continue as normal. Even in the worst case scenario--if the US embassador to Nicaragua were to be removed--we volunteers won't necessarily leave. It will just leave us a little less political cushion.

In the meanwhile, I will continue to eat my gallo-pinto and cuajada. As a matter of fact I am currently on a little vacation in Granada, a tourist destination where a volunteer in my group lives. The former Captaincy-General of Guatemala, which included Nicaragua at the time, gained independence from Spain on September 14th. Hence, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica celebrate Independence Day at the same time. We are about to grill and have a guys night out to celebrate like we celebrate our independence: cultural exchange?

A week of scorching days can so easily be sedated and forgotten by one good afternoon of rain. The rising and re-rising dust is replaced by low lying clouds. Everyone sits on their porch, dances to otherwise loud music rendered inoffensive by the rain, and enjoy whatever solitude is gained by incliment weather. Good rainstorms are the Nicaraguan equivelant to a foot and a half of snow: too much to voluntarily leave the house, but not legally enough to close school. Nearly falling victim to the utility of a good excuse I forgot about tomorrow´s class until after dinner.

Before the rain I had a great melding of both my worlds. My institute is funded by the coffee exporter I work for. Today the exporter invited all of their local growers, recognized students, and school officials for a thank you and a presentation. I got a little thank you, the type given to a relative for warm wool socks on christmas. Although I think I´ll be fine without wool socks for the duration of my service, my fleece pants and long sleeve shirt feel just right. Even goldilocks would be jealous.

I noticed it first as I would ride between farms. The long lines of foliage drying in the countryside. Beans hung up on barbed wire--which is used for everything including clothes lines. In town trucks filled with bean sacks rumble through. The once quiet cooperatives and otherwise vacant storefronts are bustling with sack after sack of beans. Each bag is emptied out, dried, sifted, and bagged for sale. The cosecha primaria, or first harvest is in full swing. This is the biggest harvest of the year and I´ve got court-side tickets.

Today I went out to the family farm with my host brother. It is a hundred or so meters above Yalí, and only three kilometers down the road. We hiked along a beautiful creek upstream from Yalí and up to the plantaciones. As we approached I heard repeated dull thuds. The workers pull the lightly dried bean pods onto a tarp and beat them mercellously until every bean has been freed from its husk. They discard the empty husks into a second pile. They stand on the beans, a slowly but surely growing hill of dark red kidney beans. I hiked around the farm for a few hours, and when I returned, the beans were bagged. My host brother was putting away all his paperwork and protecting his meticullous calculations. The pile of dried, beaten, sorry husks are set to an immediately roaring blaze.

We drove back to town just as it began to drizzle. I realized that almost every field with the tell tale burned look of beans in cosecha had an equally large blaze going. The air was filled with smoke. There were smoke lines coming from every farm and hillside in view. It became apparent that this was becoming an all encompassing experience: the town is alive, the hills become burned, and all of this is viewed between whispes of smoke and dilapidated trucks.

Its a whole lot of work to get one plate of beans. Fortunately the farmers minimum wage--usually supporting an entire family--of $2.50 a day keeps the prices down.