Sounds of Jinotepe

Either Jinotepe wakes up very early, or it never really sleeps.

The birds start before the sun comes up, chirping and tweet-tweet-tweeting while various rooster makes throaty cocka-doodle-blargggh sounds. Other birds have more exotic calls that sound a lot like the ones in Hawaii, whooping and chattering and screaming. One of the volunteers swears there's a bird who sings part of the song from that Pepsi commercial.

Another volunteer is pretty sure that everyone in town has a key to the churches so that they can let themselves in and "ring the bell whenever they damn well please!" It doesn't seem too far from the truth, because they bells can be heard at odd hours - five in the morning, twenty to seven, all throughout the day. I remember being rudely awakened by church bells in Pons, france our first day there, but those deep bong-boong-boooonnggg sounds have got nothing on the church bells here, which sound less like a call to worship and more like a railroad crossing.

The bells can be distracting, but what really jolted me out of bed my first morning here were the fireworks. Every day since I arrived, we've heard firecrackers morning and night. (And day, of course.) Last night, they were big fireworks that actually lit up the sky in beautiful colours; most of the time, they're firecrackers that sound a lot like gunshots and offer no visual evidence to the contrary.

During the day the church bells and fireworks continue at random and are joined by music - lots of it! An eclectic blend of traditional and contemporary Nicaraguan songs, as well as familiar North American club music poured into the streets this weekend, though it's been toned down since then. I really liked the live Nicaraguan music we heard on Saturday evening, and actually recognized a few of the songs when I heard them again (and again, and again) on Sunday. The occasional marching band comes down our street, too; I'm pretty sure I heard it last night while I brushed my teeth, but it could have been any number of other bands, or speakers tossed in the back of trucks.  Such trucks drive around town blasting ads for parties interspersed with familiar club music, which is also played in stores and restaurants in the middle of the day.


When we're out walking, it can be really hard not to dance a little to an especially familiar song, but we stick out enough as it is. (I'm still glow-in-the-dark pale and intend to stay that way. No skin cancer for me!) The attention is on Brianne, Jenny and I whether we ask for it or not - boys and men make kissing sounds as we walk by, yelling chelita ("blondie") or gringa ("American girl"). Apparently, this is totally normal and the key is to ignore it completely, otherwise the guys will think their exceptionally charming approach is working. Still, it's hard not to turn my head when I hear "¡Ehhh, chelitaaa!" right in my ear.

Toss in the sounds of whistles, honking horns from cars, stray dogs howling and the yelling of bus destinations ("¡Masayamasayamasayaaaaa!") and you have quite the soundtrack. It was overwhelming at first, but I have to admit that it's growing on me pretty quickly!