Baseball

It's been raining constantly here for more than two weeks, washing out highways and giving everyone cabin fever. As a result, the baseball playoffs have become a much-needed distraction from wet feet, not to mention mold. (The girls who live in the low-rent rooms in the back of my house are finding mold in their clothing and books -- my room is drier because it's more expensive -- I have a real ceiling.)

The locals are huge baseball fans. Most of them are rooting for the Red Sox because there's a Nicaraguan pitcher in Boston's farm system.

Last night at the bar I ended up at a table of Americans. I hadn't been around Americans in a long time and it was a pleasant surprise to be able to shoot the shit with some countrymen. Turns out I was sitting with two players in the Cleveland Indians organization (they're in AA) and a player-turned-coach, who was featured as one of Billy Bean's top prospects in the book, Moneyball. Ex-prospect's wife was there, too.

They're in town playing winter ball in Leon, and none of them speak Spanish. I had my hands full translating for them. Once the locals found out these guys were playing for their beloved team, they went a little nuts, saying things like, "This city depends on you," etc.

It was fun to get a professional perspective on the game. At one point a batter swung at a Papelbon fastball and missed, and I was like, "Oooh, nasty!" Pro says, "Uhh, that was a terrible pitch. Dude missed his spot by three feet." As Indians, they were furious when Kenny Lofton was held up at third base. I cheered very quietly for the Sox.

Anyway, they'll be in town for a few months and looks like I'll be going to lots of games. We're going to get a poker game going as well. It's about time I got some income.

The sun finally came out today and if the rain holds off, I'll get my bi-weekly basketball game in. I started playing pick-up games a few weeks ago and do pretty well against the local competition. It helps that there's always somebody my size to guard. The Americans are giants in comparison.

The Wedding

A couple of weeks ago we played a wedding at the Hotel El Convento, the fanciest place in town. (It used to be a convent, then squatters took over during the revolution, and it was rescued from oblivion a few years ago by one of the wealthiest local families, who also own the art museum.) The wedding was between a local fellow and an American, and the Americans kept telling us to turn the music down during the first set, but once they'd consumed enough liquor they got used to the noise (everything is overamplified here -- that's how the Nicas like it), they stopped complaining and tried to dance. To the left is our guitarist, Don Will, who brought me into the band. He teaches guitar lessons to the kids who live in my house. His sons are in one of the most popular rock bands in the country, and one of them, Lenin (yes, L-e-n-i-n), is taking English classes from me. Will's childhood girlfriend lives in San Francisco, and appropos of nothing, he loves to say to me, "Michael ... San Francisco ... mi amor," and kiss his fingertips.

John, the ex-Canadian, the organization behind the outfit. He teaches music at a private school in Managua to the children of foreign dignitaries, etc. On the road every morning at 4:30am, and on Fridays, when we perform, none of us get home before 2am. I'm not sure how he does it.

Salsa-ing. You can see that people dressed up. I bought new dress shoes for fifteen whole dollars. For some mysterious reason, our timbales player missed the memo (timbales are drums, but most of the time you hit the sides instead of the tops) and showed up in a green t-shirt -- he's just visible in the lower left-hand corner of photo #4. He tried to fit into one of my shirts, because I live across the street from the hotel, but despite being the same height, he's got a few pounds on me and he couldn't move his arms when the shirt was buttoned. Anyway, his green shirt -- "la camisa verde" -- is now infamous.





Another shotof Don Will. He's the big draw of the band -- the man knows how to milk a crowd. I have told him that my big regret with trumpet is that while I'm playing, I can't make the faces that he makes.

Debut.

I´d been saving my lucky yellow shirt for a suitable occasion, and if nothing else, I was easy to spot on stage. I was also boiling. I played six songs over the course of three hours, which left me plenty of time to mingle and enjoy the minor celebrity status accorded musicians here. One nice thing, as you can see, is that the only person significantly taller than me in the band is John the Canadian. Alex, the trombone player, has a ridiculous case of perfect pitch -- he can listen to a tune and arrange all the different parts without touching an instrument. This frightens me.

Anyway, I stayed out very late because I didn´t have a beer until after midnight, nervous I would forget all the song structures with alcohol in my system. I had only rehearsed one tune with the band, all the others I had practiced alone in my room. I can´t remember ever getting on stage feeling less prepared. The best thing is that because the show was no disaster, I will have fewer nerves in the future.

Was glad to see that they hadn´t changed the marquee this morning. It says, ¨Viernes 14. Fachento. En Vivo.¨

The King of Leon.

Today is Independence Day in Central America, so all the schoolkids took to the streets, banging drums, twirling batons, etc. This is a right of passage supposedly reserved for students in their final year of high school, but an exception was made for the kid on the right, and rightfully so.

If I look half as cool on stage tonight, I'll be pleased. Yes, tonight is my debut with Fachento. I will be accompanying them for no more than four songs, but I'll be making up for my paltry musical involvement by stacking the crowd with supporters. I've invited just about everyone I know to come, and because it's Independence Day, everyone is looking for an excuse to drink rum. (Actually, most people here don't look for excuses to drink rum -- being alive is reason enough.)

Check here tomorrow for photos of me turning purple, attempting to reach the high notes.

This You Should Know!

I have rented a mailbox. All letters, books, music, and surprises should be sent to:

Michael Heald
Apartado 413, Oficina de Correo
Leon, Nicaragua

Safe and Sound

For those of you I haven´t had the chance to directly communicate with, the hurricane passed to the north and barely touched us.

That evening was my first rehearsal with Fachento. We rehearse on the front porch of the keyboardist´s house, so we turned our backs to the rain and made some noise. It´s quite a privilege to play with the band -- the feel these guys have for rhythm is just incredible. My work is definitely cut out for me, though there is a possibility I´ll be ready to play a few tunes at the show on Friday. I´m practicing two or three hours a day, playing along to my iPod and stretching my range.

The bandleader, John, is Canadian. He moved here six or seven years ago with ´no intention of staying.´ He teaches music at the wealthiest school in the country, in Managua, and has a three-year-old child with his wife, who is Nicaraguan. He invited me over to his beautiful house last night and I made the rather obvious comment, ´wow, it´s like you really live here!´

What else? I´m teaching trumpet to the younger brother of the keyboardist. I´m teaching English to my former teachers of Spanish. I´ll be done with the first half of the novel by this time next week.

It´s hard to believe it´s September! The days are not noticeably shorter than they were when I arrived ten weeks ago. Living up north, we have this built-in expectation that each month should feel different.

Hurricane Felix

There´s an odd mix of excitement and resignation here, not so much for what the storm might do to us, but for what it means for the people on the Atlantic. They are some of the country´s poorest, and none of their homes are built to withstand hurricanes. It´s hard to imagine where their food and shelter will come from in the days and months ahead.

Out on the streets everyone seems relaxed. Leon is in a fairly protected position. I just came from lunch. The majority of the people were drinking. There´s really nothing to do but wait and hope that the storm moves quickly over us -- the problem with Mitch in 1998 was that it stalled and dumped ridiculous quantities of rain.

Anyway, I may be without internet and phone for a little while, but I´ll keep myself entertained, and you guys informed.

In none storm-related news, I am rehearsing tonight with a salsa band called Fachento, which translates to ´snooty.´ They perform every Friday at one of the hottest nightspots in town, so if they are willing to have me, I will earn the kind of notoriety reserved for gringos foolish enough to get up on stage. But seriously, I am delighted to have the opportunity, and am enjoying practicing the trumpet much more than I used to.