Famous Mime dead at 84
Paris (LHF) Marcel Marceau, the world's most famous mime passed away today at his home in Paris, and reaction from leaders around the world was swift, and unanimous.

"No comment," said Prime Minister Stephen Harper as he boarded a Cormorant Helicopter in Goose Bay Labrador.

"No comment," was also British Prime Minister Gordon Brown's remark as he ducked into 10 Downing Street.

"The President has declined to comment at this point." was the only explanation given by George Bush's White House press secretary.

Leaders around the world were swift to echo the sentiment, and everyone from Bishop Desmond Tutu, to Daniel Ortega united to say nothing that hadn't already been said. Or more importantly, not said.

Marceau fans around the world found the international tribute touching, and well deserved.
"Marceau was unique, in that what he didn't say was so much more powerful than what most other people do say. " was the sentiment of one fan. "Maybe finally some of our leaders have caught on."

Funeral arrangements are at this time undertermined.

The Great Divide
I have officially discovered the one main reason that I could not live comfortably in central america. That reason is, simply put, I can not stand the thought of someone else thinking that I was "better" than they were.
It's one thing for people to think I am a better Sales Trainer, Sales Person, or even father or husband. I will generally find some way to pump them up, and make them think about their own strengths in a different way. That's fine.
I'm talking about someone thinking that they are 'below' me on a fundamental values kind of scale.
In Nicaragua, our guide referred to it at the "servant mentality."

While there, we get in the car on Friday night, and have no idea where to go for Dinner. We ask our driver (Don Roger, whom you already know I think very highly of), where to go. He takes us immediately to El Rancho, and says he'll wait outside while we eat.

"No way," says Eric, unaware of any potential issues. "Come on in, and we'll buy you dinner."
I assume he's going to come in, and hop out of the car. But for the next several minutes, Eric stays in the car, clearly trying to convince Roger to join us at our treat. Finally Eric gets out and says Roger's not going to come.
David (the fast talking chicken snatcher) suggests that Roger will probably never join us, and that Eric can give him $10 or so, and tell him to go get some dinner. I am really upset at this point, when lo and behold, Roger comes walking across. He has agreed to join us! Problem solved.
Not so fast.
So we get into the restaurant, and it's fancy. I mean one of the two nicest places I've eaten in Managua, and we ate at some fancy restaurants.
Roger opens his menu, and then closes it quietly and puts it on his lap.
Eric asks him in Spanish what he wants to eat, and he quietly tells Eric he won't be ordering, because he doesn't feel right asking us to spend that much money for him on dinner.
I am about to lose it at this point, when an Idea strikes me, and I ask Eric to explain to Roger in Spanish that dinner that night was my thank you to him for taking me to the amazing gallery the night before.
Eric does, Roger smiles wide, and proceeds to order a nice meal.
This drove me nuts. We have offered to buy the guy dinner. He knows we're from Canada, and that our $ is worth nearly 20 of his, but he can't bring himself to accept our invitation because he is the 'servant."

That, my friends, is what bothers me. I would like to say that is is "wrong", but who am I to make a value judgement about what is right and wrong in another person's country or life. It is however, so totally alien to me, that I think it really tainted my last evening there.

You all know what I think of Roger, and if I had my way, I would have bought him dinner every night. Now I realize just how uncomfortable that would have made him feel.

The Great Divide indeed.

More Random Thoughts from Managua
1. The Graffiti and street art here is fascinating. Along one major route, there is large outdoor painting after another of extremely angry scenes. One is a cartoon like character who looks like his head is exploding, with what looks like a policial message on it..
Then there are three or four paintings in a row of a young man in a baseball cap - in the first one he looks serious, then upset, then angry, then screaming in rage - it is a country with a very angry past, that is quite seriously bent on not descending into that hell again.

Speaking with people around here about why there is so very little violent crime in Managua - our very very American 'tour guide' was saying that it's becasue the Sandanistas are in charge, and anyone caught committing a crime was treated very harshly. Typical view for someone who said yesterday "I'm not an obnoxious American, but I play one on TV."

The other answer that Eric (my Colleague from my company who speaks fluent Spanish) got was that people are just tired of violence and killing. Yes they are poor, yes they are desperate, but they are pretty much all in it together. There is a very wealthy 'middle' class, that wants desperately to live like they used to when they were escaping the violence in America, but they are a small minority - the rest in their squalor and poverty are all in it together, and are almost universally tired of the killing, and violence, and conflict that has plagued their country for so long.

I am told that Sandanistas take communion next to Contras, and eat together, and have all agreed (whether it's spoken about or not) to just let bygones be bygones and get on with their lives, rather than wallowing in death.

I find that just an incredible message - I find it hugely inspiring. Now if we could only get Hamas, and Al Queda, and for that matter the CIA to the same point, we could send everybody home to be with their families, and start picking up the pieces.

2. The Music here is fascinating. I don't understand Spanish, so I can only listen to the Spanish radio stations until they start talking - it seems they don't play all that much music, and when they do it's almost always really sappy ballads. Then there's Radio Hora 103.5 Managua. Oh my goodness - it's all 70's and 80's, mainly ballads - I have heard more Air Supply, REO Speedwagon, and Commodores in the last three days then in the last thirteen years.

3. Roger (our driver) is the singularly coolest person I have met since I came here. He has an enourmous heart. Today, I told Eric (see above) to translate for me that I wanted to visit Ernesto Cardenal's gallery to buy something nice to take home.
Cardenal is a Liberation Theologian (now in his 80's, who also paints, sculpts, and nurtures artists in the Nicaraguan Primitivism movement which he helped to found) who was publicly humiliated by John Paull II while prostrate in front of said Pope on the tarmac at the Managua Airport. Needless to say, Cardenal became a very popular, and very controversial figure for the struggle against poverty and oppression which found it's spiritual home in Liberation Theology.

So I get my guide book, and realize it closed half an hour ago, so can we go to the big touristy souvenir market, I ask Roger. He looks at me funny, and says we can go and get back in time.

Halfway there, he makes bold move, using only his couple dozen or so words of English (mostly Air Supply lyrics, he's a HUGE fan), and the Spanish he knows I know, he asks me if I really want to go to this kitschy market, or do I want to check out a real Nicaraguan Art Gallery that he knows is open.

I'm stoked, and we go to Gallery a Codice in the middle of a quasi-suburban neighborhood, which is home to several medium sized industrial buildings, a dozen or so nightclubs, sorry, Discos (nightclub here apparently means strip club), and a random smattering of houses. (The urban planning here is a whole other post unto itself, but suffice it to say that when the earthquake flattened the city in 72, they just randomly built up the fringes of the city, and left the collapsed interior to rot - until now it's a massive 1.5 million person sprawl cut out of the jungle, with what appears to my hopelessly Northern eyes as a total lack of organization, but that makes a remarkable amount of sense if you have nerves of steel and know the shortcuts)

The place, to say the least, was incredible. There was quite a bit of Nica Primitivism, but a ton of contemporary woodwork and ceramics. I bought two gorgeous pieces that I'll put on the website when I'm back in Canada. Wow! I was a little embarrassed by how little they were, but I also realized that two of the pieces I bought totalled over a week's wages for most Nicaraguans.

Then on the way back, as we grew used to communicating in English/Spanish/Spancais, we were able to have a good laugh about the Taxi Drivers (Salvajes, is the Spanish word for "Savages" apparently), and he told me a little about where we were, pointed out the bus depot, and where the big buses were going.

I really can't say enough good things about the guy, only to say I wish to God I spoke better Spanish, because apparently he used to fly MIG Fighter Jets for the Soviet Military in operations in Bulgaria. I don't know his story, but I guarantee that it's fascinating. Either way, his experience dogfighting at MACH 2 has clearly given him the intestinal fortitude to navigate the Managua streets with incredible aplomb. 'nuff said.

That's all for now. I have taken shockingly few photos, so I'm going to bring my camera tomorrow (ok I"ve brought it to work every day, and only taken it out to shoot snaps of the call centre I'm in - I am clearly not in tourist mode, I think it's cause Noelle's not here I"m not feeling all that adventurous) and snap the images I see going to work, going to lunch, and coming home. It's really incredible, but so totally different from what I'm used to, that I don't really know where to start describing it. Deep in the back of my mind, it makes me wonder what would have happened if Noelle and I had just strapped on a couple backpacks, and buggered off for a few years after we graduated. The nice thing though, is that once the kids are a little older, maybe a little adventure travel will be that much more cool, you know? Or am I nuts?
Just a thought.

Random Thoughts from Managua
I arrived in Mangua today at 11:00 am local time, after having thrown up on an airplane for the first time (didn't John Lennon write "All the way the paper bag was on my knee, man I had a dreadful flight..."), and was greeted with:
a) Lots and lots of green.
b) Stifling heat. Dad, you thought it was bad in Hamilton during the heat wave when you were out here? Three words: Suck it up. :)
c) The VIP Treatment - which involves being met by four, count 'em four guys in ties before you even get to customs, who then grab your passport, bags, and $5 US, and take care of all those annoying little customs details, while you go upstairs to the VIP lounge, and drink a Diet Coke, and eat little cheese sandwiches, and eat All Dressed Pringles.

That, my friends, is how people are supposed to travel, and no, I don't care what my company paid for the privelege, it was wonderful.

So there I meet the consultant who is to be my guide for the next little while - he's from L.A., speaks the language, lives in Costa Rica now, and can only be described by using Marja Jacob's infamous description: He is a fast talking chicken snatcher.

Charming as hell, but only believe half of what comes out of his mouth.

So, we go back to the hotel. We weave through some very very interesting real estate- if you can call it that. Squalid comes close. THere are modern day "Bennett Buggies (go on, look it up on Wikepedia) which consist of trailers, and back ends of pick up trucks, attached to two poles, and drawn by pony. There were cyclists, who were quite frankly far braver than any Marine serving in Iraq could ever claim. They were not only in almost as much danger, but not only were they not packing large caliber weapons, they weren't even wearing helmets, much less body armor.

Finally, there were the cab and bus drivers. I should explain Nica buses. For one, there are the ubiquitous third world minibuses, that cram 20 people in, and then careen to the next town, but the city buses here, which are all private, are basically repurposed American School buses, some even in the original yellow and black, although one owner had gone all out with red and white paint, racing stripes, and kids bycicle streamers on the antenna.

The cab drivers are to be avoided at all costs. On the road, sidewalk, or neighbors front lawn. Wherever you find them. Our driver referred to them with the spanish word for "Savages", and they are treated like that. At the mall later on, the security guards were chasing them away with sharp blasts on their whistles. I was waiting for the whip and chair next. I was gratefull he didn't brandish his large pump action shotgun.

We weaved through town, with the demographics shifting from block to block, and arrived at the hotel. We had a lovely lunch, and then retired back to our rooms for a nap.

Fat chance. I lay down for about 10 minutes, and then sprung up like a Jack-in-the-box. It was time to explore.

For one, nobody white, dressed in Old Navy shirts, and Kahkis ever goes anywhere on foot, if they would ever like to see their wife and kids again. So I went downstairs, and with the use of my new language, negotiated a cab to take me to the mall, and then wait there for an hour (he actually buggered off, so I was stuck there for a full hour), and then take me back.

My new language: As you know, Spanish is a romance language, along with Italian, Romanian (didnt' know that, did you?) and of course, French. So my new language is a curious blend of Spanish and French I cll Spancais (pronounced, span-SAY). With it, I am able to communicate quite a bit, and I even held a stunted conversation of sorts with the cab driver, who did not speak a word of english.

The mall itself, was a huge disappointment. It was trying to be an American mall, but only the stores had AC, not the mall itself (which was kind of open air, but kind of not), and most of the stores were American - 9 West, Benetton, etc. That and there were only about 20 stores in all. So I started in on the whole Conversion Rate fiasco. I tried to buy Isaac some Walkie Talkies, but they were actually quite a bit more in USD than I could get them for at WalMart. So I went to the large bustling food court, to see about a beverage.

Of course me and my somewhat bizarre approach to Math, had devised a new way of dividing every thing by 20 to get the USD price (which I was having trouble doing in my head). I would simply multiply it by 5, and then knock off a zero. Kind of makes sense, right? I didn't think so - work with me here.

What I ended up with, somehow, was thinking I needed to divide it by 5, and couldn't figure out for the life of me why a bottle of beer was $5 us. I was walking away, shaking my head when I suddenly called out (much to the amusement of the others in the mall) "It's only a buck!", at which point, I went back and had a beer, and watched the crowd, the chaos, the kids, and the WWE Wrestling that was playing on the monitors.

It was wild, an entire mall full of people who wanted nothing more than the American standard of living, and were prepared to replicate it down to the last detail- including a Burger King.

So It's been a fascinating day. The Chicken Snatcher is taking me out for dinner, and back early for the big day training tomorrow. That is going to be interesting - my boss has already apologized for hiring nearly an entire class with no sales experience. I.e. it will be the largest class I have ever taught, with the least experience of any class I have ever taught.

"The pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign, as we are about to encounter a little turbulence."

Tell that to the cute little German Teenager on the school group tour who was holding a glass of water when the plane dropped about 30 feet from an air pocket. She was wiping drops off the roof, her seat, her glasses, the seat back in front of her, pretty much everything but her friend.

You had to be there.

Summer of 2007 missing, Officials fear the worst
Ottawa (LHJ) RCMP issued a nation wide 'amber alert' for the Summer of 2007, which was reported as missing yesterday afternoon.

When an amber alert is issued, highway electronic signs, and radio stations give contact information to help find the missing person. While it is unusual to issue such an alert for an entire season, officials are fearing the worst about the Summer.

"Technically the summer has 20 days left in it, but there seems to be no trace of it at all," said one RCMP spokesperson. "Between the speed of the disappearance, and the fact that there has been almost no sign of it since then, we are quite concerned."

Summer was first reported missing by Susan DiSilva of Burlington Ontario. "We were all on the beach, and it was glorious, the kids were playing, the sun was shining," said a clearly distraught DiSilva. "I just turned my back for a split second, and Summer was gone. I normally never take my eyes off of it, but I reached for some sunscreen, and when I looked up everybody on the beach was wearing chunky cable knit sweaters and drinking lattes."

RCMP are calling on anyone with information about Summer's whereabouts, to call their local detachment. Summer was last reported in the Shuswap valley in British Columbia, where officials say they will begin house to house requests for DNA samples, if nothing turns up.

Be Afraid...
So today at the park, Isaac is playing with another little kid's plastic toy dinosaur, and Isaac begins with the questions.

Now, you remember the role of the perfect answer, is to so baffle him with it, that the stops asking questions.

So the first is:
What is the dinosaur made of?
"Plastic"
What is plastic made of?
"Petroleum"
What is petroleum made of?"
"It's made of little tiny dinosaurs from millions of years ago that got squished down under millions of tons of rock and sand and mud, and they turned into oil, and someone drilled it up, and made it into plastic, and made a plastic dinosaur out of it."
"So the dinosaur is made out of dinosaurs?"

That made me really nervous.

What had made me even more nervous, was before we got to the park, I asked him if he wanted a snack? So we started down the road, and in the distance he spotted the Tim Horton's, where I had originally been headed.

"I have to go to the bathroom. We can go at the snack place!" (Keep in mind he has no idea we're going to Tim's, and....well...let's just say he claims he needs a potty break that he can't do in the shrubbery).

So we go and wrestle our way through the distincly stroller unfriendly door at tims, into the shockingly stroller unfriendly bathroom (I've got both boys at this point), and sit him on the toilet.
"False alarm." he says. I am understandable upset.
Then when we get out, he says "Now we're here, we can get a donut."

So what do I do at this point? Do I cancel the donuts cause he's tricked me into coming to Tims (even though that's where I was headed originally)? Do I punish him for what on one level appears to be asking in plenty of time to go to the bathroom?

It's quite a conundrum. But simply put, he had me stuck. He needed a toilet (rather than a shrub, which has been known to happen at the park from time to time), and the only one around was at Tim's, and you can't really get the kid in trouble for telling me he needed to go, because maybe he did.

So in the end, we got a donut, and I just asked him point blank. "Did you pretend to need to go to the bathroom so you could get a donut?"
"Yes," he answers without a hint of guile.
"Isaac, next time you want a donut, can you just ask me for a donut, instead of pretending to need a potty?"
"Ok."

We'll see if it works.

Finally, we went to Marineland yesterday, and it was nothing short of fabulous. The killer whales were cool, and the Dolphin show was amazing, but the Belugas were the hit. We loved them. In fact we were underground at the part where you could see the whales from underwater, and right to the left of us was 4 or 5 whales being fed at the side, all at once. It was in fact kind of like a large writhing blob of white whale.

So I hear a voice behind me say "What a huge mass of flesh!"
It struck me as an odd thing to say, but when I turn around, I'm staring directly at this guy's chest. He must have been 6'6", and about 300lb's of solid muscle.

It was all I could do to not say "You're one to talk."

By the way, Uncle Jonathan will be glad to know that Isaac is crazy about amusement park rides. The scarier the better. I don't know where he got it from, but when we got to the "family ride" section, he went up in the little ferris wheel, and was clearly bored. We then lined up for nearly 20 minutes for the ladybug rollercoaster, which I thought would terrify him (it sure as hell would have terrified me at that age - stop laughing Jonathan). He squeeled with glee the whole way around, and laughed his head off.

Then he wanted to go in the twirly around lift up and down rocket ship ride, and that barely phased him.

It was quite amuzing.
More later.