Every memory sparks another. I should be finishing a presentation for student orientation tomorrow night, but here I am reading and writing more memories...
When we flew into Managua for the first time in 1962, we had flown out of Miami, and other than flying from up north to Miami after visiting family, I had never been on a plane. But the airports we flew from and to were quite large and in big cities. When we took off, you could look out over the city, roads, buildings and ocean. As we approached Managua, we could see the city in the distance, but as we began to descend for landing, there was basically nothing but open space and green pastures. I was terrified that we were going to land that big plane in what looked like a cow pasture with a thin little slab that looked no bigger than a cowtrail from the sky. I knew I was going to die!
Staying at the Gran Hotel was fun - with the pool, being introduced to "platinos" and petting the oscelot cubs that were being offered for sale out on the street. About the third day, however, I began throwing up and spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom due to the onset of the Nica version of Montezuma's revenge. Again I thought I would die.
When school started, it did not take me long to figure out that I was going to have to shave all of the blonde hair off of my legs like the "Coverston girls" and tried to convince my mother that I would be an outcast if I did not. The conversation was after the fact and she was not happy. Again, I thought I might die as there was much blood involved with razors back in those days, and I also thought my mother or dad might kill me.
Things definitely got better after that.
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