All Entries Tagged With: "Ouray"
The Beer Pilcher of Granada
The Hotel Alhambra occupies almost a block right in the middle of the Granada, across from Parque Central. The terrace potential here is high even if the service is the slowest in all of Nicaragua. After a day roaming dusty streets, followed by a swim with the sharks along the Las Isletas del Mar Dulce (Lake Nicaragua), a cold Victoria beer sounds like heaven.
The hotel terrace offers shade, well-worn comfort, cheap drinks, great local cuisine and an engaging (May I practice my bad English on you?) staff. It is the ultimate perch from which to observe the nightly neotropical parade in a fascinating city bent on forgetting decades of economic and civil strife, compounded the policies of my country.
The brightly painted walls of yellow and blue are accentuated by hordes of ancient vines, orchids, and vivid hanging flower baskets. The high ceilings, abstract art in chipped paint, create a subtle vertigo while the ceramic acoustics of the tiled palace chime the melodious Guardabarranco and Carlos Mejia Godoy.
The entire patio is one step up from the street and is encompassed by an imposing rail to keep the great unwashed from bothering the paying customers. Expanding the radius are struggling palm trees, the nearby lake, horse and carriage operatives, the aroma of frying fish, loud music, walled stucco houses, skinny dogs, pleasant people and crowded passageways wrapped around 16th Century cathedrals.
Delirious traffic in dilapidated chariots circles around and around the park acting out some mad petroleum mating ritual, horns keeping time with an torrid, indistinguishable beat. Across the avenue enterprising venders sell anything from hash pipes to baby alligators. They have long ceased daily commerce and have headed home for the night. I have been warned to avoid the park after these hawkers have gone. Already a seedy element has emerged, preparing to propagate business after dark, intent on another crap shoot of drug sales, petty theft, outright robbery, muggings and drunkenness.
Poverty and tourism have never melded to anyone’s satisfaction.
But I’m on the proverbial sunny side of the street or so it seems with the combo-neon and florescent patio lights turned up to fine print levels. A world away from the park, I enjoy another Victoria with a snifter of 12-year-old Flor de Cana rum, arguably the best rum in the Free World (which of course does not include bad ol’ Cuba). The British couple sitting to my left is much impressed with the pungent black bean and garlic soup (another treat from Cuba) while three local merchants smoke trophy puros (cigars), offering me one which I accept with a short referendum on my provenance. At the far end of the terrace banister are thee laughing tourists from Managua, who have accumulated at least 15 bottles under their table, an effective method for calculating beer purchases here.
That’s when I spot him. He stands out from the others. This guy looks the rough, crude menace but somehow less threatening from afar. He’s big for a Niacaraguan. He meticulously picks through the treasures in the park’s austere trash bins, discarding pieces then angrily kicking over the can. Underprivileged garbage, dissipated fruits of the poor displayed in skeletal wire and grungy bins. I saw him sitting on a bench at the plaza talking to himself earlier. On second examination he appears almost harmless compared to some of the other toughs that circulated here. Just another shabby street man eyeballing the hotel porch. I look away yawning, stretching, looking for another beer.
He crosses the street but fades into the shadows only to surface at the far end of the block. Passing slowly by the terrace after several reconnaissance missions he suddenly swoops down like a parched falcon grabbing a glass of beer off the British table and drinking it in a gulp, setting the glass carefully down afterwards. He sets his sights on another beer, from the merchants table this time, and slams it down as well, gently replacing the bottle on their table. He then runs off happily between the alley notels, the abandoned language institute and the designated pickpocket staging zone.
I laugh to myself not wanting to appear entertained by the intrusions. The merchants do not appear particularly perplexed peering over at me with that only in Granada look, sans surprise. They shake their heads. The Brits are at first amused, then irritated, then amused again. Their eyes wander the terrace searching for some logical explanation, finding none. Is he part of the all-inclusive experience?
Moments later I catch his movements back along the rail. This time he grabs a bottle of Victoria off the Managua tourists’ table and drains it. The tipsy table is not quite sure who drank what. They call the waiter who comes running with one of his fellows and they throw the beer thief to the ground with the fury of Volcan Mombacho. Nothing personal…but he is fouling up the sacred serve and volley of gratuity. He escapes and returns to the badlands of the park and looks at us yelling, “Beer belongs to the people!”
I have to admit I am enjoying his antics with every cold Victorian that goes down. The waiters apologize to the victims and replace their beers. They even brought me a free beer after I expressed outrage and threatened to write a bad review on the place in The San Juan Horseshoe en los Estados Unidos. No one seems all that ruffled.
But this beer guerrilla is the real deal. This stalwart boozehound, this dry debunker, this macquerau guzleir may be more than what meets the eye. He’s a force. His clownish persistence cries out to be recognized. The man is a talent. The cat burglar of cold beer. He will not be denied!
He doesn’t try to steal beer from me. Perhaps I could be trouble. Perhaps there are easier marks. Considering my sense of fashion and attention to hygiene that particular evening the man probably figured I stole what I have and was intent on drinking it. I have actually had street people come up to me in South America and offer me their coats on a cold night. Maybe we are kin or at least kindred…
I finish another beer and move to the relative safety of a table next to the kitchen door where I can chronicle the action while avoiding future larceny. The bullish boob won’t get my beer.
“He won’t be back,” a waiter announces brushing his hands of the incident. “He won’t dare pull that stunt again.”
Yes he will.
I watch as the conversation returns and beer disappear down appropriate throats. The table I vacated is now occupied by three Nortes with backpacks. They order Victorias and quesillos (braided Mozzarella cheese served in a warm tortillas swimming in onions and cream) and sit back innocently while noisy hookers come out for a stroll. Hunched behind them is our beer thief himself, who is now spouting on about the glories of Sandino right there in ultra-conservative downtown Granada, trampling on nostalgia, and interrupting the colonial ambience of it all. I order another beer, ignoring his gaze but watchful, digging in for the rest of the performance.
The curtain reopens with the same sly grin, the slithered walk, the thirsty demeanor. He promenades by the terrace once more, the dirty and demented hops high jacker. He grabs a beer off the Norte table and drains it with the refined movements of a jaguar. The backpackers are stunned and in the momentary chaos he takes anarchistic license to drink another, without spilling so much as a drop. Then its the same delicate trademark return of the bottles to the table where they had been.
“Down with capitalism!” he cries as the cook and several bouncers grab him and roughly toss him into the street oblivious to freebooter traffic, jagged cobblestones and road apples. One of the burly men then punches him lightly, exhorting a muffled threat. He is gone.
Stunned, the Brits and one of the local businessmen join me at my redoubt by the kitchen. We are all now completely regaled by the heists. The tourists from Managua call it a night and the backpackers sit clutching their beers. I quietly indulge in my good fortune. I have yet to fall to these pranks. I feel cocky and worldly, bullet-proof and quite sophisticated. We order food, paella, avocado salad and fried plantains. The talk turns to the country’s turbulent past and hopeful future.
The British couple applaud me for my attentive vigil in the face of dangerous beer snatchers. The merchant does too inviting me to her shop the next day.
A traveler such as you who pays attention has nothing to worry about when visiting Nicaragua,” she smiled.
“When I am in unfamiliar terrain I try to remain alert,” I smiled back, showcasing my lunchroom Spanish and my alleged survival instincts.
“You have to appreciate the man’s persistence. There is a man who knows what he wants and how to get it,” I jive.
The conversation stopped upon further commotion in the kitchen. Moments later our beer man was hurled through the swinging doors to the floor chased by the owner and the bouncers. They were sweating and did not appear amused. He had apparently been hiding in the freezer knawing on a side of beef and breaking eggs against the side of the cooler. Despite his near strangling and his bouncing off the concrete floor he was still moving.
He looked up at me pathetically. I didn’t know what to do or think. Here’s this poor thirsty creature about to get his ass kicked who couldn’t give a damn eitherway. Sad. A tragic world…Just another day in the life…
Then with one desperate grasp he laughs and grabs my beer from the table and, despite his unfortunate horizontal posture sucked it dry.
“My beer!” I cried, as our ardent guest of dishonor was then most indignantly escorted out the front to destinations unknown. Smiles emerged as our dinner arrived.
– Kevin Haley
Everything “Hunky Dory”
LOOKING BACK TO PRE-TRUMP AMERICA
(Capital Hill Express — Warshington DC – September 25, 2015)
The state of the country is on the upswing if you listen to a recent White House appraisal. In a speech before the Unwed Mothers of the American Revolution President Barack Obama stressed that there is no need for worry and that the nation will claim its own at the end of the world.
“It’s kind of like mixing Judgment Day and Election Day,” said Obama. “Even though the majority of people prepare for the events in a similar fashion the end results are still a bit murky.”
Most Americans have no clue either in the voting booth or with regards to the hereafter. Most have no positive relationship with death, substituting the death industry chants for an embrace of the soul at the time of departure from this place. Most think the elections are valid.
Despite its serious dysfunction, our leaders have lauded the democratic process since 1789. Common philosophies that might lubricate our mystical hopes and desires are no further along than in the days when we chased the herds.
Detractors call these intrinsic practices “tragic charades” since they only scratch the surface as to politics and metaphysics, expending valuable energy in what may well be a spurious arena.
Concentrating on domestic issues, Obama promised that the quality of education would improve by next week. He offered no further details. His plan to offer free community college classes has come under severe criticism by those who are insisting he address the sad state of affairs at the high school level first.
In continuum, the President heaped praise on policies aimed at controlling illegal Irish and Israel immigrants. This one brought down the house. After the applause, Obama did not elaborate. He concluded this segment pointing to the economy and low unemployment figures. Again the audience went wild as a band, hired by surviving remnants of Chicago’s Daley Regime, played “That Old Gang of Mine”.
Turning to the international theater, the President said relations with other potential super powers were better than ever.
“The Russians are at it again in Ukraine while the Chinese are busy building artificial islands in the South China Sea,” he chipped. “We are right on that one ignoring negative behavior all the way. “The people who hated us in the fifties and sixties are our buddies now and the people that liked us hate us.”
Obama did not tread into dangerous waters here exposing reasons why these groups might feel such anger.
The President then went on to vehemently warn Maoists, militants, drug lords, Wall Street, corporate polluters and Cubs fans that frivolous/violent actions would not be tolerated. Then came the release of an estimated 15 tons of confetti and helium balloons blown up by the Clintons over the weekend. As projected, the place went nuts!
The speech finished with a plea from the President to email him soon.
Rumors as to an immanent crash of all propped up methods and paltry social systems were brushed under the podium rug with the news that one of the White House dogs was pregnant and would be having puppies in time for Christmas. – Neville Hoser
“We were all having fun singing Prussian marching songs and you had to come along and lip synch the “International” – Estelle Marmotbreath, surveying the damage to three walkway birdbaths following the 45th Antioquia Rumba Brunch May 1, 2018.
Pharisee to speak
(Montrose) Right-wing spiritual war monger, the Rev. Phil Pharisee of the Temple of Self-Absorption and Tantric Plumbing, will address the piercing question: Does God Have a Cell Phone? on Friday night at the Armageddon Bingo Hall on East Main. Parking is free for the first 300 through the door. Hard facts and cold cuts will be served. Bring a covered fish.
Jails To Be Emptied for Cattlemens’ Days
(Gunnison) Prisoners currently incarcerated at Gunnison city and county jails will be released as part of a general amnesty celebrating the 118th Annual Cattlemen’s Days Rodeo. The shackled will be expected to report back to jail at the close of ceremonies on July 12 – 15.
It is hoped that this benevolent gesture might convince anarchist guerrillas hiding in the mountains to let go some 200 hostages taken during the siege of the Marshal Pass Armory in April.
“We don’t know yet if the emancipation will include political prisoners or if this is actually the beginning of a general amnesty,” said one officer. “Details are expected to be made clear at a press conference tomorrow.
Meanwhile guerrilla leaders have announced a massive fish fry on the eve of further negotiations aimed at ending their 40-year stalemate with the State. Opponents say the guerrillas possess no current fishing licenses and may have employed slave labor to secure the mighty catch. Although no exact time or location for the feed has been established, the public is cordially invited.
Prisoners failing to return to the confinement facility on the date imposed will miss the monthly taco night and could be deemed ineligible for parole until 2026.
Bone Crushing Plant Spoils Dump View For Newlyweds
(Tomichi Creek) In a post-nuptial action a recently married couple has filed $2.3 million damage suit claiming that the construction of a new bone crushing plant has spoiled their view of the county landfill.
Mel and Belle Toolini, sagebrush researchers attached to the local extension service, contend that height restrictions and visual impact regulations were not adhered to by Cornwell, Marrow and Herd, an international bone crushing concern headquartered in Gillette, Wyoming. The firm specializes in landfill down-sizing and assorted hostile takeovers.
“We fully understand that the area desperately needs bone crushing facilities but not right out our picture window,” said Belle. “Wouldn’t it be easier to conduct their crushing operations at a single-story capacity? They don’t need upstairs executive offices and an employee lounge. What’s wrong with a small trailer, a cooler and a horseshoe pit like other companies use?”
In a show of support over 400 local families have sent cookies and cake to the newlyweds. One even sent a pot roast.
“We’d like to thank everyone for their gifts but sooner or later one of us is going to have to learn how to cook,” teased Mel.
Maybe not. If the plaintiffs are successful the plant will have to conform to county building codes. However, if their attempts fall short it will be curtains for their view, which they say is the main motivation they bought the property in the first place.
In the event that they lose the case, Cornwell, Marrow and Herd has threatened to pull up stakes and relocate to a spot upwind from the Montrose Dump where tax enticements flourish and more liberal deed restrictions apply.
– compiled by Sir Otis of Liver
Tar, feathers feel heavy affects of trade war
Both imported tar and foreign feathers have jumped ahead of steel and aluminum on the Doomsday Machiavellian Chart according to a published report released today. The two distinct commodities, often linked due to dark symbiotic capabilities, were ranked as number one and two by leading economists desperately hoping to make sense of new fiscal imbalances among the world’s 15 largest wealth sources.
The constant shifting of traditional markets, as well as the certain fallout from aggressive dismantling of primary systems has pressed experts to seek a more binding predictions for what is heading for a global nightmare.
“We understand imbalance of trade, precocious tariffs and the desire to curtail runaway inflation in emerging nations,” said Professor Lester Fluffe, of the Susan B. Anthony School of Statistics. “We see the planet is one big garden producing just enough to feed everyone. Then we see unaware nibblers chewing on the fringes. Soon there is not enough. Is government a profit and loss venture?”
Fluffe joined a quorum of scientists and mathematicians who warn that whatever goes up must come down. They say raising import taxes on one end will simply result in an equal or greater adjustment at the other ended, aside from bruised feelings, the golden arrangement will remain much the same.
“There is a simple formula for coexistence in a world teetering on imbalance,” explained bank examiner, Dr. Barb Raile, author of Hoover and Coolidge in the Dust Bowl. “That is consistency. Even the most elementary structure cannot withstand the constant barrage of the anti-intellectual or the know nothing.”
Both academics went on to say that the idea of a trade embargo would do little to reset the money flow since every reaction must be countered and every stab in the back plugged up in the field.
“Weapons in the hands of the mad or uneducated often take on minds of their own,” said Fluffe, who stopped short of identifying leaders generating these trade restrictions.
Meanwhile the current resident of the White House continues to talk about building walls, arming teachers, cutting social programs and the extraction of fossil fuels from formerly protected areas.
“It seems a bit ironic that the very elements adversely affected by one action are often a common component of a larger and more definitive reaction,” frowned Raile, not bending when exhorted to reveal her sources or her targets.
– Alfalfa Romero
“Gradually I came to realize that people will more readily swallow lies than the truth as if the taste
of lies was homey appetizing: a habit.”
– Martha Gelhorn, war correspondent (1908 – 1998)
La escalera mecánica encantada del aeropuerto envía a los pasajeros que vuelan
(Colona) La única escalera mecánica conocida del condado fue “destruida” durante la hora punta el viernes, enviando a pasajeros desprevenidos que volaban y su equipaje suspendido en el fino aire de la montaña.
El incidente, atribuido a la piratería de venganzas por parte de técnicos en informática en huelga en el Aeropuerto Internacional de Colona, resultó en sorprendentemente pocas lesiones pero retrasó las salidas de vuelo en tres horas. El vuelo nocturno de la fiesta a Nucla fue castigado con la carga completa de pasajeros redirigida a Naturita.
Los bomberos rescataron a un viajero colgado de una viga de vigas de madera falsa, mientras que una familia de Durango tuvo que ser rescatada de un puesto de control de seguridad dañado que de alguna manera se había inundado durante el percance.
De acuerdo con los ciberdelincuentes que se encontraban en la escena, el mecanismo que fluía se detuvo bruscamente, luego se agrietó, giró, gimió, se inclinó y saltó, arrojando a los viajeros por los aires. “Fue todo un espectáculo”, dijo un vaquero jubilado que comparó la experiencia con un toro loco y mecanizado que enloqueció.
Los expertos de Federal Aviation fueron despachados rápidamente para observar el desorden de la banda de rodadura enredada y los escalones de la escalera mecánica inconexa. Ninguna de estas personas se sentía cómoda inhabilitando escaleras mecánicas deshonestas y se fue a almorzar.
Varios dijeron a The Horseshoe que el desastre había sido causado por vacas locales pisoteando la infraestructura de ciber óptica. Prometieron instalar un radar de advertencia de fibra coaxial en un intento de ser más astuto que el elemento bovino.
Los lectores pueden recordar un incidente similar en 2016 cuando la fuente principal del mezzanine del aeropuerto se enchufaba y explotaba, enviando aspersores de alta presión y escombros hasta la ciudad. Después de una investigación exhaustiva, quedó claro que alguien había tirado varios rollos de papel higiénico en lo que se clasificó como un crimen de odio no terrorista.
La instalación aeronáutica se cerrará hasta que la escalera mecánica esté deshuesada, desprogramada y pacificada. Se insta a los peatones a subir las escaleras hasta nuevo aviso. – Gerry Mander
