In Search of the Elusive Howler Monkeys

Location: Northern Nicaragua: Matagalpa – Selva Negra

Since a few weeks back when I read more about Nicaragua’s northern region (or the Highlands, as it is also known), it occupied a principal spot on my destination list. This past weekend, I finally had the opportunity to visit. A Chilean I had met a few weeks back in Managua e-mailed me with the plan to go to Selva Negra (a coffee farm/eco-lodge/cloud-forest reserve) just north of Matagalpa – the region’s major city. The north is Nicaragua’s most mountainous region. It is different from Leon and the surrounding lowlands in almost every way possible. It is notably cooler and breezier. It rains a lot more. The landscape is dotted with green mountains instead of volcano peaks. The city of Matagalpa is situated in the skirts of the mountains. The people are fairer-skinned and often have blue or green eyes. This I learned is due to the influx of German immigrants to the area during the 1920s-1940s. Selva Negra, the place where we were headed, was also actually founded by a Nicaraguan of German descent.

We had luck with the public transportation: 1.5 hrs on a minibus from Leon to Managua, 30 mins to get to another bus terminal, 2 hrs on an express bus to Matagalpa (meaning no intermediate stops), 1 hr to Selva Negra on an old school bus, which wound its way very, very slowly up the mountainous road, then a short ride on the back of a truck whose driver offered to give us a ride.

Arriving at Selva Negra felt like entering another world. The clouds overhead moved rapidly across the sky; there was a constant breeze and rustling in the trees; the air felt crisp and fresh. I could hardly believe that I was still in the same country. After dropping off our bags and having lunch we decided to explore the cloud forest – home to resplendent quetzal (which is very rarely spotted), howler monkeys and many other species of birds, reptiles, and mammals. Our goal: to see the monkeys.

We walked for a while without spotting anything much of interest. Then we heard it: the roar of the howler monkeys. It sounds almost like a predator growl and carries afar. Supposedly, the howler monkey is the loudest land animal. Problem was that we couldn’t tell how far away the source was. A guide we came across a few minutes later claimed they were still more than 1 km away, although that seemed hard to believe. Eventually the roars died down. We had missed our chance.

A while later we were passed by two hikers who stopped a little ahead of us on the trail. Then, all of a sudden, the woman started stomping wildly in one place and then ran off. The guy followed suit (also stomping away). I was thinking, “What the hell???” Then we saw the source of the commotion: ants. While standing around and obliviously watching the swarm of ants a few meters away, I failed to notice that they had started crawling up my legs until I felt their nasty bites. It felt like tens of simultaneous little stings. I tried to brush them off, but they clung so tightly onto my skin that I actually had to pull some of them off. In those few seconds, they had managed to get into my hiking shoes and even as far as my knee-length pants. Now I understood why the woman had run away so frantically. (And I also had a flashback to that ant scene in the new Indiana Jones film.)

The rest of the hike was pretty uneventful until I heard some rustling in the trees above us. Then more rustling. I couldn’t tell whether it was a bird or a squirrel. Then I heard soft whimpering sounds. Then it appeared – a monkey. Then another one. Then another two. Then two baby ones. They were great to watch, especially the babies who were not quite as well coordinated and kept missing some of the branches. They crossed the trees above us following the same invisible path.

The excitement of having seen howler monkeys could only be surpassed by … seeing them again the following morning. Since my companions slept late, I ventured on a longer hike by myself. Sure enough, at the end of the hike, I spotted them again. It must have been the same family since I saw them in a spot close to where we had seen them the previous day. I stood there watching them for a while, before they disappeared completely out of sight. Seeing monkeys brought back fond memories of my time in Zimbabwe where I had seen monkeys for the very first time in the wild. And it made me miss Africa.

The rest of the morning, I read and mostly relaxed, and before I knew it, it was time to leave. We managed to hitch a ride again from Selva Negra to Matagalpa on the back of a truck (I love riding on the backs of trucks – it’s nice and breezy! Although I know it’s not the safest thing). Then took a bumpy, dusty 3-hr bus ride back to Leon (decided not to go through Managua this time). The road linking Matagalpa and Leon is in pretty bad condition, and given how much traffic there is between the two cities, I am surprised this stretch is not higher up on the priority list of road rehabilitation. But the views from the bus were terrific – first winding through the mountains and ending with the sun setting behind San Cristóbal, Nicaragua’s tallest volcano (1745 m).

Fresh off the bus near Selva Negra.

Yes, welcome.

Lake, lodge restaurant & cloud forest in the background.

A strange-looking tree along one of the many trails - this one (not so aptly) named "Romantic" trail. The ants were awaiting further along this trail :)

Other bizarre (and carnivorous-looking) plants

This little guy let me get pretty close to take a picture. Guess he thought I couldn't see him because of his camouflage.

More trail.

Sign at the bus station in Matagalpa. Hmmm... it really didn't look like a dangerous place.

The Matagalpa Cathedral - truly white as snow.

View of town.

Leaving Matagalpa.

From the bus: Volcán Momotombo at dusk - one of Nicaragua's almost perfectly cone-shaped volcanoes.

The sunset behind Volcán San Cristóbal in the distance - another almost perfect cone shape

P.S. Unfortunately, I have no photos of the monkeys, given that I took only videos and those are too big to upload here. But you can see some pics under the Wikipedia link above.

Cinema or Communal Living Room?

I went to the local cinema last night (a new and pretty modern cinema, mind you). As the movie ran its course, I couldn't help but notice all the noise and movement around me. Women had brought their infants or young kids (less than 5 yrs old) with them. Of course, they couldn't help crying or talking loudly through most of it. People kept receiving (and answering) phone calls (the silent option on the cell phone does not seem to exist for most Nicas). People in front and behind me held conversations in a regular speaking voice (I am yet to hear someone here whisper). People kept coming in, going out, shuffling around. No-one apart from me seemed to find this the slight bit out of the ordinary.

All in all, I felt like I was in someone's house watching a movie on an extremely big screen.

Not a Happy Camper

The pyrotechnic explosions started early last night and continued ... all night (except for maybe 3 hours between 2 and 5 am). They wouldn't be as annoying if it didn't sound like bombs were falling right outside my room and if the whole bed wasn't shaking as a result. At midnight we even had the morning siren, except it sounded for much longer than usual. All this is to celebrate July 23 - a day when five students were killed by President Somoza's army in 1959 during anti-Somoza protests. Except that this "remembrance" has turned into a week-long affair in the past two years, I was told. Today is July 23. I expect that I will not sleep very much tonight, given that all the noise, explosions, etc. will be much much worse than they were last night. Can anyone put me up for the night, somewhere far far away?

In other news, I saw a man walking stark-naked on the side of the road yesterday while returning from work. I was told he was mentally disturbed. Although I wouldn't be surprised if he was doing it in protest of something. Here, people like to protest a lot. But I think that is a topic for another post.

Highlights from the Weekend: Northwestern Nicaragua

Locations: El Viejo – Padre Ramos Wetlands Reserve – Jiquilillo – Corinto

A weekend at the house of one my supervisors turned into an exploration of a number of remote corners of northwestern Nicaragua. Favorite moments:

1. Sitting on the beach at Jiquilillo with only a few cows as company.
Jiquilillo used to be a fishermen’s town until a 1992 tsunami wiped out most of it. Right now it appears more like a small, but growing, village (located far north on the Pacific coast). The fishermen are back. Most of the families living there have “beachfront” property. Several “cheles” (I think American or Canadian) have settled there and are renting out cabañas (small huts) and giving surf lessons to tourists who happen to venture out to this part of the Pacific. The beach stretches as far as the eye can see and it is literally uninhabited. The surf supposedly is good as well.

2. Eating mussels cocktail prepared on the spot in 5 mins for $1.50.
I was a little skeptical if my stomach would cope with the raw mussels, but decided to try them since they were recommended by people who’d eaten them before and are supposedly super fresh. Needless to say, the mixture of mussels, lemon juice, and chopped tomatoes and onions was delicious! (And my stomach seems fine.)

3. Swimming in the estuary at Padre Ramos Wetlands Reserve.
Padre Ramos is a protected area of wetlands located almost at the very northwestern tip of Nicaragua. It is home to many species of birds and some turtles (between the months of November and January) and is best explored by boat. The ocean can be pretty rough, that’s why many people prefer to swim in the estuary instead. It is a beautiful, peaceful place.
Small communities live on the shores of the estuary (sometimes literally right next to the water during high tide), completely detached from the rest of civilization. We visited one lady living there – no electricity, no running water, no phone, no nothing, apart from maybe a few Honduran radio stations. But she claimed that she wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

4. Being asked if I was from Spain.
This I took mostly as a compliment to my Spanish, and it made my day.

5. Having my supervisor and her friend tell me story after story about their travels through Nicaragua.
Their laughter is contagious. Even more so is their love of food. Nicas love to eat and have a high appreciation for good food. I hadn’t heard as much talk about food as I did this weekend :) I also realized that my supervisor and I share a love for the outdoors and a hatred for over-development and locations that are “exclusive” and over-priced.

View of Padre Ramos Estuary

We visited an old lady who literally lived by the water of the estuary. You probably can't see much in this photo because it is quite dark, but an essential piece of "furniture" of every Nica home, no matter how remote the location, is the hammock. Rural homes usually have their "stove" outside. Even if inside, all houses seem to lack chimneys so the smoke just fills the room, which serves as sleeping quarters as well. But, people don't even seem to notice, let alone be bothered by this.

Among all sorts of plants, the lady's garden included a wild orchid ...

... and a couple of parrots who seem to have made their home on a nearby tree - making loud noises the whole time we were there.

Off next to Jiquilillo beach...

... where there literally was no-one ...

... except for a cow or two.

The thatched-roof cabañas (right on the beach) can be rented out.

And if you don't feel like battling the ocean waves and currents, you can swim in the estuary. It was nice. Except for the people (pictured here) who threw an empty plastic Coke bottle in the water at the end of their swim. I fished it out. I still can't understand how people can be so reckless when it comes to their trash in such pristine areas.

Likes, Dislikes, and the Unusual

Almost daily I arrange and rearrange different mental lists compiled over my 5 weeks here.

Like:
1. Being able to buy mangos and avocados for under $1 and delicious tacos for 50 cents each.
2. Being able to see the stars every night from the courtyard of my house.
3. Lack of throngs of tourists.
4. Nica hand gesture when they get excited about something - wrist flicking that produces a loud sound. (Have told myself that I must learn that one before I leave.)

Dislike:
1. Having to always be careful about what I eat and drink.
2. Not being able to take a shower (or sometimes even brush my teeth) whenever I want to.
3. The mosquitoes.
4. The endless honking from cab drivers and "Adios" from male passers-by (although I am certain I get only a fraction of the "attention" that fairer and lighter-haired women get).
5. People chucking their trash out the windows of a bus. Unfortunately, people are not very ecologically-minded here. But guess when you are that poor, the environment is the last thing on your mind.

Unusual:
1. Fast food is an oxymoron. You go to what looks like a burger joint and end up waiting for 15 mins (or more) for your order. And they have table service, so it's more like going to a restaurant!

2. Nica time and "promises" - Like most other Latin American countries (or Mediterranean countries for that matter) the concept of time is a tricky one. I have learned that you can never trust the hour that people tell you. And that you should always arrive at a restaurant before you get hungry, because you will be waiting for your food for at least an hour (usually 1.5 hrs). I made the mistake of going out when I was hungry once and really regretted it. All the fruit juice I gulped down while waiting for my food did not help my hunger.

Related to this is the other endearing characteristic of most Nicas: that they make plans and ask you to go somewhere and then change their mind at the last minute. This happens all the time. So now I never believe my colleagues when they say "Let's go out tonight." I have told them that I will believe them when we are actually out the door, together.

3. People always react with surprise when they find out that I'd gone anywhere by myself, without knowing anyone. "What?!? You went alone?" is usually the reaction I get. I wonder why people here are not more adventurous or curious in spirit. But then I guess it is the same way back home with a lot of people.

Hiking Telica Volcano

So, I have just made it back from my first ever full-fledged volcano hike, in one piece, nevertheless, despite feeling aches and pains all over my body at the moment. But let me start at the beginning. On Friday, I finally decided to make use of my new hiking shoes and make a nature outing, so I signed up for a two-day hike to Volcán Telica - one of several volcanoes in the Maribio Range near Leon. Telica is an active volcano, 1061 meters in height, and its last eruption (mostly of ash) was in 2004. I signed up for the hike with Quetzal Trekkers, a non-profit organization that runs hikes to all the nearby volcanoes, all led by volunteers (who are required to stay a minimum of two months on the job), with the proceeds going to helping street kids in Leon. All in all, I could carry out one of my favorite activities for a noble cause.

Six of us (two guides and four tourists – an American, a German, an Irish woman and me) set off around 8 am on Saturday morning, after first packing our backpacks. We each carried a ration of food, 6 liters of water, some clothing, a sleeping bag and sleeping mat, and parts of the two tents we would set up once we reached the crater. Not being an experienced backpacker and never having hiked with a backpack full of gear and supplies before, I immediately started to question how I would make it to the top, but quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Our first stretch included taking a small truck-bus to the local bus terminal and then hopping on a bus (yes, another school bus) to San Jacinto. The bus terminal was a hectic place – the smell of food emanating from all sides, eager Nicas trying to convince you to get on (and sometimes even push you onto) their bus (even if your destination was elsewhere), food and produce vendors everywhere. We got to our bus and while we waited for it to leave, vendors kept getting on, walking the full length of the aisle offering their food or produce, then getting off again. This happened several times, even after the bus had already set off on its route. Vendors would get on at random bus stops, walk through the aisle selling their goods, then get off at the next stop. I guess, they probably then caught a bus in the opposite direction. (On a sidenote, I actually wondered whether they have to pay a bus fare or whether they have some agreement with the bus drivers to let them get on for free to sell their goods.) We even had a woman get on who gave a full lecture on parasites! She discussed at length several different kinds, how one contracts them, and what the treatment involved. She followed her lecture up with the sale of different packets of powder and balms for parasite prevention and treatment.

At San Jacinto, we briefly visited the famous mud pools (Los Hervideros de San Jacinto). My guidebook advertised this as a must-visit site, but honestly I didn’t actually understand what all the fuss was about and definitely don’t think it’s worth a day trip, unless you are combining this with visits to other locations (like Volcan Telica). A few mud pits bubbled, you smelled sulphur, and the ground around the pools was super hot, all because of the geo-thermal activity associated with the volcanoes. But that was about it.

We then began our ascent. The first stretch – a steady uphill climb – took us about 1.5 hrs, up a dusty and stony road, with fields of crops on both sides. We had the bad and good luck of having mostly a sunny first stretch – good luck, because it is far, far worse to hike up if it’s raining (which happens quite often now that it’s the rainy season), but bad luck obviously because it felt scorching hot (and the heavy backpack on my back did not make things any easier). As we walked steadily along, we kept passing by farmers on horses going in the opposite direction. Some were carrying produce, others were carrying water, still others had only machetes in their hands. After a quick “Buenos dias”, which was always returned, most of them would wish us “Que le vaya bien” (wishing us a good one, basically). This was their territory, so to speak, and it felt nice to be welcomed in such an open way. Our first break spot was under a grapefruit tree (no fruits at this time of year though) where we were told to eat a few of our packed cookies for energy, although I wasn’t hungry at all. But having heard stories of people really struggling because they hadn’t snacked, I decided not to risk it.

The next stretch was the easy one – approximately 45 minutes of walking mostly on flat ground, on a small path winding through bean and cornfields. This was, for many reasons, my favorite stretch. Not only was it physically the least challenging and most enjoyable, but it also offered the most breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside – lush green vegetation, the peaks of Telica (giving off clouds of smoke on this particular day) and other volcanoes in the distance, long stretches of bean fields, with the occasional herd of cows or a horse or two. This easy stretch quickly ended and after taking another snack break (this time under a mango tree :)), we were faced with the steepest and hardest section.

After the first 10 minutes my backpack started to feel increasingly heavier, my shoulders were aching (despite feeling most of the weight on my hips) and I could feel the pain in my hamstrings (that’s what happens when you don’t exercise regularly). Luckily, we didn’t have any super-fit or fast people in our group, so we kept a pretty slow pace. Still, even this slow pace took most of my energy out of me. I wasn’t steady on my feet, the loose stones on the steep incline were tricky to maneuver, and my throat was parching every 5 mins. After approximately an hour and quite frequent one-minute breaks, we made it to our lunch spot (under another big tree). I had never felt happier than at the moment I took the backpack off my back and sat down.

After lunch, the remaining stretch, apart from another five-minute section, was quite easy and we quickly reached the base of the crater. The crater is a mass of brown, loose rock but its base is a mixture of green meadows with scattered volcanic rock. It felt like we were entering a little paradise. A herd of cows grazed happily near the grassy spot where we set up camp. One of our guides was just commenting on how lucky we were that it hadn’t rained, when the storm clouds started gathering in. For the most part, they missed us, but after about an hour, it was clear that we were going to get rained on, very soon. Once the rain started, it didn’t let up for a while. The cows disappeared, we hid in the bigger of the two tents and ended up chatting for a few hours, before having dinner. The rain and wind died down just long enough for us to light a fire and toast some marshmallows (yes, they have marshmallows, even in Nicaragua!) Normally, we would have gone up to the edge of the crater to see the sunset, but given the weather, this was impossible. So we decided to get up early and see the sunrise instead.

All of us crashed pretty early (I think we were all in bed by 9 pm). The rain and wind continued intermittently, but the more notable noises were those of the cows grazing (and peeing!) around our tents. I kept waking up in the middle of the night to munching sounds, hoping that the cow would not inadvertently trip over our tent poles and end up falling on top of and crushing us. At one point, there was some commotion, because we heard them running around. But nothing out of the ordinary happened, and I would fall back asleep.

Before I knew it, our alarm sounded and it was time to get up and watch the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was still very overcast and drizzling, so we had to skip the sunrise, but climbed up to the edge of the crater nevertheless. The balls of white smoke the volcano was spewing forth were quite impressive, undulating with the wind. At dusk and dawn, if there is no smoke, you can sometimes see glowing lava at the bottom of the crater. Unfortunately, we had no such luck, but despite this, the view of the crater, once at the top, was breathtaking. It really felt like we were at the complete mercy of nature at that very moment, and the feeling was overpowering. Gazing down at the patches of green grass mixed with brown rocks, one becomes fully aware of the cyclical nature of this place. Volcano eruptions destroy the surrounding countryside, but this temporary destruction is followed by periods of increased fertility…until the following eruption. I have always wondered what it is like to live close to an active volcano, being fully aware that your home and your surroundings could be wiped away at any moment.

Despite my struggle to make it to the top and despite the wind and rain, it was all worth it in the end (more than worth it, I would say). I knew it would be, and that’s what kept me going, even when I had the feeling that my legs would give way. “It is all about expectations,” our guide had said. And expecting the view from the top was my energy and stamina booster, I guess.

We returned following the same route we had come on. I think I will not do any strenuous physical activity for the next week or so. But, who knows, maybe the weekend after that I will venture to Volcano Cosiguina (the volcano furthest up in the north-west and about a 6-hour bus ride from Leon). That one boasts a crater lake.

Upon returning to my house in Leon, I found out that there was a power outage due to the strong wind and rain the previous night. But, every cloud has a silver lining: for the first time in 2.5 weeks I was able to take a shower with proper running water in the house (the water pressure can be really poor in Leon and had been for the past 2.5 weeks). And it felt incredible!

Setting off - steam from the San Jacinto Mudpools and Santa Clara volcano in the background.

Santa Clara Volcano

The hike through the easy stretch...

... with corn and bean fields as far as the eye can see.

Our destination: the brown fuming volcano in the distance.

This was part of the most grueling stretch. This was the only photo I took (probably because I was too focused on actually making it through)

Finally, lunch. After the hardest stretch.

View on the way to the base of the crater.

Fuming crater. We would set up camp on the grassy stretch (below).

At the top of the crater at dawn on Sunday.

Coincidences and Random Impressions

Back in 2003, one of my colleagues in Washington, DC happened to be Nicaraguan. Well, five years later and following a completely random turn of events, I am working with his father at the MCC’s counterpart office in Nicaragua. Both of them have the same first and last name, so it’s almost like I’m working with the same person. I guess things like this shouldn’t surprise me anymore. Isn’t the popular belief that there are at most six degrees of separation between two people? Well, then it turned out that a Bolivian couple I met last weekend knows my DC colleague’s sister who lives in Miami. All in all, since I came to Nicaragua I turn out to be connected to quite a few people through this one family.

Not quite as surprising, but I also recently learned that one of my colleagues here lived in Bulgaria for eight years, back in 80s. Of course, Nicaragua and Bulgaria were connected in a lot of ways back in the days of Communism. Which might explain the slight pang of nostalgia I feel when I see a Lada on the streets here.

For some reason, and I still can’t quite figure it out yet, people here have significant difficulty pronouncing my name, although the “tz” exists in other names I’ve come across here (like Maritza and Vinnitza). People don’t seem to have any problem pronouncing those. From Denitzia to Denicsa (with a lot of emphasis on the “c”) to Denits, I am making a lot of new additions to an already existing database of permutations of my name.

I still have some difficulty coming to terms with the fact that people here treat me differently – in the sense that they always think I need special treatment because I´m an intern from the US: like riding up front in a car and not in the back, drinking soda (which is more expensive) and not just plain water, needing the entrance door to the office to be opened for me by a guard (when I really don’t), etc. I understand they are just trying to be polite and hospitable, but it makes me feel really strange getting this preferential treatment, so to speak. I guess, until recently, many of my indirect colleagues didn’t even know I was Bulgarian. And given that the projects we are working on here are sponsored by US funds, a sort of deference is paid to anyone who comes from the US.

The inequality here, as in most of the rest of Central and South America, is quite staggering. And while I feel bad or guilty that I am able to enjoy a lot of privileges that the majority of people here can’t, that does not seem to be the case with most of the well-off Nicas. I almost get this sense of entitlement emanating from them and I can’t help but feel a little angry. Being in one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere has stirred up a lot of emotions, but I haven’t really been able to sort through them yet.

Questions of Faith

This morning, as we drove to work with my supervisor and a few of my colleagues, the conversation all of a sudden turned (I don’t know how) to cemeteries, burials, and death. I definitely did not feel like discussing whether more people are buried or cremated back home at 8 in the morning. But my supervisor and another colleague (both women) continued the discussion – how much it costs to secure your own cemetery plot, how many people could be buried in the same plot, etc. And they carried on this discussion in a lively manner as if discussing clothes, vacation spots, or restaurants. I thought about it and then came to the conclusion that people here really don’t seem to be afraid of death. They can discuss it as freely as any other topic while at home most people garner the superstition that if you talk about illness and death you will bring it upon yourself. Here, it seems to be a mundane topic and, in the words of my supervisor, “the only thing we can be sure of in life.” I have also come to realize that people are very religious here. Faith gets them through everything. To this point, I had an interesting discussion with the driver who picked me up from the airport. He was curious about Bulgaria and asked me about the politics, the people, religion. I told him that people (apart from the older generations) are not very religious back home. He replied that it’s exactly the opposite in Nicaragua. Then he added, “It seems that in poor countries where a high percentage of the population has a very low level of education, people cling onto religion. Believing in a higher power that controls their lives almost makes it easier for them to accept the hardship they might be going through. Often though, it results in people just being complacent. The higher power is their excuse for everything that happens to them. It is easier to live that way than accepting you have some control over your life.” It left me deep in thought. I still can’t quite resolve what I think about this. After all, a lot of people in the U.S. are religious and many of them are not anywhere near the poverty line or uneducated. My supervisor here lives with the same kind of faith and she definitely does not fall into that category either. Seems to me that this kind of blind faith is not limited only to developing countries. But I guess in all cases it does provide comfort and an easier way to get through the every-day. To me personally it often seems like it provides a sort of escapism. And I am not sure that escapism is always a good thing.

Relationships, Nicaraguan Style

So if there is one thing I have learned about relationships here is that I would never be able to carry on a Nicaraguan one. Over the past week, I got an in-depth glimpse into how relationships work here, mostly because of all the gossip and constant discussions at work. Several key learnings:

1. Both women and men get extremely jealous (sometimes for no reason at all). And rather than being a temporary state of mind, jealousy appears to be a key personality trait.

2. Men are super macho. (I guess it's no different in most other Latin American countries.)

3. You cannot do anything independently of your boy-/girlfriend without asking for their permission first. And I am not exaggerating when I say "permission." When my colleagues mentioned this, I laughed out loud. They all asked me why I was laughing and when I replied that I would never stand for that, one of them asked me, "You mean if you want to go out with your friends or a guy friend, you don't have to ask your boyfriend?" Needless to say, they were quite surprised at my answer.

4. Each person's relationship is everyone else's business - at work, at home, among your neighbors, among people you don't even really know. If you simply talk to someone of the opposite sex on the street, you will be spotted promptly, and your significant other will be informed soon thereafter. (At least that's how it is in Leon - a town of 100,000.) And then the unnecessary drama begins.

I don't understand relationships here. Well, luckily, I don't really have to.