Well, I have been here for a month. It's gone mostly as planned. 

It's hot. I wear shorts. I do a lot of walking. I drink plenty of water. 

The food is mostly rice and beans, and chicken and plantains. I have not been sick. 

Other than coaching the girls, I don't play soccer as often as I'd like to. I am looking for a men's team to play on. 

My team of coworkers are supportive and up for trying new things. They are teaching me everything about the work, the city, and how to get by. We eat street meat together and respect each other's precious peanut butter. 

My apartment is awesome. No scorpions like the first place I stayed. I live above and within a cafe on the corner of the main square. Cars honk all night. There is music early in the morning. Dogs sleep on the front step. Horses trot by pulling carriages. The ceiling fan whirs and keeps me cool. I'm friends with the night security guard. He is friends with everyone else. There is a company of blind people who give massages on the balcony outside my bedroom door. The company is called Seeing Hands. They recognize the velcro on my backpack and say hello. I have to slam my door to make sure it shuts when I leave. I worry that I will startle them every time. They don't even react. 

Downstairs there is a garden surrounded by cafe tables. This cafe plays Christmas carols and Brittany Spears in the same playlist, and foreigners and their Nicaraguan friends practice their second languages over coffees and cokes and lunch and dessert. I have full access to the the place. Every day it is my responsibility to wake up and unlock the front doors for the staff. At 7:30 every night, no matter what I am doing, I have to be at the cafe to lock the doors and say goodnight to the employees. I eat my dinner in the garden under twinkling Christmas lights. I serve myself coffee in the mornings and make my own toast behind the counter. My rent is shockingly low and I have the friendliest local experts suggesting destinations in the city. 

Its a pretty cool little place, and with more reliable wifi than in the office, our team ends up doing a lot of work at this cafe. The interns also have Spanish Tutors who meet them here, so its pretty convenient for everyone, but we're trying to change our routines. The four interns all live in a three story house which serves as headquarters. We use it for storage, meeting space, activity nights with the kids, changing rooms, and everything else. But until recently we didn't do much admin work in the house. Now we're trying to make a point of it. Other ONGs hang their signs outside, have their doors open all day, and have a constant presence in their offices. We're getting there. 

Of course you could say we're a soccer organization. We have exclusive access to a soccer field. We've painted a mural there. We have our own lawn mower. (This is an extremely big deal.) We're installing a water pipe to our field so girls don't have to dodge baseballs while they run to home plate to refill their bottles. We've constructed some benches. On Saturday, we're planting trees. It is becoming our own space. It is becoming a safer place for girls to play. 

This week, Soccer Without Borders released a video showing the work we do in Granada. If you haven't seen it yet, you should Check it out here!  

Here are some pictures too. 

The Cafe, First Floor. My second floor Balcony.

The old town church. Bells ring every afternoon.

Pretty regular taxi service in town.

The view from the top floor of the office. Trees are taller than most buildings in Granada. 

We get intense electrical storms. 

Our oldest girls team, FC Sweet Lake (yeah, in english), in reference to the gigantic Lake Nicaragua.