Coffee beans drying on patios stretching into the sun. The far corner left corner is "My Patio"
The Beneficio manager and Andrea discuss beans.
Wet, heavy coffee beans delivered in big, heavy bags.
Coffee is very, very valuable. There is always a guy with a shotgun.
Wednesday was coffee day. After yet another massive Nicaraguan brekkie, we boarded the bus with bags in hand. It was time to say goodby to our courtyard hotel outside of town and move to the big city of Esteli. Within minutes we were unloading the gear at the Hex Hotel, a gleaming cube of modernism as out of place in Esteli as green vegetables on a Nicaraguan meat platter.
Queuing at the front desk, we were politely told that there was no smoking allowed in the lobby. To quote The Bearded One: "Excuse Me???" With the bags safely ensconced in our brand-new rooms (Flat screen TV, hot water showers, air-con, big cushy beds), we scurried back for the bus and the long ride to the coffee regions around and above Matagalpa.
Our guide today was Andrea, Colin's beautiful and charming wife, and also the proprietor of Twin Engine Coffee. Under her expert hand we were to learn what we could of the growing and processing of Nicaraguan coffee.
First stop, in a reverse order due to geography and roads, was a Beneficio. This is where the coffee beans are delivered from the farms, weighed and then spread out to dry on patios in the hot sun. The beans have to be delivered damn fast at that. The wet beans are very time-sensitive and can quickly become molded and thus worthless. The wet bags are brought on lumbering trucks with the workers riding on top of the loads. Big, big bags of wet coffee beans. About fifty kilos worth of heavy. A hint: this would be the time to take a note or two as there will be relevant quiz in a few paragraphs.
The patios are large concrete squares divided by low barriers. The workers trundled the bags of beans from the shaded truck area across patios of already drying beans, stepping over the barriers until they reached an empty patio. The bags are then humped off of the shoulder in a graceful swoop and land on the concrete with a satisfying Whump! which breaks open one end of the bag, causing a wave of glossy coffee beans. The muchachos labor along like a line of humpbacked beetles, steady and rhythmic, until the truck is empty.
Meanwhile we were learning about coffee drying, how important the grading process is and how valuable a commodity coffee is, which explains the guy with the shotgun. All of the patios are reserved for the top grade coffee. Grades two and three are dried on visqueen pads laid out on the ground beyond the patios structure.
So, here is where I get the bright idea. Being an experiential sort of Bozo, I thought it would be educational to see what it was like to be in one of worker's shoes. I mean, I drink coffee, I'm learning about coffee, and privileged Gringo or not, I should damn well know what it takes to carry a wet bag of the stuff. So I opened my big yapper and asked Andrea if I could carry a bag myself. She said "Sure, if you want to" so, without thinking through the whole action chain, I promptly marched across the drying beans and over to the loading area.
Being of good peasant stock, I waited while the wet bags were loaded on the scale, sampled with a push corer, and tallied. When the shotgun-toting security guy realized what it was that I was waiting for, he directed one of the loading guys to load my sorry ass up. He actually said it in a much nicer fashion but I think "Gringo Loco" was part of his directional phrasing to the loader.
I have packed many a 94-pound bag of cement and quite a few steel oxygen cylinders in my distant youth, so the feeling of 120-odd settling onto my shoulders was not unfamiliar. The wetness of the bag and the shift nature of the beans in the bag was, however, a bit of a novelty. I set out at the head of the line of beetles, crunching across the bean-filled patios under the hot sun. While I am sure most everyone watching, and there were a few, were worried about me falling down, I was more worried about keeping my hat on. I plodded along with careful steps, easing over each of the barriers, while the bag got heavier despite the constants of Newtonian physics.
As I approached the designated patio, I was aware of fourteen cameras pointed directly at me. The thought of a careful and complete video and photographic documentation of my possible humiliation lent new vigor to my age-addled sinews. I strode in a manly fashion to my chosen landing spot, shrugged off my load and breathed (Gasped?) a huge sigh of satisfaction as my bag broke open upon impact. Hurrah! Hurrah!
Except this: I carried one stinking bag one time. At the farm, these workers carry the bags up a wooden ramp into the truck. One bag at a time. At the Beneficio, they carry the bags to the patios. One bag at a time. When the load is empty, they ride back to the farm and do it all over again. All day long. I carried one bag, one time. Big deal Mr. Gringo. These men, who weigh just slightly more than the bags they are carrying, do this all day long, day after day, until the season is over. Later, the security guy talked with me, telling me I was "muy fuerte." In my very bad Spanish I told him no, it is the muchachos who are strong. I am just an old gringo.
The unconsidered aspect of my escapade were the consequences of my actions should something have gone wrong. Had I botched the deed and ended up hurt, I would have jeopardized Colin and Andrea's tour. I knew I could carry that bag without any doubt in my mind, but Colin certainly didn't know that. I am, after all, just another old geezer. This morning, the day after (Oh! more time travel!), I apologized to Colin for not considering all of the possible ramifications. To his credit, he was most gracious about it.
We continued on, examining hulling machines and the storage area where the now dried and processed beans are re-bagged and then stacked fifteen feet high or more. How are they stacked? More hard working folks carry bags, yes plural, up an extension ladder to the top of the stack. Two bags of processed coffee beans weigh about ninety pounds. Look at the pitcure and do the math. Hard work, that is.
The end of the Beneficio learning experience was evaluating coffee by aroma and taste. After some preliminary instruction, there ensued such a round of loud snorting and slurping as to disturb the graves of many a genteel coffee-sipping Grand Dame. The sheer quantity of the earthy human functions of snorting, slurping and spitting caused of few of the group to leave the tiny room slightly nauseated. I found the whole process entertaining and enlightening. Coffee tasting is a fine art that requires degrees of discernment that are far beyond my palette.
Finally we purchased bags of gleaming black Nicaraguan coffee (last stop is always the gift shop) and re-boarded the bus. Truthfully, there was no gift shop and we were happy to purchase the coffee at an extremely fair price.
There is so much more that we learned about than what I can set down here. Some of the other facets of the trade are the inherent distrust that arises between the farms, Beneficios and buyers. The farmer has to give his or her entire crop to a second party. It is stored and processed by the Beneficio on the basis of trust that the same exact coffee delivered will be dried, processed and graded without being mixed with anyone else's coffee, which is also being processed at the same time. Buyers then pay for the desired bean quantity with a premium cost added for the level of quality of the beans above and beyond a certain standard of expectable defects. Second and third rate coffee sells at a lesser price and the lowest grades are kept for the local market. The highest grades are almost always bought for the export market, such as Andrea's Twin Engine blends.
Next stop, the farms, but that will have to wait until tomorrow, as it is after midnight here and I am still one-point-five days behind on the blog. Stay tuned!
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