Hello everyone. It has been a loooong time since I have written, and I have no excuse. Except that my journey in the Peace Corps is over. I got back late December, and have not had the motivation to blog, since my life has gone from exciting and wonderful to very, very boring. However, I would like to continue blogging, at least for a little while, about my experience and the people I met in Honduras, and what impact they made on me.

My first post-peace corps entry is just about saying goodbye. One time I likened it to death. Because the further away it is, the harder it seems to imagine saying goodbye. But as you get closer and closer to the time, you begin to accept it, little by little. I called my mom one day because I was frustrated by these small bugs that were getting into my room, on my bed and my clothes. I didn't know where they had come from-I had never had a problem like this before. While I was describing it to my mom, she said to me "God has a way of helping people let go of a place when they have to say goodbye. He helps you move on, and become annoyed or frustrated with the things in that place, like those bugs." I couldn't help but think that she was probably right. In some strange way I saw those bugs as a gift from God, helping me along the way as I said goodbye to my home, my friends and loved ones that I had lived with for 2 years.

When the time finally came, I was completely ready and excited to move on to the next segment of my life. I even began to get annoyed by my friends in my town, who all began asking me to leave them all my possessions with them, and more and more excited to see my family.

Each person I met during my 2 years touched me very deeply and changed me in ways I will never be able to fathom completely. I know I will never forget them and my experience, and I will always keep them in my thoughts and prayers.

¨Si se puede, si se puede, si se puede.....¨ That´s what the Hondurans chant to cheer on their soccer team every time they play a game. ¨Yes we can, yes we can!¨ The Honduran soccer fans are extremely loyal. As they should be, since this year the Honduran soccer team got into the final round of elimination to go to the World Cup, and had a good chance to go this year, something they have not been able to do since 1982.

I started watching the Honduran team more closely this year, and became a true Honduras soccer fan. The team plays really well, and has some excellent players and it is fun to watch them, especially when they play against the best teams of the league, Mexico and the US. These last two games for them were the most important, and would determine whether Honduras or Costa Rica would go to the World Cup this year. If you are not familiar with soccer, the teams that get into the world cup get in based on a point system. The team gets 3 points if they win a game, 1 point if they tie, and 0 if they lose. The top 3 or 4 teams go to the world cup, depending on the size of the league. In this case, the top 3 teams go. Before last Saturday, the US had 16, Mexico 15, Honduras 13 and Costa Rica 12. That Saturday they played against the US in Honduras. People came into Honduras from all over, including the US to cheer on Honduras. They were really excited for Honduras to win. Unfortunately, although Honduras played an excellent game, they lost in their own stadium to the US. An extremely devastating loss for them, but although they lost and Costa Rica won the game they played and were ahead of them in standing by 2 points, Honduran fans still had hope that on Wednesday they would beat El Salvador and the US would beat or tie against Costa Rica, so Honduras could beat Costa Rica and go to the World Cup.

My sister and I, who had come to visit me this week, went to see the Honduras-El Salvador game at a friend´s house in my town. We were a little weary at the beginning, crossing our fingers that Honduras would win, and the US would beat Costa Rica or tie with them (both games were to be played at the very same time). If Honduras won and Costa Rica tied, both countries would have the same amount of points, 16, but Honduras would beat Costa Rica because they had scored more goals.

So the game started, and everyone in the room had knots in their stomachs. When watching the Honduran players walk onto the field we could see the tension in their eyes, and some were almost shaking from nervousness. This was a big game, and they had to win. The game started off shakey. We could tell the Hondurans were nervous, and El Salvador was dominating the field. They had more shots on goal, and had more control over the ball. At half time, the score was 0-0, but what was worse was the US was losing to Costa Rica 2-0. We had all pretty much lost hope by then. At one point I turned to Sarah and said ¨let´s go home.¨ She wanted to too, but we were both embarassed to leave, so we stayed. So the second half started, and we could tell that the El Salvadorians were getting more tired and that Honduras was getting better. About 15 minutes into the second half, Honduras scored. It was bittersweet, because although it was exciting, we knew that Costa Rica was still beating the US 2-0. The game continued, and about 5 minutes later the commentator announced that the US had scored a goal. Yes! There was a chance still! The US could still do it! Although we were anxious about the Honduras game, I think most people were more anxious about the US game. When the 45 minutes of the second half were over, they went into overtime for time lost from injury and penalties during the game. These minutes were excruciatingly painful for the watchers. We just wanted it to end. But at the same time we didn´t, because we wanted the US to score against Costa Rica. Finally, it was over. Honduras had won, but apparantly the US hadn´t. It was over for the Hondurans. The players were obviously upset, and one even got to his knees and started crying on the field. Then all of a sudden, there was commotion in the stands. The cameras were pointed at the fans, and many of them were cheering. Us who were watching the game exclaimed ¨why are they so excited? There´s no reason to be cheering.¨ But they kept cheering louder and louder, and then the commentators started talking really excitedly and fast, although they obviously didn´t really know what was going on either. One of the men from my town watching the game turned on the radio, to see what was going on. Had the US tied? Had they really scored a goal in the last few minutes of the game? Then he turned off the radio, and all I could hear were the commentators shouting ¨They did it! They made it! Since 1982, Honduras is going to the World Cup!!!!!!!!!!!!!!¨ I looked at Sarah and almost started crying from excitement. Everyone in the room was just astounded, they couldn´t speak. But quickly, the men started hopping up and down in excitement. (Sarah´s note: he grasped the radio plastered to one ear..looked me in the eye frozen in disbelief for a moment and then out of this big man came a high pitched woooo wooooohooohooo wooooooo) One ran outside of the house and shot gunshots in the air. Everyone started dancing around the room in excitement. HOORAY!!!! HOORAY FOR HONDURAS, AND HOORAY FOR THE US!!!!!! It was the most incredible moment for all Hondurans. After such a huge disappointment of thinking they had lost everything they fought for this year, they gained it by one goal from the gringos! The guy who had gotten on his knees and started crying from sadness began crying tears of joy and celebrating with his fellow players.

The next day, on the morning news, they were showing people celebrating in cities all over the country. Half the country didn´t sleep that night because they were celebrating in the streets, in their cars, in their homes, and in bars and restaurants all over the country. For the first time in a long time, I think every Honduran all over the world forgot completely about the political situation and just celebrated together.

I’ve picked up the nasty habit of smoking since I got down here. I’m not really sure why, but while sitting in my hammock, in my small house in the middle of the woods, with no other house or people in sight, a cigarette seems strangely appealing to me.

Once, a fellow volunteer and sworn enemy of the cigarette asked me ¨why do you smoke?¨ in the condescending you-should-give-up-that-nasty-habit-it´ll-kill-you tone. ¨I dunno,¨ I replied. Then, without really thinking, added ¨Sometimes I get lonely.¨ He then started to make fun of me for my comment. ¨Do you need friends, Liz?¨ he asked. ¨Do I need to come visit your tool shed to keep you company?¨ I laughed along with him, although secretly resenting him for being so condescending without really understanding the situation I live in. This particular volunteer has a nicer house than I have in the US, which is in a nice neighborhood in a fairly large town. He also has a TV, cable, a laptop, and will soon have internet in his house as well. Not to mention the fact that he is constantly having visitors in his home, and has easy access to other towns if he ever desires to visit another volunteer. In other words, he has so many distractions surrounding him that he probably doesn’t even get a chance to even think about loneliness.

I, however, have none of those distractions. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me, and I am happy to find other ways to occupy my time. However, there are those rare days when I’ve just finished a good book, or when I get home at 6 and think to myself ¨now what do I do till bedtime?¨ that I get hit by it like a strong, unexpected gust of wind: loneliness. Raw and untainted, and I am helpless to escape it. Sometimes all I can do is go to bed to rid myself of the horrible empty feeling. Other times I smoke a cigarette, hoping the soothing feeling it gives me will help it go away. Yet other times, I just sit there in silence and allow myself to be consumed by it, to feel every emotion, negative or positive, that comes with it. Sadness, serenity, peace, contemplation, at times fear. I read once that one of the greatest fears of the human soul is loneliness, and the root of a great amount of depression and crime. That’s why so many of us spend our whole lives trying to escape it through friends, television and internet.

Living a life where these distractions don’t exist, I haven´t had a choice but to confront loneliness face to face. However, the experience has been unexpectedly rewarding. It is in these moments of loneliness that I feel God’s presence more than ever. I am also able to contemplate my life and experiences during these moments with an astounding clarity that I’ve never been able to do before. It has given me an inner strength and awareness of life that I never would have been able to possess otherwise. Despite these few moments of clarity, it is always extremely difficult for me to face this loneliness, and I know I don’t always deal with it well. However, I find comfort in knowing that I am able to deal with it somehow, and experience the rewards that come from it. I would like to see if my friend could live like I do without taking up smoking.

Here in Honduras, the other volunteers like to call me a ¨site rat.¨ This basically means that I stay in my site all the time, and that I don’t get out much. To the volunteers who live in my same area, I am a mystery. Basically unknown to everyone. When I finally show up to an event, they wonder what has happened to me all this time, and if I have turned into ¨one of them.¨ I’ve noticed that I tend to be quieter around my fellow Americans, and slightly more awkward. I remember the first volunteer gathering I went to, 2 months after I had gotten to site, was sort of a shock for me. Trying to adjust from speaking Spanish all the time to pure English was difficult. At one point, I was trying to describe to a fellow volunteer the classes I teach, and was painfully spitting the words out, as if I was a foreigner to my own language.. ¨Sorry,¨ I exclaimed to him sheepishly, ¨I can’t stop thinking in Spanish.¨ ¨It’s okay,¨ he answered, eyeing me with a curious look, ¨just eat, don’t worry about talking.¨

Now, don’t get me wrong. I see plenty of volunteers, probably about on average 2 times a month, which is actually astoundingly little compared to those who live in big cities and see other volunteers every day. Sometimes I thirst to see fellow patriots, and to speak in English, and to complain about our jobs. Sometimes I just need a break from the small town life and gossipy old ladies. But most of the time I’m just fine. Being here, completely immersing myself in the culture that surrounds me is exactly what I wanted. I eat the same food they eat. I ride the bus with them. I watch telenovelas with the women. I listen to the music here and dance at the parties. I even cook on a fire when the electricity goes out (anyone need a campfire lit?? I’m your girl!) Some would say I have basically become Honduran.

I was getting down on myself the other day for not hanging out with other volunteers more. The main reason I don’t is not because I don’t want to, but actually because I teach classes every Saturday, which counts as the students´ high school education. So I feel awful if I miss one day. And, of course, Saturday is the day people always choose to get together. But then I began thinking about the difference between relationships in Honduras and relationships in the US. When people become friends in the US, especially when they’re younger, it’s usually during a period of their lives when they will shortly move on. Therefore, even with people they barely knew in college, high school, and jobs, they will always be able to keep in contact if not by phone, by facebook or email. And with all the traveling that we gringos like to do, who knows who we cross paths with in the future. Here in the tiny town that I live in, as well as in all of Honduras, that is much, much different. Perhaps the friends we make in our towns are just a pastime for us, but to them, it’s a friendship for a lifetime. People who’s idea of a relationship isn’t just a person to go to a movie with on Saturday nights. Friends are real, true, and forever. And when volunteers come into their lives and quickly leave, without a trace, not even a call or an address, it hurts.

I love the experience I’m having, and almost pity those who aren’t experiencing the Peace Corps the way I am. Although I know that most of them actually pity me. Or look up to me. Or think me a mystery, I’m not quite sure. But I love it here. That’s why it’ll be really hard to come back…..if I ever do (just kidding, mom :)

Whenever I used to think of chicken soup, two things would always come to mind. One was the Campbell’s soup commercials where the snowman would come inside from the cold, and the bowl of chicken soup would melt him away into a little boy. The other is that damn book that was a lovely idea at first, but then it got so extreme I think they even came out with one called ¨Chicken soup for the dog’s soul.¨ Dogs don’t even have souls. Shows how much they know.

Last Sunday my whole idea of chicken soup changed entirely. (warning, if you are a vegetarian, you may not want to read further). I got up at the break of dawn, excited for the day that lied ahead. I ate a quick breakfast, bathed, and changed, then headed off towards a friend’s house. Today we were going to run an errand together. A special errand.

I got to the house, early of course, and waited anxiously as she finished making tortillas and breakfast for her family. When we finally left, she told me that to get to the person’s house we were going to, it would be quicker and better to go through the farm instead of on the main road. I agreed, but later regretted the decision, as I stomped through the farm, climbing on top of big rocks and getting scraped by thorns along the way. We finally arrived at the house after stopping at a few others to visit and drink coffee along the way. While we were there drinking yet another cup of coffee, I watched as the woman searched through the herd of young ripe chickens, and picked up the chosen one out of the dozens of others. She then tied his legs together so he wouldn’t get away, and handed it to my friend, who stuffed it into her bag. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy, wondering if he knew his fate that lied ahead. I looked into his eyes, trying to find some hint of fear or sadness. For a moment I thought I saw a tear, but quickly realized it was just the sun glimmering off the white of his eye.

When we arrived back at her house about 2 hours later, we were ready to make the soup. She started the fire and put a large pot of water over it to boil. ¨I want to see how you kill the chicken.¨ I said, wondering if I would regret it later. At that moment, I saw her son walking out towards the back of the house with the chicken in his hands. It was time. She took a kitchen knife in her hand and headed out behind him. He handed her the chicken, and she positioned his feet under one of hers, and grabbed the head with her hands and began to saw it off. It was at this moment when I wondered if I shouldn’t just become vegetarian for the rest of my life. I pondered it while she struggled to get the head off, then as I watched the son take the knife and hack it with one big whack. And I kept pondering it while trying to keep a straight face as I watched the poor chicken die before my eyes. The same chicken she had carried on her back up the hill through the farm. The same chicken she had been petting while chatting with the neighbors and drinking, that’s right, another cup of coffee.

The next step was easier. Plucking it. She stuck him in a pot of boiling water, and to my surprise, the feather just started shedding. She told me in order to learn I had to help her. So hesitantly, I reached my hand in there and started plucking. The more we plucked, the more it looked like something I would buy in a supermarket, and the more assured I became that I could eat meat once again. The only thing was I had to keep dodging his head bobbing from side to side that they hadn’t yet cut off completely. After the plucking came the gutting. As she cut him open at the end, I was surprised to find organs spilling out onto the table. I almost just expected him to be empty, like the turkeys we stuff for Thanksgiving. She picked through the organs, telling me which ones we could leave in there, and which ones we couldn’t. After we finished gutting him, she cut him up into pieces, and he was ready to cook. About an hour later, she spooned out a bowl of hot, fresh chicken soup for me. As I spooned each bite into my mouth, I quickly forgot about the fact that I knew this chicken, and that I had seen him running around happily with his brothers and sisters only this morning. It was delicious. The flavor of fresh chicken is so much richer, fuller than the chicken you buy at the supermarkets. And the meat has an entirely different texture. I would like to see Campbell’s try to imitate this flavor! .

The other day, I was talking on the phone with my older sister. As we started the conversation, she was getting into the car, headed home from work. To my surprise, no more than 5 minutes later she was getting out of the car in front of her apartment building.

¨Are you home already?¨ I exclaimed in astonishment. ¨That was like, less than 5 minutes.¨

¨Yeah, so?¨

¨How long of a walk is it?¨

¨Oh, I don’t know, about 20 or 25 minutes.¨

¨What?? 25 minutes? And you would rather take your car than walk?¨ I began to rattle off a million and four reasons why it’s a much better idea to walk than it is to drive your car, including one example from my experience here in Honduras. ¨Did you know,¨ I said in a huff, ¨that I walk over an hour just to get to the next town to do work, usually up a really big hill, and not to mention an hour walk back under the scorching tropical…¨ I stopped mid-sentence when I realized how ridiculous I was being and simultaneously heard a roar of laughter coming from the other line. I joined in with my sister’s laughter, although somewhat astounded by my reaction. I sounded just like an 85 year-old man exclaiming to his wide-eyed grandkids ¨when I was your age, I walked 5 miles to school in a foot of snow….uphill both ways.¨

I have since then had time to reflect on my reaction, knowing that it had been one from the gut. Strong, but coming from real emotions. For the past two years, I have lived among people who bathe in streams not for fun, but out of necessity, people who ride horses not for show or sport, but because it gets them from one place to another, people who cook over a fire every day not to roast marshmallows, but because that’s their stove, people who don’t even understand the concept of ¨camping,¨ because they live in those conditions basically every day.

These people, however, I have never taken pity on. On the contrary. I in fact admire their strength and work ethic, and wish there were more people in the US like that. Here, I see a life stripped bare of all the conveniences of technology we’re used to today. A life that is pure and simple, just the way God made it. Not necessarily better, but extremely different from the life we lead in the US. A life where dog toe nail clippers exist as well as people who complain about the barista putting whole milk instead of skim milk in their coffee (it’s crazy they even notice the difference). These little reminders just give me a sort of reverse culture shock every time I hear them. Like my sister who drives to work every day when she could easily walk 20 minutes. Perfectly normal, who wouldn’t? But after living a life where a car is a luxury, my automatic reaction is not one of disdain, but of mere shock. And when I finally get back to the states, I will leave that life behind; but never the memories, with which I unfortunately will have no one to share them. I also think I’m starting to understand grandpa’s point…..

About a week before the alleged ¨elections¨that ex-president Manuel Zelaya was supposed to be making, peace corps sent everyone a text message telling us that we had to stay in our sites the entire weekend just in case something extreme happened. Elections? I asked a fellow volunteer. What elections? I had no idea what everyone was talking about. What fourth urn?

Honestly, although there was apparently a bunch of hype about the cuarta urna (fourth urn), I still don´t know what exactly Mel´s plans were. All I know is that it was illegal, and he basically was doing it so he could stay in power more than 4 years (much like the same thing Chavez did nearly 10 years ago, as well as various other Latin American presidents following his lead). Well, Sunday morning I get a text saying, to my shock and surprise, that there has been a ¨golpe de estado.¨ What´s that? I asked a friend of mine. He said that it´s when the government in power is overthrown, and a new government takes over. A coup??? Can it really be? I didn´t believe Honduras was capable of such a thing. But they were. Although it´s still unknown exactly if it was a coup or not. Basically, what we were told was that the supreme court, congress, and the military acted together to kick Mel out, and put in the president of Congress, Roberto Michelleti (they couldn´t put in the vice president, the next in line, because he is running for presidency during the next term, and if he were president, even for such a short period of time, it´s against the Honduran constitution for him to run).

So since then, it has been interesting here in Honduras. It´s the first time ever that I´ve really talked politics with the people in my town. Normally they don´t seem to care much, but when I talk to them, they all seem to be strong in their beliefs that what Mel did was wrong, and that they want democracy, not a dictatorship. There have been many protestors to reinstate Mel Zalaya, but it seems to me like the majority are for democracy and the new president. Even last week, there were demonstrations all over the country of hundreds of thousands of people peacefully demonstrating that they want peace and democracy, not a dictatorship. I remember hearing that over the radio, and wanting to cry it was so touching to me. Although there are so many countries who are against Honduras and what they did, Hondurans have held strong to their beliefs and won´t back down. And all, on both sides, have demonstrated their beliefs peacefully. I hope and pray for the best for this county, because God knows that they deserve it.

This is just to inform everyone that I am okay. Yes, there was an earthquake in Honduras last night at 3 in the morning, however, this earthquake was very far away from where I am. Actually, I was traveling with my friend Laura and we were on the islands just this week, but we left yesterday morning, just in time to not feel a thing. By the time the earthquake happened, we were safe and sound on the opposite side of Honduras. THanks everyone for your concerns! Mom, I´m surprised you haven´t called yet!

I was just reading and old blog I had put up about unwanted attention, and was reminded of a funny incident that happened recently in my town.

For the most part, the men in my town are respectful of me, and don´t make stupid comments when I pass by. However, there always has to be those one or two guys who are just downright rude. One of them lives in the town over from me, and every time I pass him, he just has to say something rediculous to me. Well, the other day, I just had enough of it. I was passing by him and a bunch of his friends, when he called to me ¨mi amor, I looooov yu.¨ That was it, I just couldn´t take it anymore. So I turned around (I was already a good way past all of them), and yelled ¨who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I am a person, just like you, and you need to respect me! Anyways, I live here, and I don´t want to hear you yell at me every single time I pass you, you got it?¨ And I walked away, just in time to see his friends doubled over from laughter, and his face turn slightly pink.

Mother's Day, I know has come and gone, but I also have not gotten the chance to get to town since then to write about Mother’s Day here in Honduras.

I was talking to my mom the second time I called for Mother’s Day about how the priest in our parish at home was talking in mass that day about how the woman who invented the special day in America spent the rest of her life since then fighting how it was celebrated. Now, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how Mother’s Day is celebrated in the States, but I just think it’s so much more wonderful here in Honduras (and, I believe, in all of Latin America). That’s why I called my mom 3 times that day (she doesn’t know about the third, because I couldn’t get a hold of her the third time because the lines were so clogged up), because I was constantly reminded the entire day of how special mothers are and how much they deserve such a wonderful tribute to them.

When people go away from the house to study or work, they normally come home only 3 times a year. Once for Christmas, once for Holy Week, and once for Mother´s Day. I remember in the afternoon on Saturday, noticing that the bus from our town was passing through town a 3rd time to drop people off, and thinking ¨how strange, the buses only pass by twice.¨ Then I remembered, Mother´s Day! There are only 2 buses that leave from my town to go to the city each day. Well I know that on that Saturday, each bus made at least 2 trips because there were too many people coming into town to see their mom the next day.

On Sunday, I went to mass and saw that it was especially full that day and there was a buzz of excitement all inside and outside the church. During the homily, the priest talked especially about mothers and their role in the family. After the mass, a few people got up and said poems about mothers (there are a ton of them in spanish).

After mass, I went home to call my mom, because I missed her. After talking to her a short bit, I went to the school, where the students were putting on performances for Mother´s Day. They danced, sang songs about mothers and recited poems about mothers. It was beautiful. After that, I went to a friend´s house to celebrate the big day with them, and they were making a feast at home, with a special cake to go along with it as well!

One thing I love about this culture, and the importance of Mother´s Day definately reflects it, is how special family is. Family and relationships are their number one priority. It is very community-centered, which I think is why I feel so at home here, even though my family isn´t here with me!

So, last year for my birthday, I must say, was 100% disappointing, however, it was also all my fault. My family, and especially my mom, all know the type of person I am. I never mention my birthday to the people I love, hoping secretly that they will miraculously remember, and throw me a huge surprise party. Seriously, that´s how I am and have always been.

Well, in Honduras, it´s 5X worse, because if you aren´t reminding people every day 3 times a day, they are sure to forget. And that´s exactly what happened last year. I told a few close friends about a week or two before my birthday that it was coming up, and as the day approached, hoped to God they would remember. Well, they didn´t, much to my surprise and great disappointment. I just remember the disappointment of that day, when I was relating the whole story to my family up in the woods behind my house.

This year, I vowed to make it much, much different. So I had a party! In my town, when someone has a birthday party, it´s custom to have a celebration first (mass without the priest), then give out food and cake, and break a piñata. So that´s exactly what I did. The day before, the profesora, the woman I lived with before moving to my own house, drove me to Choluteca and helped me pick out all of the things I would need to make the food. When I got back, I went over to a friends house, and brought her back with me to spend the night, and help me make the cake (yes, i stupidly decided to make 2 cakes for 50 people myself!).

The cake making was quite an experience, I must say. First of all, I had gone to the city the day before especially to buy butter for the cake, something that is almost impossible to find. Well, upon arriving to my house, I set the bag with the butter in it on the chair outside, and went inside to set up for making the cake. To my surprise and horror, when I went to get the butter, it was nowhere in sight! The stray dogs that like to come around my house scavengering for food because their owners don´t give them anything to eat had stolen it! I was devastated. How the hell was I going to make my cake now? Luckily, my friend consoled me and she and my boyfriend both helped me make a cake with shortening instead. Not half as good, but it would have to do. The next day, I went early in the morning to the Profesora´s house to cut vegetables, cook the chicken, and get everything ready for the food. I came back later that day to finish everything, and carried a huge pot that she had lent me all the way up the hill to my house. I was ready for a party. People started showing up. The kids first, then the parents came lagging behind. I remember walking back from the cooperative, carrying chairs, and seeing a multitude of children running around outside my house, and beaming with glee. I loved seeing my house like this! During the celebration, many people expressed their sentiments for me, and how much I meant to them. And afterwards they sand various songs to me. The breaking of the huge piñata, almost the size of me, was the last blow out, and tons of fun. I had filled it to the brim with so much candy, they could hardly lift the darn thing! Every time a kid hit the piñata and candy shot out, it was a race to see who could get it first. And when it finally broke for good, it was a disaster. Candy, children, pieces of piñata everywhere. Just what a good birthday party should be.

So, I´m writing this blog today to let you all know that I´m am alive and okay. The thing is, the computer I would always write my blogs on in my town was not working for some time, so it made it much harder for me to write my blogs, because when i go into the city, i almost never have time to sit and think up something to put on my blog. But I am here to announce that the computer is working again! I will be putting up blogs from my trip to Mexico to visit my sister Sarah, and my birthday party very soon!

Peace to all, I hope you´re doing well

Soooo, I know my little sister left quite a long time ago. She came back with me from the states, and spent an entire week in Honduras, most of which was spent in my site. We kept meaning to leave and do other things outside of my site, but never got the chance, because we both loved just hanging out in my site! Some of my favorite memories were:

1. Climbing the mountain up to the top, and sitting and taking pictures, and just taking in the beauty all around us.

2. Watching Mary freak out while taking a bucket bath basically outdoors, while continually swating at the bees that were buzzing around her, and screaming. I´m proud of her for getting through it!

3. playing soccer with the neighbors, two of which were guys around mine and Mary´s age. Every time she looked like she got hurt, they would run up to her, and ask if she was okay, and if she needed a massage!

4. Dancing with Mary in the discoteca!

5. Going and visiting the gold mines in the town over from mine, and taking a picture with a group of the miners, who were quite happy to do so!

6. Riding on my horse to the next town down the mountain taking turns, and then riding him back up the mountain with both of us on him on the same time! One of us eventually had to get off, because we thought we were going to kill the poor thing!

7. Going to a great typical restaurant our first night in Tegucigulpa, and having a Mariachi band sing a song about Maria to us

8. Cooking some grand meals in my house!

9. Playing with the son of one of my neighbors, my favorite little boy in the world! We both want to adopt him and take him home for good.

10. Watching Mary´s spanish get better and better only over a week span, and her getting less and less timid.

Just kidding. I'm still here, and will be here for 9 months more. But I left my town today to go back to visit the states, and I definitely felt like I was actually leaving forever at times. My day yesterday was full of good-byes and good lucks that it made me start to feel like I wasn't coming back. Well, the least it did was give me a little glimpse of what it will be like for me when I finally leave.

So, I woke up early in the morning to wash my sheets, and the rest of the dirty clothes that I had left in the hamper. Right as I finished up, I rushed off to a Christmas lunch that the president of the women's cooperative I work with put together for all the women of the cooperative. The main event was to celebrate Christmas, and just have a good time together.

We all arrived together in the car of one of the women in my town. When we got there, the woman who had invited us all had set up chairs in a circle on her porch and already had lunch cooking in the kitchen. She ran up to us with a warm smile on her face, and greeted each one of us with a huge hug. We each sat down in the chairs, some uneasy being in an unfamiliar place, and others content and perfectly at ease. As we began talking about the women's children and telling jokes, I could see the more timid women opening up, and soon everyone was laughing and opening up.

The lunch made was chicken boiled with vegetables, rice, fried shrimp and salad. It was the best Honduran meal I have ever had! After lunch, we sat around and exchanged secret santa gifts (yes, the exact same custom that we have here in the states, they have in my small town in Honduras). The person who gave me the gift was the host. Before handing it to me, she announced to everyone that her secret santa was a very special person who meant so much to the women's group, and that she was going to miss her very much when she left. I almost teared up when she announced my name, and went up to give her a huge hug. The person I gave my gift to was none other than the profesora whom I lived with for 5 months before moving into my own house. She is a person very dear to me, and probably one of my favorite people in all of Agua Fria. I was happy to have picked her name, and be able to give her my small gift.

After secret santa, they brought out the cake. Now this cake had been the idea of, and bought by the profesora, who wanted to buy me a goodbye cake (yes, she knew I was only leaving for 2 weeks) to thank me for all the work that I had done with the high school and with the women's group. I was so honored, and realized how much I really do mean to these people, and that they aren't just saying formalities when they tell me they'll miss me. They really mean it.

At one point during the day, one of the women announced how happy she was that the group had formed, how much it helped her, and how she hoped that it would never fall apart. Last night my family asked me what was the moment in which I felt like I was making a difference. I suppose it was at that moment. During my time here, I'm sure I'll work a lot, and help many people. But the real difference I'm making I know will be very, very subtle. And revealed to me through gestures and small comments like that one.

After I got back from the party, I went from house to house saying goodbye to people, hoping not to forget anyone. The last house I came to is the house of a woman who makes bread every other day, and sells it on the others in the city in order to make a living. I went to her house to ask to buy some bread from her. I spent 3 hours there, just chatting with her and her daughter and grandchildren about airplanes, people who go illegally to the states, and Christmas customs in the states. As I said my final goodbyes, I looked into the face of the woman, and saw that she was tearing up. At first I thought that something was wrong, and that something had happened. But I soon saw that those tears were for me. Her daughter laughed at her and said, "mother, she's not leaving for good. She'll be back in 2 weeks!" "I know, " she sniffed, "I was just thinking of how hard it's going to be when she leaves for good."

I´m very sorry, friends and family. I have just gotten worse and worse about updating my blog. The sad thing is that I am more free from work now more than ever, and I still don´t seem to have time to update my blog!

So, I decided to relate a recent story from my town, just so you could get a small glimpse of the way people work in my town, as well as many towns in Honduras. This can be a blessing as well as a frustration.

Each of the small towns in Honduras has their separate water system, which is not managed by the state at all, only by the people of the town. In my town, the people in charge of the water system meet on a regular basis to talk about upkeep of the system, the recieving of money, as well as various other things. At one of their recent meetings, they were all frusterated by people in the town who had not paid for their water for some time, as well as some who never showed up to any of the meetings. As a result, they decided to, as a punishement, turn off the water for an entire month.

Now, when one hears this story up to this point, they may assume that those who were punished fairly (those who had not paid water or come to the meetings) must have gone to the leaders of the water system, and tell them no worries, that they will pay as soon as possible, as long as they turn the water back one. One would also assume that those who were punished unjustly (those who had always paid on time and shown up to the meetings, but were getting punished anyway along with the rest of the town), would become infuriated and fight for the unjustice being done to them.

However, nothing of the sort happened. When I found out about it, I just heard from a woman in the town who had always paid her water on time, and she just sighed and exclaimed ¨well, that´s going to make for a difficult month.¨ I heard little complaining from then on. I just saw the women going to the streams every day to wash their clothes, children dragging wheelbarrows full of water jugs to their houses, and people conserving their water more than ever without even thinking anything of it. I was shocked at this attitude, and somewhat upset. I couldn´t really believe that they would go through so much trouble to get their water, when really all they had to do was talk to the leaders of the water project. Something that probably would have taken a couple hours of discussion, but virtually no effort compared to what they were putting themselves through.

This situation, however, helped me to see more clearly why it can be so hard to get people in the town to work on projects. For example, if no one in the town is using latrines, and someone comes in and tells them all about them, and how wonderful they are, and how it would make peeing so much quicker and easier, they might be interested, but would they go through all that work for something more convenient, or would they just continue doing what they´ve been used to all their lives? Peeing in the grass. It may be less convenient, but is it really worth it to go through all that trouble to build a nice shiny new latrine?

Many volunteers often criticize the people here for that very reason. The fact that they are so set in their ways, they don´t really try to make the effort to better their lives. But who are we to judge? How many people do you know who would go through the work of finding funds, looking for materials, and building their own fancy new electric toilet if they were told it is better for the environment? Not many.

I was just reading my blogs, and realized that I haven't updated everyone about how work is going lately. The truth is, work is not getting much different, and projects are going very, very slowly. That is how it works most of the time in the peace corps, especially in rural Honduras.

Remember the Community Supported Agriculture project I was trying to work on with the coffee cooperative in my site? Well, I kept having to push and push them, and they kept putting their answer off, so I finally discarded working with them, and have started to work on the project with my women's group. None of the women actually grow any of the fruit that they would be selling to Tegucigulpa, which makes it much more complicated for them, and a lot more work, but they are ten times more willing and motivated than the coffee farmers ever were. We have had a few meetings to discuss the details and logistics, and I finally gave the woman who is buying the fruits a go in order to start the process. It's a sure go! We won't sell our first bunch of fruits for another couple of weeks, but I am excited to see how it goes. No matter what, it will be a very good learning experience for the women, in terms of how to organize products, and work with a fixed customer (which is what they would be doing if they are able to sell to a supermarket). I also recently talked with an NGO that supports women's groups all over Honduras in terms of training, motivation, and financial support. They plan on coming down within the next month in order to talk to the women, to see if they can help us at all.

My english classes are winding down. We actually have final exams next Saturday! I think many of the kids have learned a lot, and although I'm extremely relieved to finally have my Saturdays open again, I'm a little disappointed at the thought of ending classes, and saying goodbye to so many good, sweet students.

The coffee cooperative is busy as usual. I have recently been helping them with the fair trade certification process. A big part of that is keeping accounts of the money that comes in an out of the cooperative monthly. So I plan on starting to help them with that in the future, although I know it will be a HUGE endeavour, seeing as they have a large history of money records that they've never really organized before. I also am starting to help the look more actively for market in the states, by making panthlets in english and possibly a coffee video.

These are all the current projects I'm working on. I also have some that have been milling around in my brain, but have decided not to share them with anyone until they are a sure go. I will let you know when they are more developed!

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of us being in site. At this time last year, I was traveling to a place I barely knew, nervous, shy, and wondering what the hell I was thinking.

Now, everytime I go away from my site, and come back, I feel like I´m coming home. The people, the environment, the life, is all so beautiful here. I absolutely love it, and it´ll be really tough to leave. But at the same time, I´m beginning to look towards the future. Excited, and ready for what lies ahead.

I miss you all, and I´ll see you in a year!

I wanted to write a couple more stories about when my parents were here, because I didn’t have much time before. Some highlights of their visit were:

1. Watching their plane land, then watching on the screen as they came through the door from the plane and stand in line to get their passports checked, and finally running to give them a hug, holding my tears back while my mom choked up.

2. Going with my mom (my dad was feeling a little under the weather that day) to visit the profesora, the lady that I lived with for 5 months, who is one of the most dynamic, and my favorite people in all of Agua Fría. The moment she saw my mom, she gave her a huge hug, and looked happier than ever to see her (happier than she ever has been to see me). When we went into the house, we had a good conversation (with me frantically translating everything, as she talks faster than any person I’ve ever met), which eventually led into the death penalty, and how people in Honduras were up in arms about a person who was going to be put to death that night in Texas. The pain she expressed of her people, and how much against the death penalty they were really touched my mom, and she told me later how much she respects a culture that respects life so much.

3. Visiting a wonderful woman from my town who makes some excellent bread. She left a lasting impression on my parents, being the caring, sweet and generous woman that she is. At one point, we were talking about the church, and my dad took out a rosary that had been sent to him in the mail for free, but looked really nice. She looked at it admiringly and instantly, my mom told me to tell her that they wanted to give it to her. Her eyes lit up when my dad handed it to her. I know that was a moment neither of them would ever forget. A couple weeks later, when I was at her house for the funeral that I talked about in my last blog, I saw her take out that same rosary while they were praying for the deceased baby.

4. Watching my mom, who hates coffee with a passion (bad luck, coming to a country where it’s custom to drink coffee at least 3 times a day), run over to the side of the house while no one was watching to dump out the unwanted coffee they had given her. A practice that I, in fact have gotten pretty used to, especially when given more than I can bear to eat.

5. When my parents and I went down to the house of a friend who wasn’t there, but where her kids and tons of others had curiously gathered around to see who these strange people were. My parents took tons of pictures of them, and they kept asking for more and more, getting excited each time we clicked the button. My parents were also having the time of their lives taking the pictures.

6. When my dad asked to take a picture of me and my counterpart, Isai. A picture I will cherish forever, mainly because in any other circumstance, I would never ask him for such a thing.

7. The first time someone mentioned that my parents were ¨gorditos¨ (literally meaning little fat person, but something they freely say to anyone who isn’t as skinny as a flagpole). I had no idea what to say to them, trying to quickly change the translation. My mother demanded to know what the woman had just said, seeing the look on my face. Not being quick enough to make something up, I just told her the truth, saying it wasn’t an insult, just a term of endearment here. She didn’t take it as that. My father either, and the two of them brought it up every once and a while since then throughout the trip, slightly offended.

8. When my parents met Ada, one of the poorest women I know, but extremely generous with what she does have, and a very special friend of mine. She is humble, but still very outgoing with every one, despite their race, sex, or social standing. I loved being able to introduce her and her kids to my parents

9. Going to a prayer event that had been going on all day, and was just finishing when we got there. The women had been praying since 5 in the morning for the soul of a deceased woman who had died that day a year ago. They prayed 5 rosaries throughout the course of the day, and served lunch and coffee and bread in the afternoon. This is a normal custom, something that I have been to various times, and I loved being able to share it with them.

10. Cooking typical and delicious food for my parents

11. Watching when my dad first started driving with the crazy Hondurans, as he carefully passed small cars only on long open stretches, slightly nervous the entire time. By the end of the trip, my mom and I had given him the nickname ¨Honduran,¨ because he was driving just like one. Even after they got back, my mom told me that he still acted a little crazy on the roads once and a while!

12.Watching my parents reaction every time I jokingly mentioned that I was going to marry a Honduran and stay in Honduras forever

13.Going to the house of the family I stayed with during training. This family is like my Honduran family. I love them, and they have always taken good care of me. I loved getting the chance to introduce them to my parents.

14.Teaching my classes on the weekends with my parents there. Teaching the kids here brings me such an overwhelming joy that I don’t get from anything else, and I loved being able to do it with my parents there, although they didn’t understand a word I said to my kids. But they still recognized the relationship that I had with them, and admired the love and respect the kids had for me.

This morning, I was woken up by two little girls in my town calling my name softly outside my door. This is not abnormal, and I was extremely tired, so I rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep and just ignore them. But something inside me told me I should go out there. So I did. When I opened the door, I saw two little girls, cousins, looking up at me. The smaller one began speaking to me rapidly, and I had just woken up, so what she was telling me didn’t really register at first. When I then figured out what she was saying, I realized that her baby brother, who was born yesterday at 1 in the afternoon, 2 months early, had died. They wanted me to go and take a picture, so they could have a reminder of her baby brother who had barely lived 4 hours, which she had never been able to meet.

I ran into my room to change, and in a couple minutes was ready with my camera, and began walking towards the house with them. On the way there, I kept asking questions to the little girls to keep my mind off the horrific event and to keep from crying. When I got to the house, I saw the grandmother, whose cheeks were stained with tears, and the mother, and gave them both hugs. The mother actually looked surprisingly well, as if she hadn’t been crying at all.

Knowing how easily I cry, I hoped and prayed as I walked toward the room where they had baby that I wouldn’t burst out into tears. When I saw the baby, he looked like a normal, healthy baby who was just sleeping. For a split second, I thought he might actually wake up any second. I couldn’t help it, and even with all the kids gathered around me waiting to see my reaction, tears filled up in my eyes as I tried with all my might to hold them back. I quietly took 3 or 4 pictures of the baby, hoping I wouldn’t have them in my camera too long, knowing that it would kill me to look at them every time I ran through my pictures.

After taking the pictures, I sat down and quietly observed as the other mourners came to see the baby. I was surprised and slightly confused by the reactions of everyone. Almost none of the women who went to see the baby seemed to be bothered at all by the sight of him. Most of them, actually, as they approached the baby smiled and whispered ¨oh, he would have been so cute!¨, as if he were still alive. As I watched everyone come and go, I sat in awe and confusion by the reactions of all the people. So many would say to the mother, ¨well, that’s the way the Lord wanted it.¨ And just accepted it as one of the many pains a person has to endure in life. And almost no one went up to console the mother, rather would ask her questions such as ¨so, when was he born?¨ then, ¨When did he die?¨ and right into ¨I think it might rain today.¨

I think one thing that hurts the most is how something that is viewed as such a horrible pain to go through in the States, is so common here that most people don’t even see it as a very big deal. However, I have also noticed that people seemed to generally take deaths much more easily here than in the States. It may be because the majority believes that if the person was good, he or she is in heaven right now and there’s no reason to cry over that. They also very readily accept such a painful event as God’s will. I still don’t know if this is naivety or wisdom, but I know that I’m jealous of such faith and strength to be able to get through something like that with out wanting to give up or turn your back on everything.

My parents were here all week, and they just left this weekend. What a joy it was to have them here, and to be able to share all my experiences with them, and what I´ve been experiencing for the past year.

When I first saw them in the airport, they both came running up to me to give me a big hug, and my mom almost started crying. I was so excited to see them, and even more excited that I was about to share my new life with them. I was so excited to get up the mountain the next morning, I had to keep myself from yelling at my dad to go up the hill faster (they rented a car).

Well, lucky us, while we were inching up the awful road up to my site, the car all of a sudden stopped working. It started just fine, but wouldn´t accelerate. I looked back at my mom, and for the first time in the trip, she had a look of sheer horror on her face. We were in the middle of the mountain, with no houses anywhere near us, and no people in sight. Luckily, they had me. I quickly got out my phone, and called a friend of mine from my town who knows quite a bit about cars, and asked him what to do. He told me I had to go on foot to the next town (about a 45 minute walk) and find a mechanic.

So I did. I headed off alone, and left my parents to guard the car. Alone and helpless, not able to speak a word of spanish. I raced in to look for a mechanic, and after a lot of walking, waiting, and arguing with the mechanic after finally finding him (he was hesitant to come help), I finally got in his car and drove with him out towards where I had left my parents. When we got to the main road, and were about to turn down to go find them, we ran into them right there. Apparantly, just as suddenly as it had stopped, the car started working again while I was gone. I asked the mechanic to look over the car just in case, and thanked him for his help and asked him if we owed him anything. With a little wink, he said to me ¨just your number.¨ Kind of smooth, and more impressive than most Honduran men. But I politely refused anyway.

After this little dilemma, we got to my town later than I had hoped, but still with plenty of energy and joy because we were all together! More stories later to come.....

My first experience actually selling the jam we made with the ladies was incredible. We went to a nice town called San Marcos during their town fair (always a big event in Honduras) to sell the jelly and wine (made from starfruit.....mmhhhh, mmhhh!)

I was more impressed with them than I ever have been with any salesman I've met. The minute we got there, the women were on a mission to sell this delicious jelly they had made just a day earlier. We didn't actually have a real post paid for, because that would have cost way too much, and seeing as we are just starting out, we couldn't afford the price. So, what we (or should I say "they") did instead was announce the sale of our jellies to the fellow coffee producers who were there at the event, then proceeded to run around the streets, knock on doors, and push the jelly into people's faces until they sold them all.

I was actually completely taken aback. Two of the women that had gone were very foreward and outgoing, and the third was a little quieter. But by the end of the day, even she was going up to random people on the streets, convincing them of how delicious our jelly is, and how it's "vale la pena" (or worth it) to buy a little. I, however, ran away to go to the bank for a while and print out more labels, as we had run out of them. I was making excuses to myself saying "it's really them who should be selling the jelly, not me" or "it's important that I print off these labels, although we sold the first half without them." But the truth is, I was scared. I've always hated selling things, since I was a girl scout in elementary school. And I didn't have the motivation or the courage to go around selling jelly at the time, either.

These women, on the other hand, had enthusiasm, talent, and determination, and God knows who gave them all that motivation, because I sure didn't. Instead, I ran away and hoped they would get the work done while I was gone. And when I got back, to my surprise, they had. In 2 short hours, they had sold 10 pounds worth of jelly and 10 bottles of wine. Not bad for a first day on the job. Not bad at all.

There have been times when I've worried about these women, and the lack of organization they have. But they've really taken this idea and run with it. They've come to accept the cooperative as their own, so much that they even forget that I formed it for them. And that's exactly how I like it. Even if I get no credit in the end, at least they feel proud of something that they created. Which they really did. All I did was round them up and put them in a room together. From there, they did all the talking and all the work!

This title might seem rather strange to you. "Macaroni and cheese?" you might ask yourself, "But everyone knows how to make macaroni and cheese." Well, perhaps all Americans know how to make good ole mac and cheese, but come down here, and no one even knows how to open the box.

This took me by surprise when I first got down here. So many things that we know how to do, things that we take for granted, they have no idea how to do where I live. It really hit me when I gave my first computer class. The little girl walked into the room, and I told her to turn on the computer, and she just looked at me blankly. I thought she was just being stubborn at first and refusing to do it, but quickly realized that she had no idea how to turn the thing on. I was sort of taken aback. I had never even thought of the fact that she wouldn't even know how to turn it on, because she had never even seen a computer in her life.

Another example is the lack of facts that they know, that mostly comes from the lack of a good education. Many times, people would ask me if Spain was close to the US. I would kindly tell them that it wasn't anywhere near, but to be honest, in the back of my mind would sort of think how rediculous it was that they didn't know such a simple fact that I've always known and taken for granted.

I was completely humbled the other day when I asked a man in my site how to saddle my horse (yes, I bought a horse. His name, translated into english, is Champion). I took the horse to him and told him, "please help me. I have no idea how to do this." He, with a little smirk on his face, agreed and began patiently teaching me how to put the saddle on. A few of his kids, all students of mine, were sitting around watching the event, obviously amused by my total lack of knowledge in the area of horses. Each time I made a little mistake (I will admit, it was amusing), they would start cracking up. They especially enjoyed watching me put the bridle on, which is complicated, because there's a part that you have to force into the mouth of the horse. This was something that took me a while. I have a small fear of touching the mouths of animals that could potentially bite me. But I finally did it, after about 5 tries, and a chorus of laughter coming from the kids and the dad each time.

This was a very humbling experience for me. I realized that these people have grown up surrounded by horses. Just like I've grown up having geography facts fed to me. Saddling a horse is something that they take for granted, and have always known to do, so when they see someone who has no idea how to do it, they find it almost shocking. Just like when I meet someone who doesn't know where Spain is, I find it slightly shocking. They are very intelligent, but in different ways. Obviously they can't help the fact that they were never taught in school where Spain is, and I can't help the fact that I never grew up around horses. That's why I'm here. To learn from what they know, and to teach them what I know. Even if it's something as simple as how to saddle a horse.

Why not make jelly with it?

The jelly training was interesting to say the least. The first day of the training, the women showed up ready and excited at 9 o'clock sharp (something that I rarely see here in Honduras), only to have to wait 3 more hours until the woman showed up to do the training. It was an incredibly stressful event for me, calling the man who picked up the lady doing the training, trying to convince the women not to leave, and just stressing out in general over whether or not the idea to make jellies was grand, or a grand disaster.

Right when they showed up, though, the women went to work, preparing the jelly. I was impressed by their work ethic and enthusiasm. They also learned very quickly, most of the time much quicker than me. Various times, when I was trying to help the women cut the mangos, boil the jelly, or add the sugar, they would tell me "no, Elizabeth. It's like this, not like that. You have to do this."

The first day, we made mango jelly. As well as the second day. The third day, we moved onto papaya and banana jelly, and finally pineapple. I think I ate more sugar that week than I normally do in 2 months......but oh, was it worth it! The mango jelly is excellent. Not to sweet, not too mangoey, a perfect tropical flavor that would go well with any type of bread, or shortbread cookie. The pineapple is surprisingly sweet and tangy. Delicious, but very expensive to make, because one whole pineapple only makes about half a pound of jelly (about half the amount as mangoes, bananas and papayas). The papaya jelly was excellent as well. It has a pinkish color, and a rich, sweet flavor. The banana, although it may seem strange, was my favorite. The texture didn't really turn out to be very jelly-like, it had more of a texture of gerber baby food. But it was absolutely delicious.....a perfect topping or ingredient for chocolate cake!

So now, after making the jellies, we are trying to find a market for them. For now, we are just taking the jelly everywhere we go.....to celebrations, to fairs, etc. But I hope to find them a more permanent, steady market like at a supermarket, or even exporting them to the states! But we have to start small. And then think big........until next time.

Hello, all. Well, it seems that my work has slowly become less and less coffee-focused, and more and more fruit-focused as well as youth-focused! That is just fine with me, I like coffee lots, but actually working on the production is not quite as thrilling as it sounds. I prefer fruit and kids!

In two weeks, the women in my group are going to be in a training all week long (the trainers are coming to my town) on how to make jelly from all the delicious fruit in our town! I am really excited about the training, and hope it will go really well. Since the last time I wrote, we have only had one meeting, although we were supposed to have three, but the people running the show never showed up (an NGO from a city about a 3 hour drive away). Both times that they didn´t show up, all the women showed up though, and are still as animated as ever to work, although the people have stood them up 2 times as well as have changed the dates of the training 2 times! Oh, goodness. I still hope everything goes well, and I think it will!

Besides that, I´ve been teaching English in the school on the weekends, which I truly enjoy. It brings me so much happiness seeing these kids grow, and understand concepts slowly. I also love trying to figure out what I get do better to help them understand.....does this mean I should be a teacher? Hmmmmm.......not quite sure! Next time, I will be writing about how the training went! Until next time, my friends. Adios.

I just had my friend Lisa from Aquinas come visit me. She was only there for two days, barely enough time at all to get to know my town, but apparently just enough time to experience practically every normal and funny experience I have had since I've been here. Here are a few of them-

1-getting a plate of food without a fork, and having no idea how to eat it

2-getting some strange piece of fruit at a family's house, and sitting and staring at it for a while before someone finally notices that you have no idea what to do with it, then helps you out

3-seeing a pig in the middle of the road, followed by a couple of chickens

4-having teenage boys in the neighborhood very obviously, awkwardly, and shamelesly try to take a picture of you with their camera phone

5-going to church and getting stared down by the little kids at first, but by the end of the service, they have all migrated to the seat behind you, and are continually touching you, playing with your hair, and calling your name

6-little kids asking you to sing a song in English, or to teach them some words in English

7-walking close to an hour to the next town, and finally, when there's only about half a mile to go, a car passes by and gives you a ride, which is practically pointless by this time

8-trying to convince the families your visiting that you have to go, and them telling you "no, don't go now. Who cares if you have to walk in the dark?"

9-while you're walking back at night alone because you gave in to the family's pleads, about everyone you pass yells "what are you doing out so late? be careful! You're gonna get robbed!"

10-being visited very awkwardly and inappropriately late at night by a man who's try to "steal your heart" as they say (this obviously didn't happen to her, but she was lucky enough to experience it)

We also had many other experiences like, going and visiting gold mines, joking around with silly people in my town, making guacamole out of remains of food in my house, doing skits in English in front of my English classes and trying to get them to tell us what we said (during the skit, we also added a few rediculous phrases in there just for our own amusement!), and many other good times just in a couple short days! I was really happy to have someone from home come visit, especially Lisa, because she's so laid back and thinks just like me in many situations. When she left, I felt my heart sink a little, knowing that that comforting feeling of having constant company was gone.....and here I am again. Just like it was before. Only now, everyone won't stop asking me when Lisa's coming back.

We alrealdy had our second meeting yesterday, and things seem to be moving quickly. Almost too quickly. We decided in the last meeting that the women want to make jams and jewlery. The idea of recycling plastics, although an excellent idea, was just getting to be too complicated. Maybe later, when we are more organized, but it was a little difficult trying to figure out how we would store it, how we would carry it out of the town, and most importantly, who would buy it? These things, obviously, must be considered before starting any business, and I´m proud of them for thinking of it (mainly because Hondurans are often known to jump into something with both feet, without thinking of the consequences beforehand).

So it´s fruit that we are doing. And perhaps jewlery or some other kind of craft. And I am in charge of looking for contacts in the US. So, if any of my loyal readers have any suggestions for where to sell jams or artisan stuff, just let me know. Or any ideas on what kinds of artisan things to do, just let me know.

Until next time....

The women´s group that I mentioned in this blog about 2 months ago, finally had their first meeting a couple of days ago! Although many of you may be thinking, ¨what the heck was this girl doing for 2 months?¨ I will just remind you all once again, that I am working in Latin America. Enough said (I say that not as a slam against them, just a mere fact. All the Hondurans I know, at least, would agree whole-heartedly).

Well, this meeting went exceptionally well, considering about half the women were invited just the day before, and the other half had to walk at least an hour on foot to get there! The group of people that came to help out the women did a lot more than I expected. When I went to talk to the man, he gave me an already prepared talk about the recycling projects that he worked with in his town. I expected him only to come and give us a talk about that. However, they came instead, to talk about their organization, the importance of woman leadership in Honduras, as well as the roles of men and women in the household.

At one point, one of the women from the organization got up and did an example of the typical day of a Honduran man, and of a Honduran woman. The women had to give examples of what they and their husbands did in their daily routine. The room filled with laughter as some of the women started shouting in detail all the work they did in a day, and others began imitating their husbands asking for dinner while lying in a hammock. At the end, we could all see that the man´s day, which started at 5 am, and ended at 2 in the afternoon (the rest of the day is spent in the hammock), consisted of much less work than that of a woman, who´s day usually started at 3, sometimes 2 in the morning (she had to get up and prepare the lunch for the man to bring to work!), and ended at around 8 at night!

After the illustration, the woman very tactfully told the women, that this was meant for the women to go back to their homes and shout at their husbands, telling them how much more work they did then the men. It was simply to help the women realize that it´s okay sometimes to tell their husband that they have other work to do (like this cooperative), and don´t have time to make dinner. Or that they aren´t feeling very well, and can´t get up to clean after them. In a kind and loving way. Some of the women that I know in my town, I don´t think would ever think twice to say something like that to their husbands because they are too shameful, or don´t know anything different. But I was extremely happy to see another Honduran woman get up and empower these women. It is something that I, in the role that I am in, and the fact that I come from a different culture completely, could not do quite as effectively.

The next step of the cooperative is coming up with an idea, with what type of business we would like to have. When we think of that, we will meet again with this organization, and they will bring us through the process, step by step, to help us get the project off the ground. It is exciting to see, and I really hope it will continue to work!

CSA stands for community supported agriculture. I'm sure many of you know by now what a CSA is, but for those of you who don't, a CSA is when a community members pay a local farmer a set amount of money per week, and they get a basket of all the fresh veggies that they have available for that week. So for instance, one week, someone could get a bushel of green beans, 5 tomatoes, 10 carrots, 2 ounces of basil, and 1 head of lettuce. But another week, they could get 2 green peppers, 1 head of lettuce, 10 tomatoes and 2 carrots depending on the amount of harvest that week. But no matter what, they always pay the same thing, so it doesn't get confusing or too complicated. It is really cool, and a good way especially to help support local farmers.

Well, this idea was presented to my director by the wife of a UN worker living in Honduras. She says that it's really hard to find good, organic fruits and vegetables here in Honduras, so she has been looking elsewhere. Well, the farmers of my cooperative produce an ungodly amount of vegetables. So many, that especially during mango season, there is just tons of fruit rotting on the ground, because it's too much for people to eat.

So I met with her this week, and am very excited with the results. She was telling me that she knows enough people in Honduras (mostly foriegners) who are more than willing to pay a higher price for organic fruits, as well as pay for transportation to get it up to Tegucigulpa and delivered to their doors weekly.

This is a great opportunity for the cooperative, because it with reliable clients, at a good and fixed price, and it will get them used to the idea of selling to a client regularly. And from there, hopefully we can broaden our horizons.

About a month ago, a friend wrote me and asked me to describe my typical day. I loved the idea, because although it is something so simple that I never think to recount to my friends and family when I talk to them, it really gives them a much clearer idea of what my life is like here in Peace Corps Honduras.

5:30 am--I am usually woken up by the sound of the first bus passing my house, and the shouts that come from it. Then I go right back to sleep.

6:30 am--I am usually woken up again by the second bus. This time, I am a little more awake, but I still fall back asleep for another hour or so.

7:30--wake up, but lay in bed for a good 15 minutes, trying to either plan out my day so I´m not bored to tears, or pray for the strength to do something that I am scared of or not looking foreward to

8:00-eat breakfast and get ready to go to the cooperative

8:30--show up at the cooperative for computer classes that I´m giving to some of the kids of the members of the cooperative. The class was supposed to start at 8, but neither I nor the student ever show up on time.

8:30-10:30ish--teach classes. This mostly consists of me trying my best to describe tiny little functions on word and excel to my student, and then waiting with anguish and impatience while watching them try for what seems like hours to figure out how to, for example, copy a sentence onto the next line, something which I just taught them how to do 5 seconds ago. Sometimes it takes everything in me to keep from shouting ¨no, you don´t do that, you do this! I just showed you, how could you have already forgotten?!?!?!¨ Ah, the pains of teaching technology to people who, the closest they´ve come to a computer in their whole lives is maybe seeing a picture of it in their school text books.

10:30ish-12:00--up in the air. I usually fool around at the cooperative, chatting, looking for work, or playing solitaire on the computer (so I´m not gonna lie to you guys, okay? It´s not always %100 work here)

12:00-1:00--this is usually up in the air, too. It is always definately lunch time, but where I go for lunch, it always depends. Sometimes I go to my house and make a feast (in other words, pasta, rice and beans, or stir-fry). Other days, when I´m feeling lazy, I go visit a near-by family and they always love to feed me :) Other days, though, when I´m feeling especially motivated, I take a hike to a nearby town (usually about an hour walk) to visit the people there, and talk to women about the women´s group. They usually feed me there, too!

1:00-7:00 or 8:00--work time. Usually consists of doing a job for the cooperative, teaching environmental education or English in the elementary schools, or lately it has been working on the women´s cooperative. Either going to the nearby towns to talk to women, doing surveys on the amount of trash the town produces in a week (unusually large), or things like that. Usually by night time, I go to one of the near-by houses again for a night/dinner visit (I almost never have to cook for myself, hehe!) and if the family has TV, I usually watch the telenovela that I had to leave when I left my host family´s house, because I´m still very interested to know who´s cheating on who, and who´s threatening who with death threats! Oh, spanish telenovelas, gotta love them!

8:00-10:00--my time! I love going back to my little house and making some hot tea, and sitting out on my hammock and reading a book. Or, when the stars are especially bright, I bring my yoga mat out onto the patio in front of my house, and lay down and watch the stars!

10:00--bed time.

So that´s practically my normal day. Except on special days, obviously, like Saturdays, when I spend the whole morning teaching, and the whole afternoon trying to decided whether to spend it in my hammock, or visiting families. Or Sundays, when I usually go to mass or pretend mass (that´s what I like to call it when the priest isn´t there) in the morning, and then invite myself over to a family´s house for lunch and try to fend off the bolos (drunk men....they love to drink on Sundays) in the afternoon.

I have this friend in my town, who is a boy about my age. Our frienship is actually somewhat secretive, because if the people in our town saw us talking, or walking down the street together, they would begin to say things about us.

I have been blessed to have him as a friend in my town, because not only is it nice to have a male friend who treats me as an actual person instead of a prize to be won, but it has also been very eye-opening being able to get a male perspective on the culture and differences between the theirs and ours. Our conversations usually end up talking about machisma, or the difference between dating customs here and there. He always agrees with me that men shouldn´t have more than one woman, and that the men here are known to be more unfaithful then others around the world.

Usually, these conversations end up fine, or we change the subject without thinking twice about the heaviness of the topic (A white woman and honduran man talking about machisma? It´s a miracle they don´t end in a screaming match every time!) But the other night, we were talking about it, and the subject got a little heated, when I started asking him about the roles of a husband and wife, and how they are different in the states. At this point, he seemed to get offended, and began to say ¨really, there is no difference between the two cultures! They´re all the same!¨ At one point, I told him ¨but you just don´t understand, you´ve never been to the states!¨ He looked at me, offended, and said ¨well, you don´t understand our culture either!¨ And left without saying anything else.

I sat there in silence, wondering what I had done to make him so mad, regretting ever having gotten on the subject. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really don´t understand. The things that bother me about the culture here, I will never ever understand fully, because I wasn´t brought up in it, immersed in it, and never told anything different like they were. ¨What right do I have?¨ I thought ¨To come here from a situation so much more privelaged and diverse than theirs, and judge their way of life?¨ I don´t.

This realization hasn´t changed my attitude about machisma or the need for more independent, strong woman. I still believe that the way some women are treated here is horrible, and it needs to change. But it certainly has changed the way in which I go about discussing it with people, and looking at the situation as a whole. It is a delicate situation, and if I want to change people´s attitudes at all, I have to begin with a more respectful attitude. For them, this is the way life is, and there´s nothing any different. I have no right to even look at the men with a critical eye for acting the way they do, or treating the women the way they do until I at least try to understand better the environment in which they grew up. Although I may never understand completely, I hope to come to a better understanding and respect of the differences in culture during my time here. I also owe my friend an apology.

There is a really crazy cool tradition in my site that happens every so often, sporadically. It is actually a tradition in all of Honduras, Nicaragua and El Salvador.

St. Anthony, apparently an adored saint in Central America, is one of the saints most often prayed to. It is tradition, that when someone prays to St. Anthony, they will promise him an entire day devoted to prayer, where they have a celebration, and pray the rosary from dawn till dusk, and people from all over the area come to pray and to give offerings to St. Anthony. The coolest part of the tradition is that they first have to go to a ¨nearby¨ town whose patron saint (yes, all the towns have patron saints) is St. Anthony. This town is about a 4 hour walk away from my town, and a few men usually go on horseback to the town to take the statue of St. Anthony back to the house where the prayer service is going to be.

When they are about to reach the town, they set off a firecracker (which basically sounds like a gunshot) in order to let the women in the house know they are coming. Then, the women go out to meet the men in the street, and they have a little fiesta in the middle of the street with singing, guitars playing, and dancing. Then, they all go into the house and begin the first rosary. They pray the rosary at least 10 times a day, with a break in between each time they pray, and different people coming in and out all day to pray or bring offerings to the saint.

The last time they had this event, I didn´t hear about it until after they had met in the street, unfortunately. But I did go later in the day to pray the rosary. When I arrived, there were three men in the corner of the room playing their guitars and singing ranchero songs about girls and being drunk. They also looked a little intoxicated themselves. Apparently, by the end of the day, many of the men get a little too happy from the beers they have been drinking all day! In there, were also a couple of women waiting patiently for the next rosary to start. I was excited to see this statue that I had been told about, and that they had gone through so much to get. I began looking around, but all I saw was a tiny little figurine sitting on a table at the front of the room. I asked one of the ladies ¨where is St. Anthony?¨ She pointed to the front of the room at the little figurine ¨there it is.¨ She exclaimed. I was shocked to see that the statue that they had gone through so much to get, and had revered so much was nothing more than a tiny little figurine no bigger than my hand. It was just another little reminder of the humble, steadfast faith that the people have in my town.

The other day, my sister told me about a dream she had about me. It was incredibly profound, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

In the dream, we were both riding a bike. I was the one who was pedaling, and my sister was riding behind me. After riding for a while, we came to a huge hill, practically impossible to get up. But I decided to start going up it anyway. As I began to pedal up, my sister started screaming at me to stop, saying ¨what the hell are you doing? You’re gonna get us killed, you could never do this, it’s impossible!¨ But I kept on pedaling, trying my best to ignore her.

Finally, after we had reached about 3/4ths of the way I stopped, and we both fell to the ground. And sitting there on the ground, I started bawling and bawling. In between tears, I looked up at my sister and asked her ¨why didn’t you just let me do it? I could have done it, why did you keep telling me to stop?¨

This dream was so profound not just for me, but I think everyone can learn something from it. I told it to my 7th grade class (I just started teaching classes on Saturdays again) the first day of classes. After telling them the story, I asked them what it meant. They all looked at me shyly, searching for the right answer.

I told them that it meant that they can’t always listen to their friends, family, and society when they tell them something is impossible, or that it has never been done. They just have to keep pushing and listening to themselves.

The funny thing, is that I have thought about the dream over and over again, wondering especially who the person on the back of the bike is that is keeping me from doing the impossible. I finally cam to the conclusion that it’s me. I am weighing myself down. Every time I think of a new project, or something to do, I just tell myself ¨oh, no one would listen to me¨ or ¨nobody does that, so I shouldn’t either.¨ After Sarah told me about the dream, I have been conscious about those types of thoughts, realizing that they really do keep me from doing my best work that I could do. Sometimes numerous times in a day, I will catch myself saying ¨no, I can’t do that, that’s impossible for me.¨

So I will continue each day, praying for the strength to do the impossible, because I know that if I keep listening to the voices inside of me telling me I can’t do it, I won’t be able to reach the top of the hill.

There is no word for awkward in Spanish. The closest that comes to it is ¨incomodo¨, which means literally ¨uncomfortable.¨ This is obviously not the same as the word awkward, a word which almost cannot be described without giving an example of an awkward situation, or perhaps an awkward person.

It is actually quite ironic that there is not a word in spanish for awkward, as I have gotten myself into more awkward situations since I have been here than I ever have in my life. I do not know if it actually has anything to do with the Honduran culture. I actually think it has more to do with the tiny size of my town, and the fact that people spend their entire lives socializing with the same people, and never meeting anyone new. Because of this, they have almost no idea how to relate to outsiders.

This was something I definately had to adjust to when I got to my site. When I would go and visit a new house, sometimes I was welcomed with warm arms, and people would not be able to stop asking questions about the States, or what my family was like. Other times, it was a little more difficult. A couple times, I have arrived at a new house only to be met by stares from every single member of the family, and complete silence when I sit down to have a conversation. After about 5 minutes about asking questions about their family and about the weather, I would run out of things to say, and just sit there in silence.

I have gotten so used to this way of life, that it doesn´t really affect me anymore. In fact, I kind of enjoy it. As oppose to in the States, when someone comes to visit, the host feels like they have to be entertained the entire time with conversation, music, or games. However, when I have gone to visit houses, many times I just sit in silence for a while, completely content to just be in the company of others.

Other times, in the middle of conversation the woman I am visiting will get up to make me lunch or dinner, and leave me just sitting there, staring at the wall by myself. But by the end of the visit, she comes back, and we begin to talk about the father of her first child, who left her while she was pregnant at 17, and has never come back to visit. I leave the visit with my belly full, and a new outlook on the lives of the women here in the country in Honduras, and feel that much closer to the woman I visited.

I wrote this blog in response to what my sister Sarah wrote in her blog about feeling awkward when she came here to visit. It is really interesting, but in the situations where she felt awkward, I felt calm and relaxed. She mentioned that if we both had felt the same way, we would have left that visit without lunch, or having the great conversation we ended up having.

So, if I come back to the States an awkward, non-social mess, I am sorry. But I have come to really appreciate the way people are here. There doesn´t exist a word for awkward for them, perhaps because awkwardness doesn´t exist. It´s all in the heads of the people who are in the situation. And when someone begins to feel awkward, they miss so many wonderful opportunities!

A couple nights ago was the culmination of the town fair in the next town over for me. These town fairs usually last for a couple weeks with food, rides, ect...you know, the standard fair necessities. And always at the end of the fair, is a blow-out dance that lasts into the wee hours of the night.

Now I had heard about this fair since the day I arrived at my site, and was no less than ecstatic to go. I got all ready to go, and left on foot with one of my girlfriends (who am I kidding? I only have girlfriends! Which is a good thing...) from the town.

The walk started out pretty wonderfully, the sun was going down, and it was all downhill, which was a plus. I also refused to wear my shoes, so the dust of the road and gravel were a pleasant feeling on the soles of my feet. Eventually, about 1 hour in, I began to get a little hungry and weary. My shoes had gone back on due to the rocky terrain, and my feet were developing blisters in about 6 different places. The only thing I had to look forward to was the goal in front of me. I kept chanting to myself ¨I think I can, I think I can.....¨ All I wanted to do was dance, man!

When the rocky road finally turned into the cobblestone streets of the town, I almost burst with joy. ¨We're here!¨ I thought, ¨And only two hours till the dancing begins!¨ Why we had gotten there so early was beyond me. However, I wasn´t bitter at all (this is sarcasm) when we came upon some others from our town who had arrived only half an hour later than us in a truck. ¨why didn't you just come with us?¨ They had asked. I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled between gritted teeth while still feeling the burn in my feet.

After filling my belly and drinking too much pop (due to various men who offered to buy me beers, but I refused, knowing what that could do to my reputation), the dancing began. I danced with my first victim (or I should say I was the victim...) for a couple songs, quickly realizing that he was quite drunk (already?) and hitting on me with rediculous force. For some reason, I accepted dancing with him to a slow song. Big mistake. The entire time he was whispering sweet-nothings into my ear, trying to pull me closer. Finally, when the song ended, I didn't even say anything, I just simply fled from his arms, and spent the rest of the time ducking behind trees trying to avoid him.

I tried to have better judgement since, and decided that if I could smell beer on their breath, they were out. This was a good measurement for a good dancing partner, and fortunately the next few men I danced with were much better, although I still had to make up an excuse every time in order to escape from them. One of them was actually an extremely fun person to dance to, and my absolute favorite becuase he didn't talk to me the entire time! As I always say (since I got here, that is) silence is much better than hearing how beautiful my eyes are (as a starry night? As a sunset on a placid lake? As those of a princess? Take your pick......).

So as the night winded down, I decided it was pretty successful. I had successfully danced the night away, managed not to give my number out to any guys, danced with a fair number of men so as not to arrouse gossip, had my fair share of good conversation, and enjoyed myself thoroughly.

The walk back to the truck that was going to take us to our town (no way were we going to walk it at 3 in the morning!) was more than interesting. As I was walking back, my friend and the only other girl walking with us disappeared in front of me, leaving me alone with about 5 men. As I was walking down the street with my arms crossed, I noticed one of the guys in front of me start to take off his shirt. I thought to myself ¨what the hell is this man doing? it´s freezing.¨ At that moment, as if he had been thinking the same thing, he put it back on. A couple minutes later, I overheard a few of the other guys talking about me, and pushing one of the others over to me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, pretending not to notice as he walked towards me and started to take his shirt of as well.

I saw him freeze in his footsteps, and walk shyly back to the group of guys, only to be pushed back to me once again. Finally, in a surprisingly smooth manner, he asked me if I was cold and if I wanted to wear his shirt. Grinning at him, and trying my best to hold back my laughter, I agreed realizing how much he had gone through to gather up the courage to ask. Immediately after, the guy who had started to take off his shirt earlier said to me ¨I was going to give you my shirt, but I didn´t have another one....¨

So that was my night. Just another day in the life of a gringa in Honduras. Although I get fed up with the rediculous attention I get from men, sometimes a small act of chivalry makes up for it!

So, for those of you who aren't very familiar with the culture of Hondurans in rural areas, there is such a thing as ¨machisma.¨ This basically means that woman are often treated un-fairly mainly because their husbands have an immense power over them: money. Men in the rural areas are virtually the only ones who work, and the woman is left at home to take care of the kids. Now, I am obviously not speaking against this, as my mother was a stay-at-home mom for many years. However, I am pretty sure that one way or another, she could have pretty easily figured things out if my dad had left her. It is a little different here. If a woman and man get divorced here, the man is okay, but the woman is left with virtually nothing. There isn't any McDonalds in the rural area that she could go and work at!

Unfortunatley, men constantly use this power to their advantage, often having a woman on the side, which is quite acceptable. Sometimes you just have to hear it from their own mouths to believe it. I had heard this numerous times before I came down here. I believed it, but it is one thing to just believe it. It´s another to hear men, even women talking about the numerous women they have as if it is no big deal. Or watching how men completely ignore their wives in public (and sometimes at home, as well), which I feel is one of the worst forms of abuse.

I have also noticed how women who live in the rural towns carry themselves. People who grow up in the country in general are often known as ¨humble campesinos¨ mainly becuase they spend most of their life in one area, almost never get out, and almost never have a vision of anything beyond what they know. Even more, many are un-educated, and live their whole lives seeing women and men in a certain role, and don't realize that there is any other way it possibly could be. Because of these factors, especially in the case of women, they often carry themselves as if they were nothing.....just as they are often treated.

This is one of the saddest things for me to watch here, especially after spending time one-on-one with some of these women, or watching them interact with other women from their town. Many of them are extremely witty, attractive, intelligent and capable. However, when they get in certain situations, for instance, when surrounded by men, they close up and seem almost like a shy child, hiding reluctantly behind his mother.

On the other hand, I have met some incredible women who have somehow been able to see beyond these roles, and are stronger than ever, often putting men in their places. There are a few women who are members of the cooperative, one of which is the president of the cooperative. They are each surprisingly respected greatly among the men, partially because they carry themselves with such confidence, and don't take any crap from any of them!

This is one of the reasons I have started working more with the women in my town. Up until now, I have spent almost all my time with men, members of the coffee co-op, which can get a little draining. When I got the idea to start a women´s cooperative, or just any sort of women´s group, where women can gather support from one another, I was ecstatic. With this idea, I wish for nothing more that to give the women of my town a little more hope and a little more self-confidence. If that is through going to seminars, or starting a craft to generate some sort of income, I am ready. With your prayers, I will be more ready!

I know my little sis Sarah already wrote about this night, but I wanted to be able to write it from my perspective:

One of the last nights Sarah was with me, we were suddenly approached in the park we were sitting at by two older men. They began chatting with us, and we soon found out that they knew some of the same people I knew from the area, including other Peace Corps volunteers.

At one point in the conversation, they asked me what I had studied in the University. My major being Theology, I always hesitate to tell people this answer, I'll admit. Perhaps it is because I don't like to be judged right away as someone extremely ¨religious¨ however they may define the word (although I probably am by many definitions). Or perhaps it is because my spirituality is something very personal to me, and I don't like it to be anounced to strangers right away. Therefore, when they questioned me, I answered hesitantly. However, when I gave them the answer, both their eyes widened with joy and excitement, and one of them exclaimed ¨wow, I've never spoken with a theologian before!¨

Immediately, one of the men asked me and Sarah if we would like to go to the top of the belltower of the Cathedral. From there, we sat chatting about mundane things for a bit. But before long, the chatter turned into heated discussion of the theology of the church, and its position in the world as well as its obligation to help the poor. The discussion started with one of the men questioning me about old theologians I had studied. I could tell that this subject was something that had been on his mind for a long time, and had been dying to get it off his chest. I sat there for almost an hour, discussing the beauty of the doctrine of the Church, the obligation it has to help all human beings, and even compared Catholicism to Buddhism. All the time, with my broken Spanish and perhaps simple worded arguments due to my lack of vocabulary in the realm of theology. But despite this, I felt that every time I gave an argument, they looked at me and listened with a deep respect that I was almost taken aback by.

As the conversation died, I looked out the window over the city, thanking God for such a beautiful night. I was able to delve into the souls of these men, seeing what was important to them on the absolute deepest level, and even was able to help them a little bit to understand, perhaps, the teachings of the Church and Her role in the world. All because I had majored in Theology. It is at times like that when I know that even if I never continue with my degree, it was worth studying just for that moment.

I decided to split up the funny stories blog so as not to make it one long exhaustive one. Here is another funny story about taxi drivers. You either love 'em or you hate 'em.

The night we got to Tegucigulpa, I found out about 15 minutes after getting out of the taxi that I had accidentally left my wallet sitting on the seat of the cab, which contained 2 debit cards, some money and both my I.D. cards. I was devastated. Not only was I afraid of losing tons of money, I knew that I would have to spend the majority of the next day figuring out what to do and getting a new I.D. card.......and my meeting started at 8 o'clock the next day.

Hoping to get there at at least 10 in the morning, I rushed to the Peace Corps office the next day and asked them what to do. First, they had me go to the police office and write a report, and then to another place to take pictures for my I.D. This of course, took until about 11 in the morning. Knowing that the meeting didn't end until the afternooon, I was still rushing around at least get there for a little bit of the meeting. Me and Sarah then climbed into a taxi that took us to the immigration office.

Our taxi driver this time was a character, who, during the entire 20-minute taxi ride, told us stories of the time he spent in the states, his Puerto Rican lover that he left in the states, but still seemed to be in love with, and the farm he grew up on in Eastern Honduras, where everyone owns a horse and at least 2 pistols.

As I stepped out of the cab, the few moments of joy and relief I had gotten from chatting with the cab driver quickly vanished. I opened the doors to the immigration office, only to find that the woman had gone on luch, and I stood waiting there for at least a half hour. By time I left the office, I was basically at the end of my wits after so many people who had cut in front of me (lines apparently don't exist here), the rediculous amount of time it took to do EVERYTHING, and the apparant disinterest of everyone that I HAD A MEETING TO GO TO!!!

The taxi drivers who were parked out front of the office, just like the ones who had been in the front of the mall, we sure in for a treat! As soon as they gave me the price, I began arguing with them, saying "Don't give me that! You are screwing me over and you know it, you all know it! It is NOT that far from here to where I'm going!" As the arguments escalated, my voice got louder and louder until I was practically screaming in their faces. Finally, I threw my arms up, and walked away, planning on walking down the side of the highway until I found someone who would take me at the price I asked for. This time, I left Sarah standing there awkwardly, apologizing to the taxi drivers for my behaviour saying, "she's had a loooooong day." After walking barely a block, we found a taxi driver that would take us for a whole 10 Lempiras less than what the other ones offered us ($0.50). Although not the price I was hoping for, I was satisfied and hopped in the car. As we drove past the mob of taxi drivers I screamed and made vulgar guestures at them in my anger. After about a minute of silence, Sarah burst out laughing saying "Lizzy! You were acting like a crazy woman!" I couldn't help but join in here laughter, replaying the recent events in my head. "Those damn taxi drivers.............."

The other day, my mother told me that she and my older sister Theresa were laughing until their cheeks hurt talking about the huge differences between me and Sarah, who just left today after a 2 week long visit, and how rediculous we might be traveling together.

This can't be farther from the truth. In fact, we got along the entire time we were there. Haha. Just kidding, mom. Here are a couple of silly stories from our trip that, if it had been turned into a movie, would be a great comic success.

One of the first days that we got there, I had to go to a meeting in the big city, Tegucigulpa, which always scares me out of my wits when I wander around there alone. We got off the bus at a mall, the safest option for me, and decided to roam around the mall a little before we took a taxi to the house we were staying at for the night.

As we were leaving the mall, a herd of taxi drivers bombarded us, asking us where we wanted to go. We told them, and they told us they would charge us a rediculous amount that I refused to pay. I began to argue with them, little me standing in a circle of taxi drivers who were all giving me the same price and weren't backing down, even though they knew they were screwing me over. I was being stubborn, and tried to keep arguing, when Sarah stomped off the other way, sick of standing there and making a scene. I didn't want to leave, because I didn't want to lose the fight, so I stood there for a while, before I realized my little sister was leaving me there to fend for myself.

I ran after her screaming, asking why she had left me. We then began to argue fairly loudly at each other as we were walking down a dark path from the mall to the main highway. In the middle of our screaming match (okay, maybe we weren't screaming, but we were sure pretty furious at each other), a police man came up to us and asked us where we were going, and that we shouldn't be walking there alone at night. We told him where we were trying to go, and he seemed more than happy to help us. He even walked with us down to the highway to get us a taxi at a fair price. As he was walking us down to the highway, he began to ask us questions about ourselves in a fairly flirtatious way. At one point, he pointed out to us his fancy motorcycle that he gets to ride around on every day for work. We both looked at the motorcycle and exclaimed "oooooh!" simultaneously, then quickly exchanged big grins, holding back our laughter. As we approached the highway, his fellow police officers looked at him with wide grins as if to say "how did you get these lovely gringas to talk to you? You tiger, you!"

As we got into the taxi and rode away, we doubled over laughing at the absurdity of the night. "What a clever way to pick up girls!" We exclaimed to each other. But the best thing was that we were best friends all over again, and had forgotten completely about our little tiff we had gotten into, thanks to the friendly police man.