I’m completely unable to get anything done. I love working on topographic studies. It’s fun getting out into the mountains and changing up the scenery. You get to meet some pretty interesting characters up there.

For example … The last day of my most recent study the guy who was helping me with the equipment was so incredibly unusual in terms of Hondurans. He was so forward thinking compared to most people I have met. Don’t get me wrong, the guys that live in the aldeas are great, hard-working people. I generally enjoy their company more than the people here in Corquin. But, at the same time they tend to be incredibly uneducated and close minded. These interactions always lead to some interesting conversations, but this guy was really interesting. We talked about a range of subjects from religion to marriage and protecting the environment.

God a van blasting music just decided to park outside the office. REALLY? Here. In front of an office? Is that appropriate? Necessary? Hondurans are so NOT annoyed by annoying noises/high volume. Like when the generator the other day (that fed ONE computer) binged the entire time. We’re talking high pitched BIIIIINNNNG. Me and my sitemate had to leave because it was so obnoxious. Also, we wanted to watch the latest episodes of Weeds. Everyone thinks we’re really antisocial because we both work with headphones on, but really it’s just that I can’t take people screaming in the office. Like professionalism doesn’t exist here. At least if I’m going to be distracted it’s by Justin Bieber’s music and not Loud Mouth (her nickname because we talk in English but they still understand their names) screaming about wanting some coffee. And yes, the one Justin Bieber song is permanently stuck in my head!

Back to interesting campesino man … At one point in the conversation I just looked at him and said something to this effect, “This might be rude, but why are you this way?” He didn’t understand at first, but then he basically picked up on the fact that I was a little stunned by how different he was. Apparently, he’s been studying under a Catholic priest that has taught him everything. They work on conserving the forest in this area and educating people about the environment and the importance of protecting flora and fauna.

He also doesn’t eat any preservatives or processed food. He claimed because this was due to a mental imbalance, but this guy is even on the organic food movement! It was quite interesting talking with him and witness him trying to “educate” the other guy who was working back with us. The group of guys in front periodically called him out for holding us up when, after I finished a shot and we could move forward, he would be interrogating me on any given subject.

One very exciting development from that study is the fact that this community, Agua Caliente, is really interested in buying some property that is a part of their watershed. With the development world focusing a lot on water it has come to everyone’s attention that many communities are getting water, but because of problems with wasting water, many are needing new systems in 5 – 10 years (they are designed to last 20 years). With new efforts to increase the lifetime of these water systems there is a big push that communities buy land in their watersheds. With enough land they can delineate the watershed and have it declared a protected area. This protects the quantity and quality of the water simultaneously and helps the communities value their water system more.

So … Agua Caliente is really pushing to buy this land, which is above the stream that feeds five communities in the area. I have worked with all the communities and there is a new Volunteer in Agua Caliente. Between the five communities and two annoying gringas harassing these communities we’re hoping to get the each family to chip in about $55 each (yeah, sounds cheap but for most of the people in these communities it will be really hard to come up with that money).

So, needless to say I’m excited because it would be a really big step for these communities and they’re doing it on their own. My counter-part office just did a project similar to this with three communities, but it would be really impressive if they could get this stuff of the ground on their own. The whole idea of Peace Corps is sustainability and this would be one of my biggest achievements if we could actually get it working. I hope it works out!

So Honduras gets me on a regular basis. We’re running like Honduras 123,767,454,345,987,456 to Hannah’s like … maybe 5. That’s being optimistic. So today I started a new study in Gualme. We’re improving an old study that they have because, they tell me, they’ve always had problems with their system.

So we go out and I always feel a little self-conscious on the first day. First, it’s a man’s world down here and being a woman, no matter how educated, doesn’t always get you the respect that you’d hope for. In all actuality, the men in more rural areas are much nicer, but still. Also, I’m around all these campesinos who have grown up in the woods and their romping around like it ain’t no thing. So in the end I feel like I have to prove myself.

We’re crossing all these creeks and they’ve got their high rain-boot like things on and walking straight through the water. I have my, albeit nice hiking boots on, but they do eventually let the water in and I was having a harder time crossing these creeks. My name may be Graceful One, but that I am not. Eventually I gave up and started trudging through the creeks being all like … “Whatever I won’t die of wet feet!” I was trying to be all cool and smooth, which I have never been in my life!

So it’s been raining a lot and we were in a heavily forested area so things were quite slippery. From their dam we followed the creek going up and down and all around.

Ok so here’s when Honduras got me. I had just taken a shot a couple of feet above the creek. There was barely enough space on the ledge for me and the tripod. The kid carrying my equipment (tripod with Carl Theodolite on top) was climbing up the embankment/hill and I climbed up after him. He’s climbing and I’m climbing … he’s falling and I’m falling.

He started to fall down the embankment and all I could think is, “Not the equipment!” So I kind of stood behind him hoping that my weight would stop his momentum. I don’t really know what I was thinking in the end. Anyways, my weight didn’t stop his momentum and as a result I went flying down off the embankment and about 7-8 feet below into the creek. Somehow, SOMEHOW I landed semi-on my feet and didn’t crack my head open on the massive rock in the creek bed. OH and Armando had his machete hooked through his belt which, on my way down, slashed a couple of gashes into my thumb. Nothing big, but the gashes combined with landing on that palm has made my poor left hand sore.

In all my toughness I refused to let them feel bad about me and was like, “Equipment is more important!” Silently in my head I just wanted to go home and watch more House episodes and by the end of the night be convinced that I had some freaky, rare worm growing in my cuts. I think I did impress them though because I jumped right up and got back to things. I did drop the entire notebook in the water too, which was upsetting until I realized all my numbers were still intact.

I few minutes later I tripped and landed on the same hand and now have a stigmata-like wound on the palm too. All in all … good day. Gained some tough points!

I’ve realized in recent … months … that my personal happiness is closely related to the relative cleanliness of my house. There’s nothing worse waking up a little on the down side and seeing your disastrous looking house and thinking, “Great when I want to lie in bed all day I realize that I really should be cleaning up.” There’s nothing like ruining a good veg session with a healthy helping of guilt.

In the interest of Bourbon and mine’s personal hygiene and health I decided to get up this morning and get a really good cleaning in before my beg session. Tomorrow I start another study which usually results in considerable laziness in the evenings, which does not encourage nightly cleaning. Therefore, I bathed the dog (no use having a clean house with a dirty pup) and cleaned out my water filter. The kitchen is considerably … disgusting … but actually the bathroom is much worse (toilet gave out on me).

In tackling the kitchen I noticed that the defunct wood stove was particularly cluttered and maybe I should clean off some off the bottles and crap to make the room look more feng shui … It was there that I found a long forgotten pile of zip lock bags that I intended to clean and instead let rot on top of the stove. No, seriously. Upon viewing and removing said pile of bags (with mountains of mold) I realized that:

A) I am going to die because of how old and dirty this house is (I’ve been watching episodes of House and I just pictures mold spores flying through my nasal passages, latching onto my brain and in a few days I will be completely incapacitated – dramatic right?)

B) When people enter my house hopefully to feed Bourbon and retrieve valued items they will realize that I lived in fact, like a bachelor, and had a relatively non-existent cleaning ritual. That is embarrassing.

So here I am cleaning my house (or actually taking a break to write a blog) and I already feel the happy hormones flooding my brain. Bourbon seems happy (despite the bath) and I’ve taken a couple breaks to play with our new toys. Yes, he’s such a goof and I enjoy playing with him so much that they’ve become my toys too. On that note, if I ever hope to get this done, I should go back. More to come on the Bouncy, Bouncy part.

…. I’ve hit a new low … There’s a giant arachnid in my fridge. Ohhhh disappointment.

Well the spider had expired, but I was afraid when I flicked it out of the fridge it would thaw and become alive again. Didn’t happen. So gross. Accidentally tossed the spider stick into my clean sheets hanging on the line too. Just can’t win. How do these things happen?

I feel moved to write about my experiences of feeling like an imposter. People often ask me, after hearing that I majored in international relations, how it was that I got placed in the water and sanitation program in Honduras. Generally, my answer is because I did for Habitat for Humanity work one summer. Whether or not that is true, I don’t know, but it’s still my answer.

These past few weeks … yes weeks … I have slowly noticed that indoor plumbing in my how was becoming increasingly nonexistent. First to go was the shower, which is the highest connection in the house, next the kitchen and bathroom sink, and eventually the toilet. It’s amazing how comfortable I am with things going wrong and it’s starting to worry me. Slowly my indoor plumbing disappears and instead of asking questions and wondering why, I just assume that it’s because the general water system in Corquin is off and the water will eventually will come back. Now, that assessment wasn’t entirely off most likely, but wouldn’t you think that after a few weeks of this and less rain (generally the cause of major water system problems) that the water would have come back?

Anyways, as the connections in my house lost water I still got water in my pila (big concrete water holding thing), which really as long as I still had water I was ok. Well, except for washing dishes and hauling water to the bathroom got annoying, but I had this unfounded belief that the water was coming back any day!

Well, I get back from El Salvador and low and behold … not a drop of water! Not a single drop! Odd. I went to the owners’ house to show them how to use their new washing machine and decided to inquire about the potential causes of my now distressing water outage.

Well, fijenseque, the house always had water, but the neighbor had been complaining that she had a stream of water running through her yard and maybe she entered my yard and turned off the water to my house via the valve in my yard. Valve in the yard! Useful piece of information.

I did not operate the valve correctly and thereby to misjudged my problem for an extra day. I will forego the details, but in the end I decided that the municipality shut off my water. Clearly, I shouldn’t be an investigator.

1) Slow progression of loss of water in my house points to pressure problems.

2) No water in the pila points to pressure problems.

3) Gradual disappearance of water in my house would not suggest that the municipality cut off the water.

4) Water running through my neighbor’s yard would suggest a major leak.

In the end I figured it out, slowly but surely, and decided there was a broken tube. The next task was to set about finding someone who could fix everything for me. There’s a certain nervousness you get from hiring someone to fix something in your house from the phonebook or something. Will they do a good job? Are they reliable? Will they charge me a reasonable amount? Try doing that in a foreign country and in a different language.

I was racked with nervousness, which is kind of funny because I’ve most certainly endured worse. This whole time the people who own my house were of no help. They didn’t even bother to recommend someone. I asked around in my office and was given a phone number.

Now, I hate talking on the phone in Spanish because it’s that much harder to understand people. I would think that speaking to someone face-to-face would be more stressful, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I get up nerve to call this guy and walk outside my office (I never make phone calls inside lest they judge me) with my phone. I dial his number, press send and proceed to shove a whole cookie in my mouth. Like, what was I thinking? The guy answered and I’m like, “Mum bum gringa bum num agua.”

He was really nice and showed up later that day to see if he could diagnose the problem. As I’m writing this blog he’s outside (the next day) fixing everything. Basically, as he’s outside fixing the problem (leak and clogged tubes) I was reflecting on how funny it is for the wat/san Volunteer to hire someone to fix problems of which I am supposedly knowledgeable. I felt like an imposter. I could have done the job. I consoled myself by saying that I didn’t have the necessary tools, i.e. big metal bar and shovel, and that otherwise I might have undertaken the project myself.

On the brighter side, my standard of living has improved 100%! I washed dishes inside and my house no longer smells of sewage because A) I have the water to flush the toilet B) toilets seem more efficient at flushing themselves than buckets of water. Apart from the toilet, there’s the general cleanliness of the house, which seemed to suffer with the water problem.

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY SWEARING IN THIS BLOG! :)

Is it possible to be bitten/stung by 6 different insects in one day? Why yes! Just come to Honduras and traipse around the jungle for the day.

Hannah and I, once again, took to the forest to complete a topographic study for a potential agua potable project. After getting fijese qued on Monday, we headed for the hills early on Tuesday. It went as a typical study would go, campesinos frolicking up near vertical mountain sides in mere seconds, while 2 gringas hold on to roots and branches for dear life, trying not to twist our ankles. And of course, many of the branches had thorns. Ouch. The topo study started in the depths of jungle, everything green and bright, teeming with insects. It is terrifying to know that the jungles of Central America have n times more species of plants and insects than the US, and I bet there are still many species yet to be identified. Our first encounter happened to be mosquitoes and those damn moscos (see previous blog entry). Unfortunatel , moscos are unaffected by DEET, so my arms and hands were swollen by 10 am. As if that wasn’t enough, I had an epic battled with a large bee when I was precariously balanced on a rotten tree trunk, needless to say, the bee won.

After lunch, biting ants SOMEHOW managed to crawl into my pants and bite me on my inner thighs (I know what you all are thinking, ants in my pants. ha.ha.). Severe burning near my crotchal region is never a good thing. The campesinos laughed and laughed and laughed when I started jumping up and down, smacking my legs, swearing.

“We are learning English!” they exclaimed.

“No, just maldiciónes, “ Hannah corrected.

At the end of the day, I found several ticks on me, which were about the size of a pin-head. They look like specs of dirt. Luckily for me, there is no lyme disease down here. And courtesy of Hannah’s oh-so-cute hound, Bourbon, I got a few flea bites that night, too.

So there is your 6. Oh, but wait, there is more! As if my insect troubles weren’t bad enough. Before bed that night, I went to fill up my water bottle from Hannah’s 5 gallon water jug. To my surprise, a large cockroach-type insect was floating around inside. A true anomaly because the cap only had 2 holes poked in it the size of button. How the hell does that big of a bug get into a hole that small? We decided to take the cap off, and let it free. As soon as it crawled out, that damn bug flew directly into my face and crawled up in my hair. The next thing I knew, I was shirtless running through her kitchen screaming and flailing my arms.

(Hannah Note: Meanwhile, I'm standing there laughing so hard, with my legs crossed to ensure that I don't pee my pants! I had a good 2.5 gallons left of that water and being poor and stingy I decided to disinfect the water so that we could continue to drink it. Now, in a liter of water you're supposed to add 5 drops of of bleach to chlorinate the water to disinfect it, but still be drinkable ... I put a whole cap-ful in ... like a gazillion droplets. Needless to say the water tasted like bleach and we couldn't drink it! Over zealous S.O.B. .... hahahaha )

In the end, I think karma has finally come full circle. In response to my ongoing war in my apartment on sugar ants, the insect gods unleashed their unmerciful vengeance that day in the wild. Point taken.

That was from Kathryn's Blog: http://kathryn422.wordpress.com/

I just discovered that Bourbon ate the remainders of a block of cheese that I had bought. He’s lucky it wasn’t American cheddar or mozzarella, because I most certainly would have disowned him. You don’t eat a woman’s cheese when the best cheese she can get in mozzarella. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on mozzarella, but what I wouldn’t give for a cheese as interesting as the little piece of stinky cheese Chris and I encountered in Belgium … well, let’s not go there.

Now, I want to explain to you why I had such a block of cheese in my possession because it’s an interesting story. Being me and not trusting my abilities to chop things with a machete, the grass around my house has gotten increasingly taller. Bourbon started getting lost, which says a lot because he isn’t a small dog. Anyways, I was notified that the municipality was going around fining people for high grass in their yards. Now I find this HILARIOUS! They can’t people to pay their electric, water and cable bills, but by God you better believe they’ll fine you for that high grass. Now, I understand that there have been increasing cases of hemorrhagic dengue and high grass tends to breed mosquitoes, but … seems unfair.

Anyways, went the house of the family that owns my house to translate the knobs on their washing machine and mentioned that I needed help finding someone to chop the high grass. The Dona offered up her grandson, but hinted that there would have to be some sort of compensation for his time. Immediately his aunts jump on the opportunity to embarrass him and suggest that a kiss for me would be sufficient. Not wanting to go too far down that road, I offered to make him a pizza. The very small circles I run in, people have been slowly realizing that I make pizza. Generally this comes into play when they ask if I can cook and I offer up that yes, indeed I can, and I like to make pizza.

Well, I kid jumps on the idea of pizza (ham and cheese) and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won’t have to shell out 100 Lemps for his time. So, I went and bought a big block of cheese to make said pizza (and just eat slivers … all the time). Now, how did Bourbon get it? Well, I made lunch and left the cheese on the counter and being the bigger dog that he is it was within easy reach. It was devastating really because I was going to make another pizza for my host family.

Still on the subject of cheese … My friend Jackie, who is an open-minded Honduran, loves cooking and food. I told her when she visits the States I’m going to go to Whole Foods cheese section and show her what good cheese really is. I’m sure she won’t like the cheeses, but I will and as long as someone in the world appreciates it then we aren’t all doomed.

So I’m still doing my English classes at night. Now, I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about quitting like every day. The kids aren’t learning because they refuse to allow themselves to even believe that they possibly could begin to understand a different language. The one girl in my classes who seems to have a gift with languages is intent on leaving Corquin because she broke up with her boyfriend and the world has come to an end. Teenagers.

I consulted a bunch of people on whether they thought I should quit and most said yes, because I generally don’t have time and it seems like a waste, but when I went back that one night and had so much fun with my kids. I’ve been teaching there for a year now. Can you believe it? I have developed a good relationship with a few of the girls and often find myself giving them boy advice. They never like to hear what I have to say, though. I’m too practical and encourage them to enjoy their youth, while all they want to do is have babies and get married (in that order as well).

There are several more boys in my class now and I have always been partial towards boys. One insists that he is going to marry me and also claims he is 9 years older than he is (to make him 24 years old too). I just find it so hard to grasp the concept of openly hitting on your teacher. In middle school and high school kids always had crushes on teachers, but can you imagine what would happen to them if they openly voiced their feelings? It’s always funny to think how different things are here. If I complained to the guy who runs the program he would probably slap the kid on the back and join the kid in hitting on me.

Nonetheless, the boys are funny and provide a lot of entertainment. I’ve become especially fond one of the kids, Carlos. He did something the other night that reminded me of Will, which just melted my heart. His older sister is in the class as well and one night we were leaving the classroom and I walked part way with them. He was so sweet and held the umbrella for his sister. Of course, when I pointed it out he stopped and called her stupid, but there was a sweet moment there.

Point is they’re just funny and fun to hang out with. Granted, they piss me off too, but I never thought I would enjoy interacting with kids and definitely not teaching them. I mean, come on, most people who know me will readily acknowledge that I’m even more awkward with kids and most certainly babies.

Do you realize how hard it is for me to operate here not really liking children? The easy way to win people’s hearts is through their children. Any meeting, any encounter with new people in this country and I generally find it easier to hang with the children to win their trust. I do this in a different language. Kids don’t go easy on you: they don’t speak slower, they still use slang and they will call you out when you make mistakes. It’s brutal. I will leave you to reflect on this thought and laugh at the imagined awkwardness.

Anyways, so I tried to quit my classes and couldn’t because I like the relationship I have with my kids. The other woman who taught for almost 5 months (she lasted the longest) recently quit and there are two new girls helping. I kind got a smug satisfaction when I got back from Teguz and a bunch of the girls ran up to me, yelling my name and gave me big hugs. I’ll admit it, I was like, “Yeah, they’ll never like you like they like me!” Hahah.

So it’s been raining here a lot. My kitchen floor is permanently wet because of leaks in my roof and my ceiling tiles have grown record amounts of mold. My motivation of keeping my house clean was quickly dashed by the numerous puppy foot prints everywhere. The gross factor of my house has been elevated by the humidity.

In my life of housekeeping it’s all or nothing. Either everything is cleaned and kept “nice” or nothing is. So if the floors can’t be clean then there’s really no point in cleaning the dishes in a timely manner. Problem with that is that with the constant rain mold starts growing exponentially faster and I don’t have the patience to deal with moldy food. So gross. Kathryn came over once and told me I live like a bachelor. People think I won’t let anyone come into my house because I don’t want them to see all my grand possessions, but it’s really that I’m embarrassed by the appearance of my house. I don’t mind it, but Hondurans are so meticulous about cleaning and they would be appalled.

I’ll tell you another thing about my living situation … If I have one more person question me about my living alone I might punch them in the face. Generally, this is how a conversation goes:

“So where do you live?”

“In a house near the plazita … below the stairs of the Church of San Isidro.”

“Ahhh ya. Who do you live with?”

“I live alone.” If Bourbon is with me, “Just me and my dog.” At this comment I get a sympathetic look like I’m a cat woman or something.

Then I am asked if I eat out every meal (all Hondurans are convinced that Americans cannot cook our own meals and we eat at McDonalds morning, noon and night).

Now, I always seem to be having this conversation with women only. I guess men don’t find it appropriate to ask or don’t really care about my living situation.

“Aren’t you scared that someone is going to come to your house and attack you at night?”

Well … I hadn’t been before, but now that you all mention it … YOU’RE STARTING TO FREAK ME OUT!

Single Honduran women would never dream of living alone until they were married. Jackie lives alone too and she gets SO much crap from her friends. Find a man, marry him and then you won’t be alone; doesn’t matter who, just get it over with. They seem so concerned for our well being, but not in the nice way, but like they pity us. Like, I don’t have any other options but to live with my dog. Then, they look at Bourbon and say, “Well at least you have him to take care of you …” The conversation is just dripping with pity and I want to smack everyone.

Oh, this is also generally accompanied with an inquiry into my marital status. When they find out I’m not and never have been married, do not have children, do not have a boyfriend and live alone … well they basically give me look like, “Wow you fail at life. How can you possibly be happy?”

With all this rain the lights have been going out a lot and I spend a lot of nights in complete darkness. Such conversations always come back to haunt me, but luckily instead of feeling sorry for myself I just get angry. God help anyone who did ever break into my house because I would have been going over these comments in my head long enough to turn into Hulk if anyone tried to mess with me.

Just a little ramble on Honduran life. I’ve been meaning to clean my house all day, but I’m ready the Time Traveler’s Wife and absolutely cannot put it down. Plus, I’ll admit, I just don’t want to clean my house.

Well it’s been a while since I wrote, huh? I have this thing that I won’t write a blog unless I feel like it’s full of emotion. Generally I shoot for funny, but some depressing blogs have slipped in too. Of late it seems like every blog I ever started was very monotone. I’ll try to fill you in on more-or-less what has been going on in the past few months.

March – Had some work getting a couple of different communities started on some water projects. I started to work with my local mayor’s office to figure out what was going on with the water system here. Apart from that I spent a lot of time avoiding my office and sitting in my house watching movies. It’s interesting how you don’t realize you’re depressed until you start to feel normal again.

Now I do want to clarify that I’m not depressed because I don’t like my life here or something like that. It’s just life in harder some times and you just don’t feel like dealing. There are days and weeks when you don’t want to interact with people and sit and dream about what you’re missing in the States, which generally brings down your mood a bit. When you have work sporadically it makes it hard too because you don’t always have something to make you feel productive and important.

April – Beginning of the month I had some more sporadic work and then it all came to an end. Waiting on communities to get stuff together, etc. killed my motivation. I pretended to be working on the Junta de Agua guide, but that was generally a big farce. Much of April was spent doing nothing, and when I generally don’t have anything real to do I avoid the office, which means the internet as well.

Also, another factor encouraging me to avoid the office … a bundle of puppies! My friend gave me the keys to her house and almost immediately her dog gave birth to my dog’s puppies. Woops. They are just about the cutest things ever and so I spent much of my time playing with them and sitting in Jackie’s house watching History Channel. I know, terrible.

May – May has flown by. I started the month with a study that I finished in a couple of days; went directly into another study with Kathryn that took about a week. After that we had mid-term medicals. We have been living in our sites for a year now! Can you believe it?? At that point in our service we all have to go to Tegucigalpa for a couple of days to get all these tests done to make sure Honduras isn’t slowly killing us with weird diseases.

I will tell you it’s quite interesting having to do all this doctor stuff in Spanish. By interesting I mean stressful.

So we check into our hotel rooms and our poop sample cups are immediately distributed to us. Joy! The meaning of “regular bowel movements” has become a foreign concept to all of us and in order to ensure that we can fulfill our duties the next morning my group headed off to the mall to eat as much lovely fast food as possible. I had Wendy’s and then went to some cool yogurt stand and got yogurt with chocolate and strawberries mixed in. I love the Multiplaza Mall! It’s our haven whenever we are in Teguz. Any moment we don’t spend in the Peace Corps office we automatically jet off to the mall to wander around and look at all the things we can no longer afford. They have Cinnabon!! It’s like we’re teenagers again.

Anyways, had my first poop-in-a-cup experience … It’s hard man! Not as in the aiming sense, but it’s a lot of pressure having to deliver a sample that early in the morning! Ok, I’ll stop there. But, I am glad to report that the Ferguson stomach has fared me well and I have no parasites. I was kind of worried because on my first water study that month I chugged a 3-liter bottle of unknown origin Honduran water because I was so thirsty. I still have not managed to gather the courage to pee on a study either and suffered the rest of the day for it! But, at least it didn’t give me parasites.

Next stop was the dentist’s office. She was very nice and has a nicer office than my dentist in the States. Also, I got my teeth cleaned and everything by the dentist herself. I must admit, I missed the dental hygienist from home who would always ask questions that would require more than a grunt response whenever she had all her tools and crap shoved in your mouth. Again, good news! No cavities! As always I have to floss more and I have receding gums from putting too much pressure on my canines. I clamp my jaws shut now because of stress and therefore I have an awkward receding gums.

Met with the Peace Corps doctor and nothing new there; they’re amazed that I’m never in Teguz with health problems. My appointment was fairly easy, but then they decided to send the asthmatics to the lung doctor. Apparently, this is new Peace Corps policy to keep an eye on those of us with lung complications. Kind of makes me angry considering all the importance they put on it before I joined Peace Corps when it turns out they didn’t really care about it at all!

So, get there with my friend and the doctor is supposed to get there at 4 pm. Her hours are 4 pm – 7 pm. Odd. The doctor is almost an hour late! AN HOUR! I mean in the States if a doctor is late they will notify you or at least apologize. I went to check in for my appointment and the secretary looks me square in the face and says, “She’s not here yet.” Ok, I understand punctuality in this country is nonexistent, but when you get towards the hour mark and the doctor doesn’t to be interested in showing up for her appointments … well then maybe you should say something to the patients not so patiently waiting? I looked at the secretary lady at 45 minutes and she shot me this look like, “Yes? What do you want from me?” That’s when you forget about countries you once knew that functioned somewhat properly and you and you hunker down to watch yet another episode of some house design show dubbed in Spanish.

The doctor finally shows up and beckons me into the office. I’m sweating so bad just for the anticipated awkwardness of explaining my condition in Spanish. The equivalent in English would probably go something like, “No breath when run. Cough always now. Lots of dust.” The Peace Corps doctors wrote up a little explanation of my perpetual sinus congestion and productive cough. So the doctor has me do a peak flow test, which I have always hated. I’m standing there and she has me blow … Right. Then she does some other test with a machine to measure the functionality of my smaller lung parts or something. Turns out I have a sinus infection. Right. Then she tells me I don’t have asthma. Did I get that wrong because of the language difference? Kind of hard to though because “no” and “asthma” as more or less the same in bother languages … I don’t have asthma. I didn’t point out to her that I have sports induced asthma and she made me do the tests with me standing in a doctor’s office. I didn’t point out that she didn’t have me do any stress exercises before the peak flow test. She kind of scared me so I took my drugs and left. Don’t have asthma. Silly.

That night we went to get … SUSHI! I have never been more content in my life. I had miso soup and sushi. So amazingly wonderful that I can’t even describe it. I think I almost cried when I took my first sip of soup and first bite of a California role. Sushi is one of the foods that we don’t even have a hope of recreating in our homes. I mean my friends are amazing cooks, but they can’t make Sushi the way the Japanese do and therefore it was heavenly.

Instead of taking advantage of the night life in Teguz or the many places that sell decent beer the whole lot of us returned to the hotel to take advantage of the … cable. Most of us don’t have T.V.s and we definitely don’t get Teguz quality cable in our sites. You become oddly intolerable of any program in Spanish. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked, “Why isn’t there anything in English??” Only to get the response, “Hannah it’s because we’re in a Spanish speaking country!” Right.

Sounds lame, but that’s reality of it. We have one rule always: no watching any program in Spanish. It could be the best movie/program in the world, but we will refuse to watch it if it’s dubbed. No go. Not allowed. Inevitably in our search for an acceptable program we will pass Family Guy or The Simpsons on at least one channel. This will prompt someone in the room to fly into a rage about why they even bother showing these programs because the humor, even if it isn’t lost in translation, is completely lost on people here. There’s an inevitable sequence of events when we watch T.V. together:

1) Insistence on a remote

2) Reminder that we cannot watch anything in Spanish

3) Rant of Family Guy/The Simpsons

4) Criticize music videos in Spanish

5) Find a good program and watch if for a few minutes before we realize it’s not in English, but we just didn’t realize it and are forced to change the channel again …

6) Squeal when we inevitably find something worth watching.

Hey, it’s the little things that count!

I’m walking around at the moment (still) looking like a heroin addict because the PCMOs (Peace Corps doctors) made me get blood drawn. I’ve always had problem with getting blood drawn and IVs. My arms just don’t seem to have very good, accessible veins. I understand this and generally warn people that my veins always put up a fight. It never fails that the nurses don’t believe me, thinking that I don’t have confidence in their skills; the problem is that they have too much confidence.

So I walk in there and they sit me down and the nurse pokes and prods me for a while before she isolates a vein that satisfies her. Deep breath, she slides the needle in … nothing. She gives me a look like, “Give it up!” She slides the needle a little bit to the right, to the left. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there trying not to notice the needle in my arm moving every which way with still no blood coming out. Then she calls over another guy and he saddles up like, “I got this!”

He chooses to torture the same vein and gets a little bit of blood into the vile. I look at the tiniest trickle of blood and ask, “And how many of these do you need??” Three. Poop. Then, I liked this part, they have the nerve to blame it on me! I’m not relaxed and the blood won’t flow. Excuse me?? You want me to relax when you’ve practically severed my arm at my elbow by jabbing that darn needle everywhere? Would you be relaxed? I’m trying with ever nerve in my body to maintain consciousness because the last thing I want to be is the white girl that fainted in the office, but you’re making it awfully hard right now and I’ve never come close to fainting before in my life!

Now, I’m not a doctor and maybe my state of high stress at the time (most of the time) was causing my blood to flow slower, but a little lesson in patient-doctor relating skills: don’t blame it on the patient! That generally does not encourage them to relax!

He finally gave my poor arm a rest after he had successfully bludgeoned my vein to death. He still hadn’t gotten the blood he wanted/needed and moved his torturous practices to the other arm. Instead of using some needle that just lets the blood flow naturally into the vile he chose to use a syringe to DRAW the blood out. He locates the vein, tells me to relax in response to which I shot him a death glare, and he shoves this massive needle into my arm and a couple of times pulls out the little stopper guy before he draws out blood. He practically fills the syringe and I’m just about out when he finally guesses he has enough. NEVER AGAIN. If they want blood from me again in Honduras they’re going to have to evacuate me to D.C. where people have some good doctoring skills and don’t stab my arm to death.

On the bright side though, when people in town have asked me where I’ve been and I say in Teguz for doctor’s appointments (people don’t understand why we don’t stay local) and they give me a skeptical look … I shove my right arm in their face as proof that I indeed saw doctors and they tortured me as well!

That’s about all for now. I will right more in a bit. Kathryn wrote a funny story about our day of bugs and I’ll copy that into my blog too.

I don’t feel like giving all this back story so … I have a Honduran friend Jackie who was graduating with her teaching degree, which is a really big deal and I was the only one (including family) who went to watch her graduate. It was awesome and stressful.

We got to the university around 7:30 am, where I promptly located the exotic food … the Dunkin Donuts! stand and proceeded to try to eat them out of every donut they shipped in; I saw them in their packaging, but that didn’t discourage me. From there everything pretty much dissolved into chaos. I tried to hold onto my donut high, but then people invaded my personal space and I went nuts. Heh.

So they were supposed to get there early to organize themselves, which makes sense. The day before they had done a run through and, foolishly, I thought that things were going to go smoothly. I mean, I don’t think you can argue with me when I saw the U.S. is much more organized than Honduras in all aspects of life. I’m not hating on Honduras, just stating the truth. So when I walked onto the campus that morning I should have been prepared, but foolishly was unaware of the mayhem that would ensue.

Now, no one wants to go to a graduation. I didn’t want to go to my college graduation. It’s boring and you sit there, and let’s be honest, the only moment you really care about is getting your diploma and maybe seeing a couple of friends get theirs. After that, you just want to get out of those itchy, hot gowns and go eat some good food and get some presents! I mean, if you were ever to catch your parents and grandparents in a very honest conversation I’m sure they would admit that they dreaded every graduation. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if parents based the number of children they wanted to have on the number of graduations they would have to attend. I mean, I feel sorry for my grandparents because they will have attended record number of graduations between children and grandchildren. We all know they’re boring!

Occasionally, during my life here in Honduras, I realize major differences between the U.S. and this country. Sometimes these realizations are e subtle and other times they will have to in a deep depression for several weeks. Other times, like in Jackie’s graduation, they will have you on the verge of punching someone in the face …

For instance, if you are in a big crowd of people in the U.S. people (most) will do their best to move for you if you are unfortunate enough to have to push your way through the crowd.

“Excuse me, excuse me. Sorry …” and generally you will at least see them make an effort, even if it’s only a millimeter. Well, in Honduras it’s like they immediately sprout roots into the concrete the moment their feet get planted. There’s over 1,000 people graduating in the entire country at the same time and they’re all standing around the same entrance trying to get through the one open door at the same time!! I was in the unfortunate position to be fighting my way OUT. You know how you feel when you get pushed under a really strong wave in the ocean? You’re fighting for breath and trying to get to the surface, but the wave breaks on you and keeps you tumbling around under water until you get so desperate for air that you think you’re going to drown? Yeah? That’s how I felt fighting through those people.

No one would move! I was trying to be as polite as possible, but at one point I came across a woman who would not budge and gave me the most evil look and I just stared at her and growled, “Really?” I love being able to speak in English like that, because even though she probably got the jist of what the comment was, I still feel sneaky and cunning because I can be a smart ass without detection.

Well, after the terrible ocean drowning flashbacks, I emerged from the sea of graduates and though, “Now what. I have an hour to sit here?” So I called Chris to complain about my terrible experience with pushy Hondurans. Didn’t find much comfort there as he immediately says, “That will suck! I didn’t even go to my graduation!” I KNOW RIGHT!

Now, don’t get me wrong, because I am very honored that Jackie invited me and I am even more honored that I was there to see her accomplish such a huge thing in her life.

Jackie calls me from inside and says that family and friends are started to pick seats and she wanted me to be close to the front so I could take pictures. I stand up, take a deep breath and plunge back into the chaos. Now, why on Earth would you have one door open when a gagillion people are trying to get into one single building? Especially, when said building has like six available doors? Come on now people.

Now most of you are probably giggling at the thought of me struggling with all these people trying to get through this door. I think I defied nature in legitimately blowing steam from my ears. Hondurans are INCREDIBLY pushy people I realized in that moment and if I tried to fight it I was bound to lose my mind on the spot. Instead, I took to muttering, “This is so stupid. Why is one door open? Please God help me get through this. Oh man. Take a deep breath … NO NO. Don’t yell. Calm. Tranquila.”

I finally got in and picked my seat based on the fact that it was A) close to the front and Jackie approved B) there was no one remotely close to me. I get settled and get both cameras ready. There was quite a bit of time until the ceremony started so I pulled out my book and settled in for a short reading session.

At this moment there was sooo much space on the bleachers. I mean, you could have you pick of any row and this family chose to sit RIGHT next to me. And when I say next I pretty much mean right on top of me. Literally. The man sat down on my thigh. I drop my book into my lap and say to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” And then I decided to wage war. I had more space on my other side so I scooted over a bit, but he immediately conquered that extra space. At that moment I realized that I could not give him more room, because over of the course of the ceremony he would take over all my carefully preserved personal bubble. I’d have to take back my own lost territory. It was on!

Now after you read this blog post you might be finally convinced of my insanity and I cannot argue with you on that point. I was paying attention to the ceremony when all the Corquin people graduated and beyond that my mind was consumed by this serious affront to my personal space bubble (which is, in fact, the size of a football field).

At this point, I will share with you some of my thoughts during this very stressful time in my life. I was so stressed out I ripped pages out of my book and started to write about it, because it served to calm me down for a millisecond.

- Hondurans are quite possibly one of the more rude populations in the world. The couple next to me: I just witnessed the wife make her husband spread his legs so that they had more space on the bleachers. We officially are making contact from our knees all the way up our torsos.

- “Latino culture is the worst place for a personal space “nut’ to live. I’m sitting, looking through the crowd at other single women who have plenty of space and …

SIDEBAR: He just put on his glasses to see what I was writing! The nerve!

… envying the abundance of space they have maintained. I’m sitting here next to this man (by no means tall) who has managed to expand to the size of HULK! I’ve become resentful and angry and I have decided to wage a campaign to re-conquer my lost space. I’ve gently nudged back and started to expand myself to show that I’m not backing down without a fight! … Unfortunately, he hasn’t noticed.”

I’m not kidding. I wrote that while I was waiting. I’m a child. But, in my defense, I was really distressed. I sent Kathryn this text, “In NO WAY should a perfect stranger have this much bodily contact with me!! If this guy moves one more inch I might just lost it.” She told me to just breathe.

Finally the ceremony started and I was distracted a bit, although when we had to stand for the national anthem and it was time for my final strike! When the anthem ended I sat down so fast you would think we were playing musical chairs to win $1 million. I reclaimed a significant amount of space and in a very childish manner (in my head) exclaimed, “HAH! I WIN!”

Eventually, the family did leave and I was left alone to recover my sanity. I really can’t help but laugh at myself because it’s so ridiculous, but I honestly was having a slight panic attack. Now I will talk seriously of the graduation …

The entire country graduated at the same time. Now, I didn’t quite understand this, but they are all graduating with various levels of teach degrees. You can graduate as a tecnico, which I honestly don’t know what that means, or you can graduate with your licienciatura, which is what Jackie got. This is like your bachelor’s degree from what I understand. So in all there were over 1,000 people. The ceremony was very simple with only the director of the department speaking before they started calling names. After all the names were called, there were very short closing remarks and then everyone left. I was disappointed that they didn’t throw the hats up in the air. Actually, I felt like no one seemed to be very excited. They didn’t even really cheer or clap for themselves!

Now the following was just about the most unfortunate series of events that I could ever imagine happening after a graduation. In the weeks before the ceremony, I remember Jackie talking about all the paperwork they had to do to actually graduate. They headed to Tegucigalpa a few days beforehand to do all the administrative stuff. Now, I don’t remember that end of the deal when I graduated, probably because it was all online and incredibly easy. Honduras should consider that method for the following years.

After graduation, instead of the congratulatory hugs and (in my case) the exchange of gorgeous George’s Flowers bouquets, Jackie runs up, grabs my arm and we run to get in line. Now, in following of the George’s Flowers tradition, I did get Jackie flowers. I know she loves flowers; I love flowers and who wouldn’t want to receive flowers as an in-the-moment congratulations? Admittedly, I only got her two flowers because bouquets were wickedly expensive, but it’s quality and no quantity, eh?

I didn’t even have time to give Jackie her flowers and the handmade card I made her! So the ceremony ends at 12:30 and we immediately get in line to wait there until 4:00 p.m. I’ll let that sink in!!

Imagine accomplishing something that momentous and having to do more paperwork immediately afterwards? Maybe to make it more striking, because a lot of people get their bachelor’s degrees now, it would be like getting your PhD or something and not being able to celebrate something so huge! Turns out they paid 600 lempiras to rent their gowns and had to wait to get the deposit back along with the other 1,000 people!

No one had any idea that it would take this long. Naturally, it was incredibly disorganized, and no one had any idea if they were in the right line, etc. I occupied myself with reading and texting a friend for cool restaurant suggestions for the celebratory lunch, but around hour three I was getting a little impatient. Finally, Jackie finished, but she was so tired and frustrated she didn’t want to go out to eat. Her aunt and cousins were throwing a celebratory dinner later that evening and it didn’t make sense to eat a fancy meal only a few hours beforehand. So where did we have Jackie’s celebratory graduation lunch? Subway. Now, I was pretty excited, secretly, because anything remotely American style fast food gets me all worked up for the novelty, but I was also extremely disappointed.

Easily my favorite part of my graduation was having my family and grandparents there. I spend weeks picking out a restaurant that everyone would like. Grandpa doesn’t like to get too exotic and Pap-Pap once said that his favorite country he ever visited was Greece. Did this factor into my restaurant decision? You betcha! I lived in D.C. and loved trying new foreign foods. I harassed my Mom about her opinion on various ethnic restaurants until she exploded, “Hannah just pick one!” I remember Grandma (both in fact, maybe) ordered a dish similar to the one in Ratoutillle, which provoked a little mental chuckle for me. Yes, I’m being nostalgic, but that was my favorite part! All of the most important people in my life (well, most at least) sharing a really good meal. Plus, we had mimosas!

So, you would imagine my disappointment when Jackie’s big meal, which I had obviously worked up in my head, was in a food court eating Subway sandwiches. Also, I just feel bad for the graduates in general. Instead of being able to leave and celebrate their accomplishments, they had to wait in line for hours until the point they were too exhausted and frustrated to even feel happy for themselves. Jackie and I were going to take a little weekend vacation, but the rest of the Corquin graduates immediately jumped on their bus to start the 10 hour drive back to Copan. Just really unfortunate!

Jumping a few hours ahead … Jackie’s aunt lives in Tegucigalpa with her five daughters and various grandchildren. Jackie lived with her aunt while she was studying and has a very close bond with this side of her family. All five daughters are educated with one engineer, one doctor and three teachers with their bachelor’s degrees. It’s a pretty big accomplishment as I understand that she was a single mother as well and it’s just not that normal for young women to be so educated. I realized I really liked these women immediately. They’re smart and open-minded ; they were discussing homosexuality and all agreed that it’s a sexual preference and not a mental disease, etc., which is a huge departure from most people’s opinions in Honduras.

Jackie’s family reminded me very much of my own. Everyone was always talking at the same time and inevitably someone was making fun of/harassing one sibling or another at any given moment. Kids were running all over the place and there was even an aunt who specialized in making the boys feel uncomfortable by catching them and demanding kisses! It was complete loving chaos.

We ate good food and I enjoyed every moment. They made me feel very much at home. I still would have given anything to be at a family gathering with my own family, but it was a good substitution.

Several stories play into this blog entry and none of them really have anything to do with the title, but my friend said that on the phone and I liked the sentiment.

Nothing all that interesting has been happening as I don’t have reliable work at the moment. Not having reliable work encourages me not to leave my house, which means that the potential for awkward, funny stories is significantly lower.

I am going to relay a story that a friend told me via text message the other day:

Low of the day: Plunging the toilet because of the massive turd my husband left for me today and spraying poop water all over myself and the bathroom.

High of the day: A lot of things, but they were all ruined by that one experience.

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My dog has mange (at least that is the conclusion I have come to), of which I was relating to my friend the other day and she said … “You know people can get mange?” This was right after I had my face buried in my dog’s fur because I was being affectionate considering he doesn’t feel well and is mad at me for spraying purple spray all over him (antibiotic stuff).

“WHAT?! Are you serious?” and instead of going and scrubbing my face and hands, like maybe I should have, I respond, “Dude if I got mange I would officially win the award for getting the weirdest, nastiest disease in Honduras! Forget scabies, forget dengue and all the amoebas … I WIN!”

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One of the days that I actually kind of had work to do I was heading to the office and as I was walking past as house I noticed a whole bunch of people struggling with what looked like a rolled up carpet. I then noticed that there were feet dangling out of said rolled up carpet … It was like the Sopranos, but Honduran campesino style, because Hondurans just lack subtly in general. There was a woman on the phone talking about how they were going to the hospital in Santa Rosa and it was that moment that I noticed the feet were slightly moving as they put the man in the BACK OF THE TRUCK. Instead of calling the ambulance or putting him in the cab of the truck, they put the old man (which I noticed at this time) in the carpet in the back of the truck! I was watching all of this, totally forgetting that in my culture it’s rude to stare. Meanwhile I was passing other staring Hondurans, hoping that someone would validate my emotions of how MESSED UP THIS WAS! Didn’t happen. I wanted to cry or even laugh because of how absurd the situation was. The truck took off and I immediately called everyone I knew to tell them the story. Some people did laugh and others were like, “Wow that’s really sad …”

After that encounter I went to the office to pick up my sitemate, whom I had convinced to come up into the campo with me because I needed to take more GPS points for the study I’m doing. Well, my sitemate doesn’t really spend much time in the campo and after stumbling through the first coffee finca (plantation) I told her she could wait on the “road” for me while I went and found the stakes that I needed to figure out where I was, which was interesting because most of them had disappeared. I got my silly self lost while wandering around muttering to myself about why people would remove stakes in the ground that had numbers on them!

Well, I was gone for a while and when I came back she wasn’t where I had left her. Immediately I start thinking that somebody had grabbed her and carried her away. Great. How do I explain that one? Well, thanks for technology, I could just call her and she informed me that she had kind of fallen asleep in a clearing. She woke up when a group of coffee pickers walked by, naturally staring at her, because she’s obviously a foreigner sleeping in the middle of nowhere! Who does that?? She scares me sometimes.

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It’s been getting really hot here recently. We’re leaving the period of rain and cool weather for one of scorching summer heat and I’m not handling it very well. I’m trying to get myself used to the idea that I will permanently have pit stains and just be generally grumping because if the heat. Increased sweating means increased laundry, which wouldn’t be so bad if I owned more acceptable clothing. Therefore, I decided to brave the “department store” again in search of another bra, because yet another has fallen victim to thrashing puppy teeth. I walk into the first floor and there, in all its glory, is a massive pool display! It can’t be! Yes, yes it’s no mirage … kiddy pools are 50% off!

I yelled, “CASEY! COME HERE NOW!” and walked over to the display, grabbed the box, and started bouncing up and down like a little kid with a big grin on my face. WHEEEEE!

What is more perfect for these hot days than a kiddy pool?! I just stood there and stared in awe of my luck for several moments. The Hondurans in the store must have thought I was crazy. What 20-something gringa has ever entered their store and gotten that excited about a kiddy pool? I think I even squealed a couple of times.

When I got back to Kathryn’s apartment I think my look said everything; she goes, “What did you get??” I make a big deal of the reveal, whip off the bag and expose my new pool!

“KIDDY POOL!” I squeal.

“OH MAN! We’re going back to your site tomorrow and we’re going to fill it up and drink beers for our one year in country anniversary! So amazing!”

Next morning we wake up and it’s cloudy. Then a Honduran tells us that another cold front is coming through. Kathryn, in her disappoint, “Dammit! Leave it to Honduras to ruin the kiddy pool for us! Cold front! I knew it! I knew that we wouldn’t get to swim in it this week!”

Well a few hours later we’re pulling into Corquin and it’s kind of raining and getting quite cold. We walk into my house and I immediately whip out the pool and sit down in it in my house (pictures will be posted). Kathryn is taking pictures and she stops, “You know … that water heater … hot tub?”

I was right there with her, but we decided that the electricity combination is dangerous enough, but putting it in a flimsy plastic pool might be taunting fate too much.

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Next story? Well Kathryn and I were walking up to my house that day and per usual there is a Honduran male peeing outside my house. I always have this huge fear that, even though I slow down when I see them outside, that me walking really slow will still get me to my door before they’ve finished their business. I really have no desire to see random body parts … like ever and I just feel like it would be incredibly awkward for all parties involved.

Well Kathryn and I successfully avoid seeing Honduran … parts … and get to the house. Now, Bourbon is even more sick than he usually is and we were waiting for a coworker of mine to arrive to “diagnose” him and give him antibiotics if necessary. My yard looks very white trashy. Actually, my whole house. Kathryn, last time she visited me, told me I live like a bachelor. A gross mealy apple someone gave me sat on my window sill for weeks before I tossed it, and I only tossed it because Kathryn, upon leaving the last time, told me that if it was still there on her next visit that she would throw it at my head … I believed her. Therefore, when we walked in the door I discreetly chucked it out the window while she put her stuff down.

Well, I have a puppy that has an oral fixation quite unlike I’ve ever seen in other animals or humans. It doesn’t help that that my yard is filled with trash that people have been burying there over the years.

Trash in the yard + curious, chewing puppy + my lack of motivation = lots of bits of trash all over my front yard.

Apparently this bothers Kathryn and she got to picking up the trash while we waited for Humberto. You can’t watch a friend clean up your yard while you sit there, so naturally I get up to help. Well, we make our way to the fence and I grab a black, plastic bag. The immediate sensation of wetness drips down my hand and my brain wastes no time …

“CAMPESINO PEE! OH MY GOD THERE’S CAMPESINO PEE ALL OVER MY HAND!!!!!! AHHHHHIIIIYYYYYYYHHHHHHEEEWWWWWWWWW”

I take off around the house at lightning speed with the sound of Kathryn’s laughing hysterically behind me. I get to my pila and start scrubbing down both arms like I’m preparing for major surgery. The entire time I’m mumbling, “Oh man. Too gross. So not cool. CAMPESINO PEE! Oh no. Oh no.”

Several minutes later, when I feel like I’ve sufficiently disinfected myself I immerge from the house to Kathryn still doubled up outside my house laughing.

“That’s the most hilarious thing I could have ever seen.”

“Actually, no it’s not hilarious KATHRYN! It’s gross. So gross.” Again, like a little kid, I plop myself down on the porch with my arms folded and watch her pick up the rest of the trash.

For the next two days, whether it made sense or not, she often replied with, “Well you did touch campesino pee…”

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February 25th, 2010 was the official one year in country for my group! Kathryn and I were quite excited that we had work to do (which would limit the potential for depressive wallowing) and were heading up to a new community to talk to them about doing a potential study. We wake up, late after deciding not to run because it was “too cold,” and I lounge in bed a little longer than Kathryn.

“Toilet’s not running, which means there still isn’t any water. Way to go Honduras …”

I hear bustling in the kitchen and marvel at how Kathryn can read my mind and is already preparing the coffee. Love that girl! Then there’s a piercing yell!

“There’s no luz!!!! We can’t make coffee because there isn’t any electricity! KILL ME!”

That's a bit dramatic, but still ...

Now I’m really not getting out of bed. I yell from my covers, “You know what this means? This means today is going to be the worst day ever. This means that everything is going to go wrong because there already isn’t any water or luz. Now, because this is an important day for us and things already suck that means we won’t end up going out to the community. Now, we’re going to spend the entire day in my house, cold, without electricity or work. We’ll only be able to watch one movie and then spend the rest of the day wallowing in depression! I can’t handle this today!!” This was delivered in the hysterical, breathy voice that I’m sure you all can now recall fondly (hahaha!)

“Ok, calm down. That might not happen.”

In retaliation we decided to show up to the mayor’s office a half hour late as we were quite put off and Hondurans are never on time. Well, around 8:05 am the woman we were coordinating with called us. The minute Kathryn spoke in Spanish I knew it was Norma and I got unbelievably angry that they had the audacity of confronting us on our tardiness. Well, there was more. FIJENSEQUE the municipality thought that we were going to find a ride (which we’ve never done EVER in the times we’ve worked with them before!) and the muni can’t take us because their only car is in Teguz. Lovely.

“I KNEW IT!” I screech in the middle of the street as I perform the angry dance to show my distress. Kathryn shooed me away, which didn’t help matters. We were supposed to continue up to the muni to talk to her about the specifics of the project and try to find a time when we could go a different week. The entire walk up the hill (about 15 – 20 minutes) I launched into an extensive breakdown of why Honduras is doomed and all the potential ways we were going to get screwed that day. Luckily, Kathryn tried to be positive, which was better than us both losing it!

At the muni we also encountered the fontaneros (plumbers) for the water system in Corquin whom we have been working with on an improvement project for Corquin. They have been avoiding me like the plague and had more excuses that because the line was messed up at the moment it would be better for us to wait for it to get “normal” before we could continue with our work. Well that sent me off too.

“I’m hanging by a thread here man! I need work! We need to advance in something for once!! I can’t sit around anymore!!!!!!”

We talked with Norma, which didn’t really reveal much information other than she’s leaving the job and we’ll be dealing with a new guy now. We leave, broken down again by Honduras.

“What now?”

“I need coffee … Or a gun. Pick one.”

“What if someone from ODECO is going up to Joconales and could take us? I can’t sit around today. There’s no point without luz.”

“He doesn’t have a car. Maybe you should go with him and I’ll just go take a nap …” Kathryn’s glare tells me that that is an unacceptable suggestion.

“Let’s go to Casa Grande and get coffee and then we’ll figure out something to do …”

My co-worker calls and … well we got up to the aldea in maybe the most unsafe method of transportation and I can’t really publish those details here. Everyone that we passed stared to the point that they might have broken their necks.

The nice thing is that we got to do some work and the community seems very proactive. We talked to a few guys and they seem very eager to work and we made some considerable progress. I returned to Corquin with a new attitude and wasn’t breaking down into hysterical cursing every few minutes.

Satisfied with our half day or work, we crawled back into bed to watch 1.5 movies before my computer died. Usually the power comes back on around 5 p.m., but that day it came back at 3! I screeched when I noticed the lights go on. “LUZ!! We have LUZ! We can eat now! God I’m so hungry!” Why did I ever buy an electric stove?? Good things come to those who wait.

So, the day didn’t end up being too bad. Kathryn and I had a bottle of champagne to celebrate our one year in country. She wanted to open it all calm like, but I insisted that we have some sort of explosion, which seemed to suit our relationship with Honduras a little better. Now, I’ve never opened champagne before. I can’t even handle open a bottle of wine. The other week I was trying to open a bottle of wine with the little corkscrew on my Swiss army knife and promptly snapped it off (sorry Pap-Pap). This left me to come up with creative ways to get the rest of the cork out without causing major damage to myself or the bottle. It got interesting.

I did get the cork off and it went about one foot, but without the showy explosion of champagne that you see in the movies and stuff. Still, it was more exciting than slowly working it off. So, Kathryn and I spent the night with the champagne and soup while reading several month old Cosmopolitans and listening to trash rap (IE: “Apologize” Timbaland; “Got Your Money” Ol Dirty Bastard; “Crank that Spider Man” Soldier Boy”) Random, you say? Yes, but also great fun.

This morning … Well, some background information. I am a Wat/San Volunteer and I have a toilet that runs and a leaky faucet on my pila, which are the two biggest problems when we talk about wasting water in Honduras. I know, I know. I feel guilty, but not enough to overcome the procrastination to fix the faucet.

When we weren’t really getting water I loosened up the faucet so that it would let out more than the usual drip. That morning my pila was full and I decided I should reduce it down to a drip again, and as I had down the time before to tighten the faucet, I grab my hammer and start knocking the faucet around. Ok, knocking isn’t right … tapping. Well the first knock sent water spraying out from the band sealing up the connection, which got all over me. Crap. So I tapped it again. More spraying. HRMMMM. Knock a different part of it? (now I was really knocking it around). More spraying. I try a different angle and the whole faucet breaks off and I just have a huge stream of water coming out of the tube and flowing all over my back patio. Oh God. Now what?

“Oh man. Not good. Oh … I’m in trouble …” At this point Kathryn emerges from the house and is like, “What the heck did you you?!”

Then, Dimitri, who was coming over, rounds the corner and goes, “Geez! What did you do?!”

There’s me, sprayed with water, with the hammer in my hand looking like a guilty little kid. Dimitri, being my resident handyman, goes and borrows an adjustable wrench, buys a new faucet and fixes my pila. Now I’m a good Wat/San Volunteer with only a runny toilet!

We sat down to breakfast a little later and during a pause in the conversation Dimitri says, “Now in what world did hitting that thing with a hammer make any sense to you … ??”

The holidays have come and gone and I thank God for that. It was great to see family, but the emotional disturbances caused by such holidays just really don’t seem worth it at times.

Christmas – I was in Santa Rosa with a crew of friends who mostly live around me, hence we have developed a good bond because we see each other more often. We had a lot of fun and ate amazing food, once again prepared by the brilliant chefs KatP and Raquel. We had a “white Christmas” gift exchange, which resulted in the destruction of a baby doll and the playing of kazoos for like … hours. No joke. It was fun and I am really glad that we had the opportunity to spend that time together. It helped, but it still didn’t feel like Christmas without family and the normal traditions.

After Christmas I left for Belize, where I joined my family at a beautiful beach in the southern part of the country. It was quite a trip (in both meanings).

Honestly, going through the airport in El Salvador almost made me cry. The Honduras airports have nothing: no people, no shops, no food, just like 2 planes a day. I get to El Salvador and I was immediately overwhelmed by people trying to sell me things, rows of shiny objects and people in their valor jumpsuits and Louis Vuitton handbags. I forgot what commercialism is really like! How many options you have for perfume, liquor and the like in duty free shops! My God!

So everyone is all happy with their families on the day after Christmas, heading to their luxurious vacations … blah blah blah. Here comes sad little Hannah with her pit stained shirt with a hole in the side (nicest one I had at the time) with my jeans stained by banana plants and soap from them being “washed” in the pila.

Now, I live in a world where I get excited about avocados in my local market and the most luxurious item I can buy in my site are Dorito chips. The most I see of white people are fellow Volunteers, but I don’t consider them strange because they’re going through the same experiences as me. Any other white person I encounter in Honduras I automatically wonder who they are and what they’re doing in MY country. Peace Corps Volunteers have a reputation of being snobby, but HEY we put in the time man!

So, I get to the San Salvador airport and there are real displays with real customer service. There are so many white people speaking English that I just wanted to cry. I was there, looking crappy and sitting alone. All I wanted was to go back to my house in Honduras and forget the emotional, physical turmoil. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I didn’t belong amongst these upper middle class families anymore because of the way I looked and the way I felt. I kept thinking back to Honduras and they people that I knew there and I felt like I was betraying them. How could I ever expect to gain their respect and trust if I can still run off to my exotic destination vacation and forget about the life that I lead in Honduras? I felt like a fake in both cultures and lives.

To make matters worse I get on the plane, double check my seat number and look up and realize I’m in first class … Now, before Peace Corps I probably would have done a jig and promptly begun taking advantage of all that they had to offer. Not anymore. I stood in the aisle, looking around. There has to be some mistake! There’s NO WAY I, ME am supposed to be in First Class. After what seemed like hours, I finally realize that that is my seat and I sit down and probably looked really uncomfortable. While everyone boarded I just kept waiting for the flight attendants to accuse me of sitting in the wrong seat and not being where I belonged. I was meek and just miserable.

I get in Belize about three hours before the fam, which was torture. I just wanted to see everyone and know that I belonged somewhere. That I had a family and they were coming for me … I belonged where I was. Plus, I didn’t have any money! HAH

Belize wasn’t any better. I hadn’t slept the night before, which resulted in me sleeping on a picnic table in the outside waiting area. I would wake up periodically to people staring at me. I was probably paranoid, but to me, their stares said, “Poor thing looks lost.”

Met up with the family and it was amazing. I can’t begin to describe it so … I won’t. It was an amazing vacation. I got a massage, swam a bit, ate amazing food and most importantly … took hot showers and watched T.V.!

Got back to Corquin with Chris, where we had a nice little visit. I realize now how important it is for people to visit. You see my pictures and hear my stories, but no one will ever begin to understand unless they visit. I hope people visit, because if not, that’s two years of my life that will be lost to my friends and family and will be, up to this point, the most important two years of my life.

That was despressing, but it’s an unfortunate fact of Peace Corps. You wake up one morning after having spent the entire week in your house, avoiding Honduran life, and you think, “Gosh! I think I’m depressed!” And then!, you get depressed because you are depressed! And you think, “What am I going to do?! If Honduras makes me sad … then I’m screwed!” Then you call your friends and you just get over it, hopefully. That’s where I was at a couple of weeks ago.

Turns out, avoiding getting back into work was a bad thing! I’m back on track and slowly getting into the groove again. Right now myself and KatP are working on a big project, which will probably result in us being committed to an insane asylum! We’re working on the conduction line of my casco urbano. So, the water that comes from the source and then goes to the various tanks is in the conduction line. After the tanks it’s called the distribution line, because it distributes the water. Funny how that makes sense?

So, last week we went to meet up with the mayor in Corquin about the water project for the new community they’re building at the moment for 40 families who lost everything in a landslide last year. We were under the impression that we would be designing that water system, but fijeseque (you see, unfortunately, blah blah blah) they already did a design. Hmm … HOW DID EVERYONE FORGET TO MENTION THAT TO US?!

Well, that project may be done, but they want us to do this improvement for the main line of Corquin! Fun, interesting, do tell me more … ! We agree and tell the mayor that we want the various designs and we also was to walk the line just to see how bad they’ve changed it and butchered the pipes. Now, you might say, “Hannah, that’s unfair to assume that they’ve messed things up!” No, no it’s not because Hondurans have a wonderful “fix it” mentality, that I honestly appreciate, except for the fact that it ruins numerous water systems. Then again, if they didn’t do that, I wouldn’t have a job.

So, we go back the next week on Wednesday and walk up to the municipality and … they’re closed. Why? Nobody knows, but they’re closed. WOOT! Free day! Ok, well next day we get ourselves up to the office and the mayor isn’t there and no one bothered to look for the designs. Professional much? Ok, we’ll come back after lunch. Go back after lunch and fijeseque the mayor still isn’t there and they don’t think they have the designs. They. Don’t. Have. The. Designs.

Now, on U.S. standards, maybe a town of 8,000 people isn’t too big, but here in Honduras it’s big. These people should be able to keep track of the designs of the water system. The system in this town that brings life to the people. This is how they shower. This is how they wash their clothes. Their houses. Their COFFEE! I mean … IS THIS NOT IMPORTANT TO ANYONE?! We wanted to scream. How? How can you lose something of such importance?? CUENTAME!

Well, after a couple more visits they finally find the plans, which don’t help us at all. We’re going to walk the 9 mile conduction line over the next couple of days to see if we can figure it out. Going to be so fun! I love when the Honduran countryside kicks my butt. Literally. I swear tree roots and rocks go out of their way to trip me. Oh well. Builds character.

I hope that everyone had a good New Year and are getting back into the groove of work and school after vacations! On my part, it was a little hard to get back into the rhythm after having “rested” for so long. Early this week I realized that I’ve been in a low recently. It amazes me that it takes so long to identify why you don’t want to leave your house; you avoid work and tend to sleep/watch a lot of movies. Then, once you realize what’s going on, you fall into a BIGGER slump because it’s sad and so hard to get out of. Doesn’t help that most of the Volunteers are in the same slump, which means when you call someone to talk, they only validate your feelings, which isn’t exactly helpful.

Anyways, I made myself get into the office and that has helped except everything that is wrong with Honduran working culture slapped me in the face this week. How people here manage to get anything done just, it amazes me.

This is … exaggerated, a little.

1. I’m in the office, working on these God awful designs (not my favorite part of the job, for sure!), and I get a TEXT from a co-worker. Shouldn’t this be done over the phone? So, fijeseque (this is the point where every gringo realizes they are about to get INCREDIBLY angry and frustrated) we need you to come measure a plot of land we bought for the families that lost their houses in the landslide last year … now.

- Hannah … holding her breath so as not to yell in the office, texts back, “GPS or theodolite? I don’t have the tripod so I can’t do it with the equipo. Kathryn is coming Thursday so we can do it Friday … sorry man.”

- “No … it has to be done today or Wednesday…”

Imagine me yelling like Lewis Black … THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS LIKE … LAST WEEK!?!

I MEAN … WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ONE HOUR NOTICE??? WHO DOES THAT?!

Then, I call Kathryn to tell her what’s going on and she asks all these questions and I realize they didn’t give me any details!

- Bueno, “What is all this for? Doesn’t the mancommunidad have the measurements?”

- “Nope. Nobody has measurements … Figure it out.”

Ok, so he didn’t say “figure it out,” but he kind of implied that, which sent me into a fit and I called Kathryn again.

- “THIS IS RIDICULOUS! WHO DOES THIS CRAP?!”

So, I have developed a test to how serious Hondurans are about projects and things they consider to be “emergencies.” I ignore them. If they really care, they will seek you out and then you know that they were serious. Fool proof.

2. Well, I go back to the office after lunch to get a ride to talk to the president of the coffee cooperative about the water study I’m working on for them. I want to go back and take some GPS points, so we needed to plan when we would do that, etc. Now, Rafa kind of scares me, because he’s really quiet with me and I think he hates me. So I explained what I wanted to do and we set a date. And then, he calmly drops a bomb on my head …

- “Well, how long do you think the rest of the study will take?”

- Me, on the defensive, because I’ve been procrastinating, “Well, it’s essentially two designs and that’s why it’s taking longer … “

- “Ok, because we have a guy writing a grant for the water project and we need it to finish, because it’s the base of the grant …”

Sorry Mom, but WTF?! I mean, at any point was someone going to mention this to me?? I mean, where I come from that is the FIRST bit of information you mention! Not the last, not at the last moment. Hey we want a water study, because we’re going to put it in a grant and it will be the base of the request … just so you know. GAAAHHHH! My jaw just dropped to the ground. This is too much for one day …

3. I get back to the office and my counter-part jumps on me. “We need you guys to get out there and measure that plot of land! Call Kathryn and ask her if she can come for Wednesday.” I called Kathryn, who is never thrilled with the unorganized nature of the Honduran working culture, basically told them to “piss off.” Is that cursing?? What she said was much worse!

- “Carlos, she can’t come because she has a GPS training …” And that’s it! He says nothing!

I wanted to go with them on Wednesday just to check out what was going on, because no one was offering me details, and if we ended up going on Friday I would need a better idea of exactly what was expected of us. Be there early and pack a lunch. Right got it.

4. Wednesday. Now, they always tell me to get to the office exactly at 8 am, because the cars leaving at exactly 8 am. When I first started working I got there at like 7:45 and ended up waiting around for hours. Every time they tell me this I want to laugh in their faces, because they still can’t admit that they will never do anything on time!

Despite all this, I still get there at like 8:10, because I’m afraid that the one day I get there later they will actually leave without me. We didn’t leave until after 9 am. Figures. Everyone is sitting around and I impatiently ask, “Why aren’t we leaving??”

- “We don’t have a car.”

- “Well who has the car? Where is the car?”

- Calmly responds, “Nobody knows.”

A car is missing. A car is missing and no one knows where it went. Everyone is in the office and all three cars are gone. Who has the cars? How do three cars disappear without anyone seeming to realize who is DRIVING THEM? I don’t even validate that comment with a response and just go back to playing games on my GPS. DID YOU KNOW THE GPS HAS GAMES?! I didn’t! This is an amazing discovery. One of the guys sits down next to me and asks what I’m doing. Like a little kid I respond, shoving the GPS in his face, “IT HAS GAMES!!” He promptly grabs it and starts playing and I sulk like a little kid, bored again.

Here’s where the second “you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me” thing comes in. So we’re all standing around and they call me over to look at something. Low and behold, they do have measurements. They did do a drawing of the property. They do know exactly what measurements they need to divide the property into 12 lots. They have exactly what they wanted me to do; only they did it with GPS instead of the theodolite …

- “Umm… guys? What’s this?”

- My counter-part says, “We just wanted you to double check and make sure everything was right…”

That would have been an extra day of work in the field plus whatever work on the computer. Plus, it wouldn’t have been sustainable because I would have done it all myself, and it’s better for a local to do, which apparently was possible anyways! Who, what, where is the reasoning behind that one? Someone please explain to me?!

So the car comes back and guys jump out who I’ve never seen before. No one bats an eye and we leave …

So we went, split up the lots in one day, and everything is done now instead of in a week. Efficient much?

While we were sitting and waiting for the other group to do their 2 lots (as opposed to our NINE), I started to feel really itchy. Crap. Itching in Honduras means weird things are crawling all over your body. I pull up my pant leg and I’m covered in little red dots with black spots in the middle … ticks. EVERYWHERE! They were the size of pin heads. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! My pant line itches too and I find another tick community now staking claim on my skin. Great. I point this out to Abran and he just starts hysterically laughing. That’s, that’s not the reaction I was looking for … exactly. Thanks.

I went home and scrubbed my entire body for several minutes. I had to personally remove each and every tick, which I should have counted. Luckily, I have the steroid cream from my other rash, which I’ve put all over myself, because I had ticks all over my body. Everywhere. One I was like, “Oh no you DI-DN!” Hah. Too personal man. I can’t stop itching this morning. Ridiculous little buggers, but at least there isn’t Lyme’s disease here.

5. This morning I was dealt my last blow (hopefully because it’s Thursday and I’m planning on ignoring the office tomorrow) … Kathryn and I have been waiting since before the holidays to go with her office and my mayor’s office to look at a potential water source intended for the new community of houses that were built for the people who lost their homes in the landslide last year. Several times the trip has been postponed and finally it seemed like today we were going to get out there. Kathryn and I both are aching to get back into the field and were pretty excited to be included on this project.

Last night Kathryn sends me a text saying that they haven’t tested the quantity or quality of the water, but people seem to think it will be sufficient for the 40 families. Ok. Cool. Well, this morning I get another text saying that SANAA (the water authority) already has designed the water system, but no one seemed to know about this prior. For instance, the mayor’s office hadn’t the slightest idea … That would be like people living on a Superfund site and the EPA never bothered to tell them! Ok, maybe not quite, but more like a local government gearing up to start a sewer project and the state government mentions, “Oh yeah, hey guys, we did that like 20 years ago, but ya know, didn’t tell ya!”

WHO DOES THAT?! How did that never get mentioned to ANYONE?! How do these various agencies lack so much in communication that they haven’t communicated something that big and important. A water system. Running water. The essence of life and no one saw fit to mention it to anyone else?

It’s not just a matter of communication, but of money as well.

A) SANAA isn’t free and we are

B) Also, all the materials for the lots, materials for the houses, latrines and pilas were paid for already by Habitat for Humanity, ODECO, the mayor’s office and various other development organizations working in the area. Now, from what I understood, the water system didn’t have funding yet, which I thought was funny, because I think it’s pretty important. Not to mention, what good is it having pour flush latrines (need water) and pilas when you don’t have a water connection … ? That’s like having indoor plumbing, but fijeseque you don’t have a water connection. I’ve seen where the community is. They would have had to walk very far to reach the river and that water isn’t worth walking a couple of miles to get.

So a water design exists and I will get over my disappointment on that one, but if no one knew about this design then I would imagine that they haven’t been looking for funding. If no one was looking for funding, then they’re incredibly behind on that and the whole situation is just silly.

Silly is how I’m describing my week. Silly Hondurans and their silly communication problems. I was starting to call Kathryn too much to update/complain the utter lack about organization in my office at the moment, so I started calling Becky. When I started calling Becky I stopped freaking out and just started laughing. Becky says, “Ahhh, yes, you’ve reached the part where all you can do is laugh at the situation. Sorry man, must have been a bad week.” If you get to the point where it doesn’t make you angry then, well, you’ve lost, because Honduras has thoroughly kicked your butt.

When friends tell me of their simultaneous bowel/vomiting inducing intestinal parasites, I try to comfort them, but can’t exactly relate because the Ferguson stomach, which we all know is an iron tank, appears to protect me against anything (knock on wood)! I laugh, so comfortably, whenever my friends call me about weird bug stories because I have yet to have a nasty encounter…

SWEET JESUS what is on my shirt?!

Not sitting so pretty now, am I??

So I’m doing some laundry this morning and I had left all my t-shirts to soak the night before. I seem to incapable of getting anything clean and soaking seems to be, in my twisted mind, the missing link. So I scrub out my shirt on the washboard, making sure to hit the pits stains a couple of extra times, rinse and hang. Well, I hang the shirt up and I notice what looks to be dirt … “Dammit Hannah, you can’t get anything clean!” I scratch the “dirt” with my nail because scratching it off counts as “clean,” and I realize that the dirt is unusually hard and hasn’t budged … HRRMMMM.

Whatever it is is under my shirt … :Hannah peaks:

“WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?! OH MY GOD! SO GROOOOOOSSSSS!”

God, I gotta call someone. I abandon the shirt and run into the kitchen.

A) Becky – No answer.

B) Darren – No answer.

PEOPLE THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!

C) Kathryn – ANSWER!

Me: “BUG. BUG. Weird bug on my shirt! So gross. Help me!”

Kathryn: “What? I can’t understand … :I tell her the story: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Take a picture!”

Seriously, I’m writing this blog in the moment. I have moved my computer and chair outside because the weird alien bug (still clinging to my shirt) is on my kitchen table (I took her advice and took pictures). This thing is a cross between a spider and a scorpion. SO GROSS! I can’t … I might just trash this shirt so I don’t have to deal with trying to get it off. Luckily, it’s dead from the pila. EWWWWW I can’t handle this. NOT COOL! I’m so desperate I want to go over to the construction guys and have them get it off my shirt. I so would if it weren’t for the fact they’d make fun of me for the rest of my life. I can’t … I’m going to ignore it for a while and just finish my laundry. If there are more … Dear God if there are more …

- Several Days Later -

I think that shirt hung on my clothes line for 4 - 5 days. Dimitry had to stay over last night and I finally made him take it off. He thought it was awesome and I though it needed to relinquish my shirt from its fangs. Every time I walked past the shirt I eyed it, warily, out of the corner of my eyes. Not cool. Not cool.

For Thanksgiving I went to my friends’ house along with eleven other Volunteers from my group. Rach and Mo were kind enough to host all of us in their house, which is pretty tight for that many people. Most of us arrived on Wednesday and spent the day catching up and getting acquainted with Marcala.

Thursday, the big day, a few of us girls woke up early and went for a “Turkey Trot” before we went back to the house and started cooking. I’ll just say this, I am incredibly impressed that Rachel and Kathryn (the two main cooks for the festivities) were able to pull off such an amazing meal. Rachel had the dishes on a schedule down to the minute of when they should start being prepared and the ingredients that were needed. The rest of us took turns chopping and doing dishes to make sure that the flow of the cooking could continue. With four electric coils, one small toaster oven and limited cooking utensils, these girls made one of the most amazing meals I’ve had in my life (and the water wasn’t working half of the day)!

All I did those couple of days was eat amazing food:

Breakfast (Thanksgiving Day) – Fruit salad and delicious banana bread

Appetizers: Deviled eggs, guacamole, humus and chopped veggies

Thanksgiving dinner: Turkey (16 lb. Butter Ball), creamed spinach, dinner rolls, mashed potatoes, cranberries, sweet potatoes, green beans, stuffing and there might have been more, but I don’t remember ...

We didn’t end up killing the Honduran turkey and I’m not quite sure why, but Rach and Mo went and bought a turkey in Comayagua, which turned out awesome! A friend of Rachel’s allowed us to use her oven for the five hours it took to cook the turkey and such things.

I don’t know what else there is to tell about Thanksgiving. At different points of the day there were any number of us outside, pacing the road, talking to family. A dog died right out in front of their house and there were millions of vultures around the carcass. It was really gross, but hard to avoid looking at as the phone is passed around to various family members.

I thought this was pretty hilarious … So Friday morning we wake-up and people are stirring, making coffee and getting ready to depart, etc. Well, 13 people staying in a house puts considerable amount of stress on the bathroom in terms of using the shower and well, the toilet. Why does it seem that all stories about Honduras rise from the bathroom?

Me and Plank were walking around town, getting some fresh air and stretching our legs when we get the fateful call: “Can you guys buy a plunger?” Uh oh. Well, all of those who claimed talent at plunging toilets were unsuccessful and after a considerable amount of time with the crappy plunger (pun NOT intended) the plungers resorted to sticks and hot water. There were two main plumbers who trudged in and out of the house with sticks of various length and girth. Every now and then Mo would wander in to check on the state of his bathroom and each time emerged, practically dry heaving and complaining about the poo water being tracked all over his house.

For the 1.5 hours that I think the toilet was clogged there was much discussion about the emergency situation that we were nearing as “the coffee [started] to kick in!” and Thanksgiving dinner has finished it’s … journey though the digestive track. I have accompanying pictures of people finally leaving the house (with toilet paper because Hondurans seemed to always have a toilet paper shortage) to find bathrooms. It was pretty hilarious, but that might be because I wasn’t in dire need of a bathroom. The toilet eventually was unclogged, but our little adventure prompted a nostalgic discussion of “industrial flush” toilets in the U.S.

Life in Honduras generally results in odd conversations and events. For example:

- The multi-HOUR conversation on all types of “that” girl at parties that the guys carried on

- The conversation that followed was “that” guy

- The various wiping methods of the hombres in attendance at the party

- A lengthy vote on the name of Rach and Mo’s new kitten, which ended in Snarf (his given name) being held up to the white board to chose his name …

Weird.

I want to say that the Hondurans have Americans beat when it comes to how early they put up Christmas decorations. I’d say the week before Thanksgiving people here started putting up their decorations and more notably Christmas-y things started to be sold. I was amazed. I recall that last year Christmas decorations and music could be seen/heard the week of Thanksgiving. Here, they had us beat. It’s ridiculous. There are Christmas trees and lights in most houses. The outside lights haven’t made as much of an appearance, but even public places have all their decorations out. It’s really weird seeing all these things that remind me of, well, Christmas and cold weather. I went to Laura’s house this afternoon to watch some T.V. and was weirded out by her Christmas tree and the unseasonably warm weather occurring at the same time. I don’t know how I feel about this.

I must say, that I’m not as annoyed with the Christmas decorations coming out so early as I was in the States. Maybe that’s because it still doesn’t feel like Christmas or Christmas is so much less commercialized here that it appears less calculated and more sincere.

That’s pretty much it on my Thanksgiving festivities. It was great to be around good friends and not feel as homesick as I had expected. We had great food and great (or interesting) conversation and it was a welcome vacation.

I hope that everyone also had a wonderful and satisfying Thanksgiving. I want to give my thanks and recognition to Rachel for being an amazing cook and sport at having the gathering hosted at her house and Kathryn for being an amazing chef as well!

So I went on my study today and came home (fairly early) pretty fried. I don’t know why, but I was. Everyone has those days where all you need is a nice, cold beer. Well, I’m on the car ride home, thinking what I can consume (that’s how it goes) to make myself feel better and it hits me like a ton of rocks …

That Hoegaarden I’ve been saving for, quite honestly, months, is still in my fridge and begging to be drank! I was oh so excited! Get home, feed the dog and go right to the fridge.

Now, I’m going to be honest about something right now: Peace Corps Volunteers drink a fair amount. You get a bunch of stressed, isolated 20-something kids (the majority) together and what do you think they are going to do? When we were going through training the Peace Corps doctors had a little session about substance abuse and alcoholism in Peace Corps. I was kind of surprised and looked around, thinking, who here would ever become an alcoholic? No one. That’s absurd! Well, now that I’m not some ignorant trainee I realize it would be really easy to become an alcoholic in Peace Corps (if it weren’t for the booze sucking so bad).

Well, don’t remember the purpose of that mini-rant, because I am most certainly not becoming an alcoholic … yes, now I remember. For as much as people (meaning PCVs) in this country drink, no one EVER has a bottle cap opener! I mean, que fue? What’s that all about? Well, I’ve got a can opener that I tried to use, but apparently that isn’t sufficient. I’m sitting here in the kitchen yelling at a can opener, “Just open my damn beer! Well, I finally go to get my swiss army knife, open the beer and take the first glorious sip … “I love my life!”

Got outside, pull down my hammock and just chill. Swaying back and forth, I start singing, “Beer, beer, beer. I love beer!” Today is the most beautiful day with warm, late afternoon sun and a gentle breeze; perfect weather for chilling in a hammock and drinking a nice beer. Well, I’m sitting here, watching the dogs (yes, I put an “S” on dog because Pablo has returned) and relaxing, feeling the “stress” melting away and the light hits my beer in such a way that I can see … ALL THE CRAP FLOATING IN IT!

WTF?? This is a grave, grave problem. Here I am, enjoying my beer, loving the fact that I saved the beer for this moment and that I have such a wonderful life, and then there’s crap floating in my beer. My life was wonderful (at that moment) because of the beer and now all my dreams have been dashed to hell by lots of tiny, suspicious particles floating in it. You know how you stare at something, without blinking for what seems like eons because you just can’t believe that that is happening at the moment? Yeah, that was me.

I rotate the beer, slowly and locate a suspicious spot on the inside of the bottle. It looks like a flat slug … “Maybe it’s chocolate …,” I say to myself in an optimistic tone, “Yeah, and maybe you’re on crack! How did chocolate get in your beer? You don’t have that kind of luck …” FINE!

As I’m investigating these particles in my beer I continue to drink it, albeit a little bit faster than before, as if the velocity affects the amount of harm these unknown floaters can do to my body/mental stability. The more I rotate the bottle I notice a kind of milky-ness emanating from the sludge-like spot. Gross. Sip. What is that? Sip. Should I keep sipping? The part of my mind that really wanted that beer in the first place screams, “YES!”

Eventually, unfortunately, I pull myself from my hammock and get a glass. I carefully pour the remaining beer into the cup, closely monitoring the liquid coming from the bottle. No floaters. Am I insane? All the remaining beer is now in my cup, clear as the day and I’m completely puzzled. I look into the bottle and my mysterious slug is gone now too. There is a bunch of crud at the bottom of the bottle, but it doesn’t look like it had ever been floating. Whatever. Drink rest of beer.

I’m going to go eat some chocolate.

AND I’M STILL HAPPY!

Yesterday was our 6 month anniversary in site (almost 9 months inthe country)! KatP sent out a nice message, but other than that the day didn’t feel that special. We’ve lost a decent amount of people and being in my site for 6 months feels like quite an accomplishment. Yet, it really doesn’t feel like I’ve been here that long, therefore I guess I didn’t feel the need to celebrate or anything like that.

I was in Jimilile yesterday continuing my study. I guess it was fitting that I was working on a water study on my 6 month anniversary. At least I wasn’t sitting in my house bored as hell because I didn’t have work.

Just a quick story from the day and then I want to write a little bit about how I feel like I’ve become a little Honduran …

So after we finish each day a ride takes me back down to Corquin. This ride, since he picked us up SO EARLY, asked if I could wait a minute because he wanted to bring his coffee pickers down with us. We pulled into his finca and waited a bit. Finally, instead of a bunch of men getting into the back of the truck, they caught a pig, shoved him in a sack and threw him into the truck. Instead of the man driving me back, his son got in the truck. On the way down the mountain we stopped and picked up a couple of women. As the women were getting in the truck (the back) I noticed that the pig seemed unusually … free.

“You’re pig is loose …” But, unfortunately I posed it more like, “Is your pig tied up?”

“Yeah, he’s tied up.”

“No, I realize he WAS, but now he’s not.” The kid didn’t understand me …

“No, it’s ok.”

“No, REALLY, the pig is about to bite that woman …” I look back and the woman, wearing only flip flops, is kicking the pig in the head.

He finally looks in the rear view mirror and sees that the pig’s head is sticking out of the bag and he’s walking around the bed of the truck.

“CRAP!”

Of course this doesn’t all translate exactly (might be embellished for comic value), but still I thought it was pretty funny that this kid didn’t understand me/believe me and it took me a couple of minutes to convince him to stop the car … because he was driving with a pig in a sack.

So how am I Honduran?

1) I wear my Honduras jersey with as much pride as any Honduran

2) I’m listening to Montez de Durango (Mexican banda) as I write this

3) I use the Honduran hand flip when I’m explaining things

4) I now point to things with my lips

5) People here drink out of bags (soda, water) and the food that I get each day on this study comes with a bag of homemade orange juice. Well, while biting the corner to open the bag I notice that there’s a bug floating around in the juice. Did I flinch? Nope. Did I discreetly “spill” the juice? Nah. I drank it and just pinched the bug between my fingers so I didn’t drink it. Gross? You make think so.

6) On studies, instead of using the hand gel that I keep with me at all times, I just eat with my dirty hands. Adds flavor. Stupid? Probably, but I haven’t gotten sick yet.

7) I speak a bastardized form of Spanish with the proper voice inflection; “NOOOMBRE”

8) I love tortillas and mantequilla

9) I now expect a break/snack at 10 am and 3 pm every day without fail

10) I will dip anything in my coffee

11) I find it unnecessary to bathe every day (especially now that the water is so damn cold). Why bathe when everyone else smells? Why can’t I just add to it?

How am I so very different from being a Honduran?

1) I won’t go “mining for gold” in my nose and ears during a meeting

2) I don’t spit loogies indoors and outdoors

3) I won’t put up with Honduran men/ I still hate pirropos

4) I have yet to adopt Hondurena fashion

5) I still like dogs

6) I was trying out new methods of washing my hair to avoid the freezing cold water touching my back and was washing it in my pila (outside, massive cement water holding structure SEE PICTURES). I was rinsing my hair and I look over and there’s a dead gecko floating in the water … … “EWWW GROOOOSSS! I washed my hair with dead gecko water?! EWWWW”

7) I still shriek when I see a massive cockroach on my wall and immediately run for the Raid

Other Volunteers will probably find this more entertaining and I know I had other ones, but I forgot. Anyways, CONGRATULATIONS H14 on making it 6 months!

I do have to say that I’m pretty proud of Bourbon’s guard dog abilities. Last night I would have been pretty annoyed, but I couldn’t help but be touched that he was looking out for me.

I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep and Bourbon kept flipping out. Apparently, he was hearing stuff that I wasn’t picking up, but that’s to be expected. He’s been sleeping in the other room recently and it started out with him lying there and growling. At one point, I did hear the metal sheet that I have temporarily blocking the porton (so he doesn’t get out) fall down. Our reactions show the differences in our natural instincts:

Hannah suddenly becomes motionless in bed and pulls her covers up to her ears. I honestly was thinking, “If I don’t move maybe I can hear better and they won’t realize I’m in here … “

Well that was blasted all to hell when Bourbon went nuts and started barking and growling. What was cute was that he came into my room and to seemingly check on me. He stayed in the room with me, until, encouraged by his brave behavior, I crept towards the front door to get a feel for whom or what was out there. Actually, his reaction probably had me more worked up than anything. But, after a while it was clear there wasn’t anyone/anything out there and I went back to bed. Bourbon, on the other hand kept growling for a while and then randomly barked again right as I was starting to fall asleep!

Great story, right? That was only part of it. Well, as has become my new custom, I woke up and let Bourbon out at 5 am and then crawled back into bed. I slept in really late this morning and when I woke up again I realized that he hadn’t been bugging me most of the morning like he usually does. Well, I spring out of bed, ready to find the next clothing casualty to sharp puppy teeth, but as I walk out the back door I see Bourbon chilling in the sun with … a friend!

There’s German shepherd looking dog chilling on the back porch. Upon seeing me he jumps up and makes to leave the yard and I encouraged him by following, “tssst tssst” all the way behind. The “tsst tsst” is a bad Honduran habit that I’ve picked up to chase away dogs. I hate when Hondurans do it (especially to my dog), but then I find myself doing it all the time, although in my defense it’s really all they listen to.

Well, Pablo (that’s what I named him) comes back almost immediately. He’s well fed and doesn’t seem to have any weird infections or bugs, so I let him chill out. This also indicates to me that he has a home and that he might actually be loved because the family apparently feeds him. I don’t know why, but there’s something about the way he was acting that was just so desperate and I felt bad for him.

Today I finally painted my room! I was in the house busy painting and the dogs chilled outside for most of the day. It was warmer today than it has been and I found Pablo sleeping in my kitchen under my broken horno (wood fire) where I’m to store my wood. He wasn’t bothering anyone so I let him chill there because it’s cooler.

I have to admit that I did feed Pablo a little bit. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was feeding Bourbon and I felt bad! I just gave him a little bit …

Nothing all that remarkable happened all day. I don’t know what Pablo’s deal is, because he doesn’t seem all that interested in Bourbon and he’s been whining a lot. I left at one point to go run some errands and he followed me. When I came back to the house a few minutes later he was already here, but I think he’s adopted me more than he has adopted Bourbon. Whenever I would go out to check on them he would start whimpering a bit, which I thought was odd. He acts as if he might be in pain. I started freaking out that he had come to my house to die and what in the world was I going to do with a dead dog?!

Towards evening I had finished painting and made dinner. Now that I was moving around more he tried to come farther into the house and I wasn’t having that. Also, Bourbon was trying to play and Pablo started growling at him. At one point, when I sat down to eat, I heard Bourbon yelp and Pablo start growling really loud. I think Bourbon was probably being annoying (he generally is) and Pablo was telling him to knock it off, but I chased him out of the yard anyways. I stood there for a while, making sure he wouldn’t knock down my escaping-puppy-blocker, but the minute I walked away I heard the metal clang and I knew Pablo was back. I kept yelling, “Go home!!” but he didn’t seem to get the clue.

There’s nothing I can do to get this dog away! I brought Bourbon inside and shut the doors to feed him (I felt bad feeding Bourbon and not giving any food to Pablo) and he was still around! Not only that, but he’s guarding the house now too! He’s pretty vigilant, because every few minutes he was barking at something!

I let Bourbon out a little later and there was Pablo on the front porch! People have been setting off fireworks a lot recently (no idea why) and Pablo really doesn’t like that. I was standing on the front porch and the fireworks went off and he came and hid behind me. All of the sudden I was getting tripped up by dogs as Bourbon was trying to play with Pablo and Pablo was trying to hide. Then, it struck me at how absurd this whole situation is … I have a puppy that I can barely handle and now an adult dog has decided to adopt me? I even threw a rock at him earlier (didn’t hit him!) and he came back! Why is he here?

I’m not that annoyed because he’s a nice dog and seems to understand me when I talk to him (usual dog commands) but what I’m really afraid of is myself. If this dog keeps hanging around my dog-liking-self will be tempted to adopt him too and I just can’t afford that! Imagine trying to find someone to dog sit TWO dogs? Impossible! Not only that, but I creeped myself out by imagining that it was Tucker in another dog’s body, coming to visit me now that he can (meaning that he died and that his spirit can now possess other dog bodies, naturally). I’m painting my room thinking about all this and march outside to run a test. Pablo and Bourbon are just lying around and, without looking at him directly, I say, “Tucker!” Now, he didn’t exactly act like that was his name, but he did perk up his ears and move his head. This was more of a reaction than what I got earlier when I tested typical Honduran dog names on him (Doggie, Chucho [which means dog in Spanish] and Toby). He didn’t react to any of the Honduran names.

Anyways, so this is my adventure for the day. I have been adopted by a Honduran dog and I don’t know why. He seems to need something, but I can’t figure it out. I’ll tell you what though, Bourbon is happy to have a companion even if Pablo doesn’t play with him. I’m sure he’ll move on eventually, but I still wonder why he picked us?

- - -

Next Morning

So, do the usual wake up and let Bourbon out, and then I hear the metal sheet clang, “He’s still here?!” Well they’re just playing, a joyful reunion, so I let them go and go inside to sweep and grumble about being up too early on a Sunday. Well, totally forgot that the metal sheet was down and in about 40 minutes I remember. I run outside and of course they’re nowhere to be seen.

Pull on somewhat suitable clothes to go traipsing around Corquin in and grab the leash and I’m off. I haven’t the slightest clue where these two could be and I’m worried that someone has picked up Bourbon and drove off. It didn’t take long for me to find them on the main street eating trash. I grab Bourbon, yell at him, and put him on the leash, all the while telling Pablo he’s a bad influence and to go home. Then, I realize that, not only am I speaking English, but I’m talking to two dogs…

:AHEM: Straighten up my clothes … And to Bourbon, “Bad dog! We’re going home!”

To avoid going through the Sunday crowd in the plazita I take a longer route and the more we walk the more Pablo gets upset. He starts running ahead of us, whining a little bit, but then as we get closer to my house he starts jumping on me and biting the leash. He kept running around us and then tugging on the leash and there wasn’t anything I could do to get this dog away.

We got home and I tried to scare him off, but rocks and brooms aren’t working anymore. He’s determined to stay. Now he’s made me angry and I don’t know what to do. That’s the update. You buys probably don’t care, but I think this is absolutely absurd. Maybe someone will admire Pablo and I can sell him for a lot of money! Just joking … Kind of.

Well considering the fact that Bourbon has decided to wage war on my bras, I have found it necessary to go shopping for a couple more bras here in Honduras.

Let me explain the bra situation here in Honduras: Women here don’t know how to buy bras. Now, don’t get me wrong, because after one bra shopping adventure on my own my Mom banned me from entering a changing room without her supervision.

Hello! My name is Hannah and I am 23 years old and my Mom still helps me buy bras!

Anyways, these women have the double boob going (when the bra fits too tight) or the pointy boob deal. I honestly don’t know what they’re doing wrong, but there isn’t one Honduran woman who has a properly fitted bra. Now, afraid that my boobs would start to look like that (I’m not interested in integrating THAT much!), I decided to wait until a Santa Rosa trip to go to one of the nicer stores and actually drop some serious cash on bras.

Well, it just so happened last weekend we were having a going away party for a couple of friends and I got there early to get some shopping done before everyone else got into town. Now, Kathryn couldn’t go because she was baking cupcakes (delicious!) and Darren refused to go, claiming that it would really be best for both of us that he didn’t accompany me because he would just complain the entire time. Rachel was on her way in with her husband and I texted her, “Want to go bra shopping with me? Pweeeze?” to which she responded, “Umm…” I took that as a NO.

So, after doing a couple of angry dances, I set off on the wonderful adventure of shopping for bras in Honduras. I walk into this store and am immediately overwhelmed by all the clothing options. It’s like a department store (smaller though) and I haven’t been shopping like this in over 10 months. GROAN. I finally find the bras and get to work. They’re all lacey, they’re all SUPER padded and it’s just too much for me. Ask Molly, she was on the phone with me for part of the time …

“This is RIDICULOUS! I don’t want my boobs to be nuzzled under my chin! Aren’t there any bras without a MONTON of padding?? I, I just can’t handle this. This is ridiculous. Oh, perfect, Playboy bunny. Now THAT is just what I’m looking for! So fits my style! Who knew?! Isn’t there just plain BLACK?”

Lucky her, my phone died and she didn’t have to listen to that anymore. So I pick the “modest” bras and go into the changing room. OOF I forgot how God awful those mirrors are. Still ate four cupcakes later though …

Most of the bras didn’t even fit, but when one did I threw my T-shirt on over top thrust out my chest, trying to make sure that I wasn’t sporting the Honduran boob look. I was probably in the changing room for hours, looking at myself from all possible angles, paranoid as hell that I would walk out of there with misshapen boobs.

The entire time I was wondering around the store people were following me. I probably looked so mean that they didn’t want to approach me. It was like I was 15 again and me and my friends would wander into stores and the sales ladies would follow us around. I was always so offended that they thought I was going to steal something. Still offends me today, as I walk around the store, muttering, “Lay off! I’m JUST looking. GOD!” At this point I was so flustered and worked up that my cheeks were bright red and I was sweating profusely. If big stores do that to me in Honduras I will probably faint when I visit the States. It was so overwhelming I could barely handle myself.

Finally, I decide on two bras and get out of there. Well, I can’t just walk down to the cash register, because that would make too much sense. Apparently, these people following me were intended to help me and then when I am ready to buy my things they have to carry them down to the cash register for me. There’s one register, all the customers and then the sales clerks who are helping the customers. This means a cluster ***** of people waiting to check out.

Now, you ask, what nice service did this sales clerk provide? NOTHING! Waste of space and money to pay her salary. She literally just ripped the tags off the bras, removed the security thingers and then put the bras on the counter. This wasn’t anything that I or the cash register lady couldn’t do. Actually, I have nothing against her, but the one in front of me …

The attendant lady in front of me was taking the security tags off of another customer’s purchases and after the removal of each tag she FLUNG the item of clothing over her shoulder. I was so frazzled and ready to get out that I didn’t notice the dress flying towards my head and got smacked in the fact with some obnoxious bow or button. I wanted to punch her in the face.

Then, when you think the attendant lady would have moved to allow me to pay, she continued to stand there in front of me so that I couldn’t access the counter to give the woman my card … GAAAH!

I busted out of that stored like I was being let out of prison. I am NEVER doing that again!

Naturally, when I got back to Kat’s apartment everyone had gotten there and I was forced to show them my purchases. Later, when people had left and it was just Rachel and Kathryn in the apartment, I tried on my new bras for them and made sure that I was safe from the Honduran bra curse.

I swear, if I went through all that emotional trauma and Bourbon even so much as LOOKS at one of those bras I am selling him to the highest bidder!

I was talking to my Dad the other day on the phone and he was asking about Bourbon …

“Dad,” I groan, “Puppies aren’t fun. They’re a lot of work!”

“Hannah, you only thought puppies were fun because you never had to train them or deal with their chewing …”

Touche.

The other day I can home from a long day of getting my butt kicked by Honduran mountains and creeks. I’ve always considered myself to be a well-balanced person, and despite not being the most graceful person (ironic because my name means “Graceful One”) I still manage to walk on more challenging terrain. Here I am in my state-of-the-art hiking boots that I agonized over for like 45 minutes in EMS before I bought them and I can’t maintain a vertical position. Then, the guys that are helping me on the study, have beat up sneakers and botas de hule (rain boots – PS that cost about $6.50 [130 Lempiras]) and they’re running circles around me on the steepest part of the study.

The particular study I am working on at the moment gave me the immense pleasure of having to cross a gazillion creeks. Now, I am developing a conspiracy theory that the U.S., in its quest to be perfect, has actually visited every creek in the U.S. and has arranged stones to make for easy crossing. Seriously, because Honduras does not have that and I don’t ever remember falling in a creek in the States. EVER!

The first day of the study my right boot squished the entire day because I managed to dip it in every body of water that we crossed. At the end of the second day my crossing skills were so poor that I might as well have just walked into the stream and just stood there. Ridiculous. By the second crossing we needed to make, which has fewer stepping rocks and was deeper, I just Carrie Bradshaw-running-in-heels “skipped” across the stream. I even added in her high pitched squeals for good measure.

What’s really funny is I’m a girl. See, in Honduras, women don’t do these sorts of things. Just so happens, that that second day the mountain had really kicked my @$$ and not only were my pants wet up to my knees, but absolutely covered in mud as well. Conveniently enough there was a meeting in ODECO right when I got (actually both days). Now day #1 was a meeting just within my office, which means they lock up the entire office and go into the conference room, which can be accessed outside. I’d be damned if I was going to walk that equipment back to my house, so I stood outside dancing around because of the immense embarrassment of having to interrupt the meeting, especially looking the way I did. Finally, I just went for it, like diving into freezing water … I opened the door and added a quick, “Disculpe…” and Carrie Bradshaw skipped as fast as I could into the main office. GOD THE SHAME! They all stared. I could feel it!

Anyways, the second day I didn’t have to interrupt my co-workers, but I did have to enter into the office when there were a bunch of families standing around, which meant the presence of several women. I walk in with my wet pants and frizzy hair and I literally could hear gasps. Literally. I waited around the office for the rain to chill out and I could hear women saying, “Do you see her? Que SUCIA! (How dirty!) Pobrecita (Poor thing!).” At least they aren’t criticizing me, but they feel bad for me, because it’s as if ODECO and Peace Corps are forcing me to do this work and get that dirty. In actuality, it’s because I am, apparently, completely inept at walking.

As a result of my inability to cross so much as a puddle, whenever we come across some semblance of a body of water, Niche, the fontanero (master plumber for the water system) holds my hands as I cross. Keeps me dry, but also brings snickers from his sons who are helping us.

That was a long sidenote. I’ll shorten the rest of the story then … I’m laying on my yoga mat trying to do sit-ups while systematically fighting off my puppy and I hear a sharp rap at my BACK door. Now, if it were Carlos Arturo his sing song voice would be calling my name. Apart from him no one should be visiting my house unannounced … HMMM! It was so wonderful too because I was still in my pajamas at around 10:00 am (work had been canceled). I slowly walk out to my back porch and find a man standing there that looks vaguely familiar, but it takes me a while to place him. He’s the guy who actually owns the house, the son of the people I’ve coordinated with to get the lease, etc.

He was just stopping by because he is in Corquin for a couple of days (he lives on their coffee finca) and wanted to check on the house. We were talking about stuff that needed to be done and he alerted me that he had sent someone to spray weed killer on my yard (the weeds were so big that even my gigantic puppy would get lost walking around in them). I wish he had told me that before and I am disappointed they also sprayed the flowers, but at least some things are getting done around here.

So, we’re standing there talking about various things and all the sudden Bourbon comes rushing around the corner with my bright pink, lacey Victoria’s Secret bra hanging from his mouth! The bra was one of the many clothing casualties, but one that I couldn’t sew back together so it was relinquished to Bourbon as a chew toy. I couldn’t have been more mortified and Jefferson (the guy) was obviously less mortified. I wanted to scream, “My underwear isn’t that fancy! That was the fanciest one! The others are cream and white! Nothing special!” I mean, Honduran men already have this idea that American women are incredibly sexually liberated and we’re sex goddesses. Now, excuse me for trying to set them right, but I don’t need any more attention on the streets than I already get and my dog running around with my lacey bra is precisely what I don’t want them to see.

To make things even better, when I left the house about an hour later I saw that Bourbon had deposited the bra on my front porch! AWESOME.

So this blog is entitled dog woes and that’s mostly because Bourbon has been a slight jerk the past few days. I was gone for about a week for Halloween and then I did work for a few days after that in a friend’s site. Bourbon stayed with my counter-part, Carlos Arturo. Apparently, he didn’t handle being tied-up outside well, but when they let him in the house he felt it was acceptable to jump up on their furniture. He can’t sleep anywhere that isn’t 100% comfortable.

After I got back I left again for an overnight trip to Santa Rosa to say good-bye to two friends. Bourbon stayed with my sitemate that night and apparently decided it was acceptable to poop and pee all over their front porch. PERFECT!

He was mad at me for being gone so long and I understand that. It’s really annoying that my damn dog is so damn vindictive, but what can I do? Well, yesterday I went to the office and left Bourbon on the line out back. Came home for a little bit to make lunch and then left again for about an hour to run some errands. I come home and he’s pulled my jeans and a nice shirt off the laundry line. Now, the jeans which already have holes and I only wear on studies are untouched. BUT! The nice pink shirt which was one of the only shirts I have left without stains/holes has a beautiful quarter-sized hole right in the front of the shirt. Will I sew it back together? Of course. Was I livid? You betcha!

As a punishment he stayed locked up on the line for the rest of the time I was home and then during my English classes. I told myself I would keep him out there all night, because I need to get him accustomed to being A DOG!, but I couldn’t be that mean and let him in.

Well, my allergies seemed to have taken on a new form of let’s-try-to-make-Hannah’s-head-explode and I was doing one of those fifteen sneezes in a row performances. I felt like crap and settled into bed with the cheery movie “Dark Knight” at around 7:30 pm. Another scheme of mine to get Bourbon less attached to me (and also reduce the ridiculous sneezing) is that he is now sleeping in his own room. Well, he didn’t like being excluded and it took a while for him to settle down. A couple of times I found him sleeping on the two chairs in my main room, which made me fly into a rage, “You little :expletive:! Why are you so bad?!”

What I have learned about a puppy is that if they are perfectly quiet they are destroying something or doing something bad. He was silent and all I could picture was him chewing my shoes. I paused the movie and grabbed my cell phone to light the house (it does a really poor job, PS).

“Where are you? What are you doing?”

He wasn’t in his dog bed and he wasn’t chewing shoes. Then I hear a “slurp.”

“Dammit are you licking my soap again?!” Puppy comes flying out from the shower curtain and in an attempt to grap him I smack my head on the wooden door frame. That was exactly the opposite of what I needed for my head at the moment. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even think or at least to think more than locking him in his room and crawling back into bed. That’s what I get for sometimes losing my mind with him, but when he gets several things in one day I just can’t handle it!

This morning I didn’t roll out of bed until 9 am, which is like sleeping in until 1 pm in the States. Noise here starts around 6 am when the construction workers get to the site in the morning. Usually I can force myself to sleep until 7 am if I am lucky. Today I was comatose until 7 am and that might have something to do with the two Benadryl I took in the middle of the night …

In my sneezing, I’m sleeping stupor I decided I couldn’t handle it anymore, and without even getting up, reached under my bed and pulled out my Peace Corps medical kit. I pulled it up onto my bed, found my cell phone and rummaged through it until I found the plastic bag holding Benadryl. I Ripped off two capsules, threw the briefcase sized medical kit on the floor, and took the Benadryl. Honestly, I was so desperate I wouldn’t be surprised if I had chewed them. I woke up this morning and was kind of disoriented when I saw how late it was. How could I manage to sleep this late? I look over at my night stand and see the two empty packages and laugh, “Oh Hannah.” I don’t know if that’s not safe, but all I know is I slept beautifully the rest of the night and I no longer feel as though my head is going to explode … maybe that’s because I killed so many brain cells.

When I got up this morning and looked into Bourbon’s room (I had been up earlier to let him out and feed him) he had been chewing the Frisbee that was given to me and he had pulled off my bookshelf.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” I like being able to say that!

I mentioned in my last email that I went on a “retreat” with my office on Tuesday and Wednesday. We had a hellish meeting on Monday and Abran mentioned that, if some people didn’t show up, that I might be able to go.

Note on hellish meetings in Honduras: They’re everywhere! Each month we have an office meeting where everyone goes over what they did last month and what they will do the current month. Now, not to be a snobbish American or anything, but this issue baffled my mind. So, in our office there are various projects going at the same time. There’s the team working with agro-negocios (agricultural businesses), the people working with small-scale farmers and then also a small team that works with Heifer Project International. There was a complaint that the tecnicos (working with the small scale farmers) didn’t attend a meeting with the business people. Well, in all fairness, the tecnicos weren’t told that this meeting was taking place. Anyways, the conclusion to this problem was that there should be communication amongst the projects … As in, before there wasn’t communication between the projects. I mean, it’s just kind of funny, because it was a significant revelation for them and I’m just sitting there thinking, “I can’t believe this didn’t occur to you before…”

So, I show up to the office on Tuesday morning and it turns out that a few people weren’t able to go and therefore I was invited along. I was kind of unsure about going. The Monday meeting was all-day Spanish and having another 2 days full of Spanish was sure to render me incapable of any languages by Thursday. Hearing or speaking that much Spanish is EXHAUSTING and has a serious affect on my mental capabilities in general. Also, like it or not I don’t have that much to talk to these people about. I’m not the best small conversationalist and when it’s hard to find common ground it really makes things even worse for me. I didn’t know what I was going to do, really. But, it wasn’t something I could turn down and I would have been lame for not going because I was concerned about it being awkward. I mean, if I wanted to avoid awkwardness in Honduras I could simply never leave my house.

We got a chartered busito (smaller than a bus) all the way to Gracias, Lempira. In all I think it took us 4 hours to get there. I love Honduras. So we end up leaving the office at 8:30 and we stop in Santa Rosa for merienda. There people don’t go more than 2 hours without eating. So we stop and have our coffee and tajadas and continue on our merry way to the finca.

There’s a network of fincas (farms) in Honduras called fincas humanas (I’m not translating that for you guys). So these fincas are all about innovative, organic farming, but also focusing on the social aspect of a farm. They do a lot with the family and encouraging the participation of women in the family, etc. We actually visited the most advanced one in Siguatepeque during Reconnect and it was really interesting. This guy had a lot more going on, but the guy in Gracias has some good ideas too. Actually, he might have been better because he was closer to where our productores are, which I think was more encouraging for them.

We immediately got to work when we got there. We started by hearing about how he started his farm, etc. Honestly, I could barely understand the man, but I know that he only finished first grade before he started working. He couldn’t read or write, but over the years through working and saving was finally able to buy his own land. In that time, he also taught himself to read and write; it was really quite an inspirational story. Over time he could slowly expand his property and through training and such he became involved in the Finca Humana and now has a small training center.

I think the most interesting thing, for me, was spending that much time with the productores and their families. Only one wife accompanied her husband, even though it was suggested that couples come if at all possible. All the other men brought their children, which I thought was interesting. A couple brought their sons who are their right-hand-boys, but a couple brought their daughters, which I guess almost counts as their wives.

Throughout the 24 hours or so that we were in the training center both Don Moises (the owner) and our tecnicos kept talking about the importance of the involvement of the women. Now, this commendable and I’m not complaining about that fact, but they were talking out of both sides of their mouths. Social change like the emancipation of women didn’t happen overnight, especially without anyone really making much of an effort or expecting immediate change.

For instance, these families are committed to making such changes. The projects don’t just involve what’s going on in their fields, but also in their houses. The idea is that these families advance in all manners. Great. Awesome. Wonderful. BUT, there are still clear boundaries between the territory of men and women in this country. One of the activities was learning how to “injertar.” They got little branches of grown lemon and orange trees and then cut them so that they could be inserted into an 8 month old tree of lemon. That way, when the tree gets bigger it’s actually growing oranges even though it may be a lemon tree. I know that wasn’t articulate, but I can’t remember what you would call that in English and I don’t have internet right now.

Anyways, so all the women had to do this too, which was great. But, fact of the matter is, when they go home to their houses the women won’t be doing this sort of work. ODECO and finca humana showcases might encourage the women to get out and participate in the finca, but they’re needed more in the home and therefore they won’t ever really do it. Now, I know the thought is important as well, but I think if these people are really serious about involving women then they have to give the women a reason to be involved.

I honestly think the one wife that did end up coming was A) forced to B) just wanted to get out of the house. There wasn’t anything all that interesting there for her. If someone wants me to leave my children, my housework and my chickens (women care for the chickens in this country) there better be a damn good reason for it. What’s in it for me? And in this finca there really wasn’t anything for these women. Why not, while the men are learning about fertilizers and they like, women get a different informational session on fogones (stoves). Every women has a fogon and most of them suck because they were never constructed properly. Show them a sample of a good fogon or the importance of having proper ventilation. Let them share bread recipes or give them more sanitation orientated information because they are the primary caregivers in their household. Educate them about fincas and the importance of THEIR work in the farm. Give them something interesting to participate in when they aren’t interested in what the men are doing.

That was my rant. I thought they were a little hypocritical, but at least they’re beginning to get there. Oh, one more thing! There is NO chivalry in Honduras!! You’ll see a couple riding around on a motorcycle and the guy will have the helmet on! I mean, if Chris did that to me I would be seriously offended. That’s just me.

So there were three rooms we slept in that night. The men were in one room and the women were in another. The doors to the rooms were locked and when Don Moises opened the first room (where the women were to sleep) nervous squeals erupted from the crowd around the door. I didn’t think much of it, but then this contest for beds started and I got curious as to the accommodations and wandered over there… BUNK BEDS! Now for me, bunk beds bring flashbacks of being a kid and fighting over the top bunk at sleepovers, rented houses and the like. I thought it was hilarious and economical, but the Hondurans were really nervous. I mean, I guess the majority of these families don’t have bunk beds (although, for the number of children they have and the space that’s available to them it would really make more sense). A lot of the kids ended up grabbing the top bunks. I think some were forced and only the more brave ones actually elected them.

Well, we’re getting ready to go to bed and I was exhausted. A couple of the younger girls decide to share and proceeded to spend like 45 minutes shuffling the mattress around so that it wasn’t close to the edge. They were climbing around up there and would occasionally squeal with fear about falling over. After what seemed like forever everyone got settled down and I was hoping I would be able to sleep. We were forced to keep the light on because the girls were afraid of sleeping away from home and didn’t want the light to be off. Now, I was on the top bunk (everyone thought I was so brave and were amazed I didn’t take the bottom bunk under me that was open) and I’m trying to forget the light was on (it’s been years since I’ve had to sleep all night with the light on) and the girl, Blanca, sharing with another girl decides she can’t sleep on the outside up top and then we start musical beds all over again.

It was really cold that night and I had a hard time sleeping between that and the light being on. I remember I rolled over at one point during the night and looked over at one of the girls and she was staring at me. SO CREEPY! I pretended I didn’t notice and then had to coach myself that she wasn’t a zombie before I fell back asleep again.

Anyways, we woke up in the morning and instead of asking the usual, “Como almanecio? “How did you wake (up)?” but “Did you/anyone fall of the top bed last night?”

Apparently people thought someone fell in the girls’ room last night, but they were probably just deceived by all the giggling and musical-bed-playing that the girls were doing. During the whole choosing-of-the-beds it ended up that Armando, one of the ODECO tecnicos was above one of the skinnier, smaller guys in the group. Not only is Armando a heavier guy, but he’s also taller than most Honduran men (probably 5’9”). The entire day Denis, one of the productores, was worrying about the bed breaking during the night. Well…

Around midnight Armando decided he couldn’t sleep was going to take a walk around the farm for a little bit. He gets up and starts climbing down the bunk and Denis sits up and screams “SANTA MARIA!” and jumps out of bed. This probably doesn’t translate well on the internet, but they had me hysterically laughing each time they told the story (which ended up being 100 times by the end of the day!). SANTA MARIA! He thought the bed was collapsing and sprung out of bed as fast as he could. If you had seen how preoccupied these people were about these beds maybe it would be a little funnier for you, but I still can’t help but laugh.

Did I learn a lot at this finca? Yes. Is it really anything that I can take and apply to my work in Peace Corps? Yes, because while it may not pertain to Wat/San, it will help me relate to the people and understand better what they are trying to implement in their fincas. In hindsight I should have asked where water and sanitation entered into their finca to see if he had any new insights, but there wasn’t really a place that that would have been pertinent.

I think what was more poignant about that trip was the experience I had with the people. By the end of the second day the girls were hanging onto me and asking me more questions. I had opened up more too and felt more comfortable making small talk. But also, it’s recognizing the fundamental differences between my life experience and their life experience that really struck me. The fact that bunk beds could stir people like that and make them that emotional and excited is something so small, but so striking. I’m sure they’ve seen bunk beds on T.V. or in the stores, but most had probably never actually slept in one. Their lives are so isolated and I think a lot of the time I don’t realize how isolated they are or rather, how immensely different their experiences are from mine.

It’s hard to express the experience … well here’s how I can try explain it:

Often times when you talk to people in Honduras they will ask you a question like so, “Is it true in the United States that…” Insert in that space anything you want and I have probably been asked that question. Now they’ve seen movies from the U.S. and have family members that tell them things about the States (still usually wrong) and they form judgments and assumptions about life there accordingly.

Before I came to Honduras with the Peace Corps I didn’t have any exposure to the country or the culture. I knew absolutely nothing about Honduras. When I got my assignment the first thing I did was hop on Wikipedia and got the general information about the country. But Wikipedia isn’t able to tell you: “The people you might have contact with won’t be comfortable with spending a night away from home because they never have before.” Or whatever. The thing is, there are so many days (every day) that I’m not prepared for what I experience. Do I know we live totally different lives? Yes. But, at the same time, that doesn’t mean that the differences aren’t incredibly striking when you experience them.

Speaking of the “Is it true in the United States that…” The other night I went to my English classes only to discover that the lights weren’t working in the classroom. We just stood outside for a little bit, which opened me up to the usual barrage of questions and one in particular really surprised me…

“Hannah, is it true in the United States that, when a woman is lonely, she can buy a part of a man…?”

Hannah stands there, running through all the various interpretations this question could have, wishing that she could just disappear “Como/COME AGAIN?”

I actually couldn’t really understand her that well and had to get a couple of repeats of the question before I ventured to think that I understood what she was asking. This made the situation all that more awkward.

“You know when a woman doesn’t have a man and she still has needs … she can buy a penis…”

“To have sexual relations…” finally finishes one of the other students.

At that point I couldn’t really play dumb and had to think for a few seconds how I was going to diplomatically answer this question before these girls thought all women in the U.S. used vibrators/dildos and they’re on the shelves in the grocery store. It’s really hard to explain these matters to giggly teenage girls in broken Spanish. I tried to be diplomatic and politically correct, but in the end I think I only confirmed their existence in the U.S. market. That was one I really wasn’t expecting!

Pretty much every day I think “I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR THIS!”

I finished my first study yesterday. I’m done with the equipment at least and now have moved on to the ever-so-scary design process. One of the earlier Wat/San Volunteers made this uber complicated spreadsheet on Excel to design these gravity systems. I mean, this thing is so massive that whenever I save it my computer is too overwhelmed to function for 30 seconds; this is the new computer!

Anyways, I was thinking this morning about the weird creatures (mostly bugs) that I have encountered in my time in Honduras. What does this have to do with my study? I’m not sure, but manly the campesinos that help me during the studies really only seem to enjoy the part where the show the gringa the creepy bugs along the way. Yesterday was the first day I had done a study by myself and it was really boring. I mean, with Kathryn there we can joke around a little bit and it eventually gets boring, but it’s not the entire day alone! The campesinos don’t really talk that much. The only time they get animated is when they get to chop stuff down to clear a view for the equipment. For those 5 minutes they’re chattering and destroying every living thing in their way and then they return to being zombies when I shout, “Ok! That’s enough!” I mean, they’re chopping stuff that isn’t even remotely close to the equipment at this point. These guys are machete happy … and it makes me want one!

According to the campesinos everything “pica.” Everything stings and everything will manchar (like stain) my skin, especially gringas. Despite the fact that every bug in Honduras seems to pose a serious threat to my health and my skin I have developed a tolerance for freaky bugs. I was never one to be scared of bugs or spiders. I have bugs that I don’t like and the weirder ones always provoke a little more hesitance, but mostly I am a tolerant person on the bug front.

Although, what I am not tolerant of are the tiny gnat-like creatures in the campo! Yesterday I didn’t wear long-sleeves to Joconales and immediately regretted it. Those little buggers bite and it hurts! It’s not like mosquitoes where it’s just annoying; you have these bites for DAYS and they ache and itch at the same time! Terrible creatures and apparently there’s a plague in Joconales. LOVE IT! Also, they seem to love biting on the elbows, which is just cruel. I don’t know if you are able to recall how terrible it is for your elbow to itch, but trust me, it’s terribly annoying! Actually, yesterday I experienced my first neck bite and I will say that that’s rivaling the elbows. So uncalled for!

Despite the fact that my house is a little old and seems to be more open to a myriad of problems, such as cockroaches, electrical problems and an increasingly leaky roof, it does seem to keep out the really creepy creatures.

I have a very large spider that lives in my bathroom who I have decided to leave in my bathroom. Every day I regarded him with some hesitence because he is quite an interesting looking spider. By interesting I mean terrifying. Probably the day I named him, Flat Stanley, was the day it was decided he wouldn’t be humanely disposed of outside. I was contemplating name options when I was … brushing my teeth … and Flat Stanley seemed perfect. He’s flat, but also the name brings back warmer childhood memories (I never actually did Flat Stanley, but my brother and sister did and I remember thinking it was a cool idea…) and therefore makes him less terrifying. I hadn’t seen Flat Stanley in a while and was starting to worry that he had deserted me, but when I was brushing my teeth this morning he was there in his usual spot. He is pretty creepy looking; didn’t really remember how creepy looking he is, but now that he’s named he’s here to stay.

I’ve also accepted the presence (albeit diminished presence) of cockroaches in my house. I don’t see them as often as I used to. The can of Raid still resides in a handy spot, but hasn’t been used in a little while. All my food is securely stored in various containers and I think this has helped a lot. My bathroom seems to be their main stronghold, which is acceptable, I suppose. On midnight puppy pee outings I see fewer of those nasty little creatures running around. I tried to drown one in the sink the other night, but was unsuccessful. My only real problem with them being in the bathroom is their potential occupation of the toilet seat. Ensuring that my puppy is not going to pee all over the house (which he somehow still accomplishes some nights) I also find it is also good for the health of my bladder.

One of the first couple of nights I lived here I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and noticed movement under the toilet seat. I should have ignored my curiosity and endured the urge, but instead lifted the toilet seat to find like three cockroaches crawling around. GROSS. Since then I’ve had this fear that they’re there every time I go to sit down. Also doesn’t help that I don’t have electricity in my bathroom and therefore have to rely on a headlamp to light the room.

Remember, as a kid where you just have unfounded fears of certain things? Monsters under the bed, wolves in the backyard at night (that was me) or possibly creepy creatures crawling out of the toilet bowl? No? No one? I remember a classmate supposedly “read” in the newspaper (keep in mind I was probably in third grade when this happened) that a baby alligator was living in a family’s toilet and they discovered its residence in their bathroom when it viciously bit the father during a prolonged bathroom visit. For a while after I heard this story I was a little freaked out that we had a baby alligator too. I remember trying to find the most effective I’m-ready-to-flee position, all the while momentarily checking that nothing had climbed out of the plumbing.

With time and maturity I think I eventually got over the fear, but now I feel like a little kid again. I routinely clean my bathroom to keep it from being gross and therefore desirable place for cockroaches to live. Even though I doubt they’re still wandering around my toilet bowl I cannot help but have a little bit of anxiety each time I go in there in the middle of the night. I think the kid inside me is somewhat triumphant that one of those “unfounded fears” has somewhat been fulfilled.

At any rate, I now consider myself to have timeshare with cockroaches. I am the daytime inhabitant and they are permitted limited roaming in the night time. One creature that has been denied a timeshare was the creepy little creature I encountered in my bed last night. I was putting some clothes away and saw something dart under the sheet; “Aww HELL NO!”

Outside: perfect.

On the floor, in my house: permissible.

Under the toilet seat: depends on your biting capabilities.

In my bed: not in your life!

Not only was this THING in my bed, but it was one funky looking bug. It almost looked what I would imagine a baby scorpion to look like. It was about half an inch long and had what appeared to be underdeveloped claws. The thorax was kind of like a bee with striped black and orange. It took me forever to get it onto a tissue and I promptly tossed it out the window. I then had to empty my entire bed to ensure that its brothers and sisters weren’t crawling around in my sheets still.

So this is the agreement I’ve struck with the bugs here in Honduras and with Honduras itself. There are certain parts of Honduras and its culture that I will politely tolerate and other things that I just can’t bring myself to accept. For instance, they are building a warehouse in front of my house. I now have about 15 Honduran men outside my home from 6:30 am to about 4:00 pm, unless they decide to hang out on the steps and drink soda (at least it’s not alcohol). After the first week of “Hello amor!” every time I passed, we have now gotten it down to “Hello!” Granted I can still hear them say, “Here she comes!” or “She’s going to take me to the States!” but I appreciated the effort at discretion. I think they realized I ignored them more when they harassed me than when they were more polite.

SIDENOTE: I just had to chase a vulture away from drinking out of my pila. I wash my clothes with that water! UNACCEPTABLE. No timeshare there either!

Anyways, there’s a little boy (like 12 years old) that continuously harasses me. I mean, every time I pass I hear, “TSSSST TSST TSSST!” Do this out loud. Go ahead, do it. Have a friend do it. Now imagine some prepubescent little boy doing this multiple times as day TO HIT ON YOU! How annoying is that?? It’s supposed to be a compliment, but to me it’s more like nails on a chalkboard. Plus, after the first couple of times I get the point and don’t feel as though it’s necessary for this to occur every time I pass!

I have now taken to just mumbling like a crazy woman when I walk by, “:mumble: how OLD are you?? :mumble mumble:”

“I’m old enough to be your mother! … Hannah, that’s a long shot. I mean, you would have had to be sexually active at a pretty early age …” At this point I realize people are staring at me, not in the “There’s the white girl!” way, but the, “Hey look … the white girl is talking to herself, weird.” sort of way.

On less tolerant days, “F******* OFF!” Being in Honduras has encouraged my swearing because there’s this assumption that people can’t understand that you’re saying…

A) Hondurans watch enough movies that they might recognize the majority of the words

B) The general sentiment of swearing is generally understood (like when my electricity went out and I used every curse word to express my frustration. My neighbor who yelled, “Hey!” probably understood more or less that these were bad words.

I’ve been trying to make more of an effort, but with this kid I just can’t help myself. That’s my least favorite form of pirropos (cat-calling), the “TSSST TSSST!” Little creeper. Maybe if he thinks I’m crazy he won’t bother me so much.

This was meant to be a short little blog about bugs and turned into a freaking novel. I’m sitting outside, letting the puppy dig up more trash in my backyard and enjoying my new battery life, and it’s so beautiful out that I just kept writing. Also, I think I was in the mood to write a blog, which is good because they’re usually more interesting that way. I should probably do laundry, sweep my floors or start this terrifying design. Probably won’t. Probably will go and watch more Sex and the City and then take a nap. I love being a free agent!

 

I don’t know if anyone noticed that I was lacking a major appliance in my kitchen … a refrigerator. I had been moderately harassing my office to take me to buy one, but there was always an excuse and I never ended up going. Well, I finally got serious about it last week and got on them about taking me. I almost went on Thursday, but last minute they didn’t have room in the bed of the pick-up and I got put off another day.

Well the director must have felt pretty bad, because Friday he had someone make a special trip for me, which is a pretty big deal because that’s gas they probably shouldn’t have “wasted.” I don’t see it as a waste, but they could have coordinated better because cars go to Santa Rosa every week. I really appreciated it though, because it really was a big gesture.

Well the entire ride to Santa Rosa I was like a child on the way to an amusement park. Every five minutes I would clap my hands and say, “Voy a comprar un refri!!”/ “I’m going to buy a fridge!” Well we get into the store and the fridge I had looked at (weeks ago) was naturally gone. The remaining ones were more expensive, but not too much and I was so ready to be able to buy milk and other lovely foods that require refrigeration. I was lucky Humberto was there, because he actually thought to ask about warranties and the like. I mean, I might have thought of that eventually, but then there’s the whole obstacle of trying to figure out how to express “warranty,” because I didn’t know the word. Anyways, paid up, which was painful, because that is by far the most money I’ve spent on a single object in Honduras. They hauled the fridge to the car and we were off! Fastest trip I’ve had to Santa Rosa, which was sad because I wanted to hang out and had more things to buy! Hah.

They secured the fridge in the bed of the pick-up and we were off to drive the windy, dangerous, pot-hole ridden highway back to Corquin. I was really nervous on the way back, because Humberto is an aggressive driver and at one point we almost had a head-on with an 18 wheeler. My friend Plankster (nickname) was visiting for the weekend and was in the car too. I squealed and covered my eyes with hands, which seemed to have been entertaining for them. I was more concerned for the safety of my fridge, but what good is a fridge if I’m not alive to use it?!

Well we’re halfway there and we start to slow down. What’s going on? Why are we stopping? Well one of the policemen (off-duty) had gotten a flat tire on his motorcycle and Humberto, being the kindly man that he is, stopped to give him a lift. Oh wait, not just the man, BUT THE MOTORCYLCE TOO! I started freaking and sent Plankster to supervise the fastening the motorcycle in the back as well.

Honduras + pick-up + new fridge + motorcycle = Hannah is a HOT MESS

Plankster assured me that everything was secure and we returned to Corquin with the fridge and motorcylce intact. The rest of the way back Humberto kept kidding around, “Hannah you fridge is still there. Yup, still there.”

So the fridge gets placed in its new home and I had to use all my self-restraint to keep from plugging it in; you are supposed to wait 4 hours after transporting it, which was torture for me. I waited though and now I have ice and once I buy a pitcher I will have cold water too! It’s kind of sad because I got a little fridge that you would find in dorm rooms, but this one has a separate freezer. The fridge is so small and I will still never be able to fill it. :SIGH:

That was the first great thing about this weekend. Second great thing was Plankster visiting. I love having company now and enjoying other people being around. I’d like to think I’m improving my hostess skills too. It was nice to see him, as always, but what was really great was he was totally in the mood to help me fix up my house. We went to the ferreteria (hardware store) on Saturday morning and bought paint for my living room, wire to make a run for Bourbon, and rope to string up a hammock.

Plankster has bought three hammocks and the third he had with him here in Corquin. He bought it to send back to the States when his parents visit in January and he is an amazing person! and lent me the hammock until then!

We painted my living room (I am posting pictures) yellow and beige. I actually don’t like the color combination, but I had leftover paint from the kitchen and I figured out I didn’t like it a little late. So, unfortunately that’s something I have to live with for now, but it’s not terrible.

Then we hung the hammock, so I have a nice hammock on my back porch to lie in and read. I really hope the puppy doesn’t chew it to death because it’s not exactly mine…

Lastly, we hung the cable for Bourbon to run around on. It goes back into my yard a little bit so I can leave him outside during the day and he can be happy there instead of cooped up in the house. Also, maybe now he won’t escape from his room and chew my shower shoes and my purse! Yes, that was a lovely surprise on Friday. I entire the house and see the victims, lying on the floor and Bourbon is at the door to greet me, which he wouldn’t be able to do if he was safely locked in his room. I yell, “Oh God! I can’t look!”

“Is that my purse?!” I squeal as I wander farther into the house to check out the damage. I can’t imagine what people were thinking as they hear the gringa yelling and swearing in her house. My neighbors must think I torture my dog because he howls all the time and all they probably hear me say is, “NO!” Luckily, he just chewed the flower on the purse, which doesn’t really look any different. The shower shoes were the only things majorly damaged and he’d already gotten to them.

So my house is finally really coming together. Amazing what a difference the paint made and I don’t even like it that much! The house just doesn’t look as old. Then today I went to Kristy’s house to pick up some stuff. She just finished her service and is back in the States (Congrats!) and left some stuff for me and my sitemate. The weekend got even better, because now I have a rug, speakers and a blender to make licuados!

I’m just so happy and content. Also, Plankster and I made chocolate chip pancakes this morning, which really just improved the entire day as well. Great weekend! Next I need to tackle painting the bedroom!

Pictures have been posted so take a look at them!

That’s actually something I remember from a Sex and the City episode, but it’s something I was just thinking about as I was sitting here watching a movie and eating dinner.

I’m sitting here in my house because I can’t leave for the national curfew that’s in place. I guess before it wasn’t so annoying because I lived in a house with other people and the curfews didn’t seem to last for so long. This curfew started yesterday (Monday) at 4p.m. and supposedly is going to last until 6 a.m. Wednesday.

With the last curfew no one really seemed to abide by it. I’ve heard only recently that the old sergeant of the police (apparently he has left) actually did arrest people when they were outside during the toque de queda (curfew). The last curfew definitely would have interfered with working and such, but I never really remember people actually abiding by it.

This time, however, people seem to actually be following the national curfew. I don’t know if the new sergeant somehow impressed upon the people how serious he would be with curfews or, although, no one really expected this. I don’t know if people are ready to take advantage of this unscheduled say off or what, but all of the sudden the streets are deserted.

I had told my Educatodos students that we would still have class, thinking that the curfew was ending at 6 p.m. Well, then we got word from Peace Corps that the curfew was extended until 6 a.m., which means I really shouldn’t have left my house. Imagine, if the police had arrested me, I would have been kicked out purely because I didn’t listen to the national curfew or Peace Corps’ rules. Anyways, despite this I wandered up to the classes, because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. On my way up the police passed and I got pretty nervous, but they continued on their merry way. Of course, I got to the classroom and no one was there, so I just turned around and went home. At least the puppy got a walk out of it.

On the walk home I really didn’t want to return to the house and sit there anymore, so I loitered outside on the stairs and let the puppy nose around some more. Two girls came up and started talking to me, which was nice until I realized that the one seemed to be trying to coax money or something out of me. I mean, she kept talking about how her mom kicked her out and she didn’t have any clothes or family. I felt bad, but what was I going to do? It was awkward.

Anyways, the whole point of this rant was to comment on the weird things that happen when you live alone. The puppy was exhausted, so he went straight to bed after I fed him.

I really love frijoles fritos (essentially refried beans) and had started soaking beans earlier in the day with the assumption that they would become part of dinner, which I hadn’t really done much planning for other than the bean soaking part. I had had tuna fish for lunch and still wasn’t very hungry, but without a fridge I couldn’t let the tuna fish sit overnight. As a result, I convinced myself that I had to eat. Now, instead of eating just the tuna fish, I naturally had to finish cooking the beans to accompany the tuna fish. Odd combination you say? Yes, well you get creative when you’re bored and no fridge leads to interesting food combinations.

So I finally finish the beans at which point I realized I had never really made them before. When in doubt and trying to recreate Honduran cooking just add a lot of oil and salt. In any case, I had refried beans and tuna fish for dinner. It wasn’t all that bad, but I really would like it if I could manage to get a ride to buy a fridge. There’s only so much oatmeal and cooked veggie combinations you can eat before you really wish that you could at least buy milk for the oatmeal or coconut milk to make curry. In any case, that is one sample of the odd things you are able to do when you live alone. The dog eats burned plastic and wood, so who is he to judge??

I, of course, have odder eating habits that I am not at liberty to disclose in such a public forum, but they may include a spoon and a jar of peanut butter … Hey! Don’t judge! You don’t know what it’s like!!

Maybe tomorrow I’ll just go to my host family’s house to get fed some real food.

Just got word from Peace Corps that the curfew has been extended until 6 p.m. tomorrow night! Now ODECO won’t be open (the police called them and told them to stay closed in the afternoon today!) I’m going to go crazy!! There’s only so many times you can watch the same 5 movies and episodes of Friends before you feel as though you’re lacking something in life … for instance variety. I’m reading a good book right now entitled The Omnivore’s Dilemma, but that of course is about food and merely rubs in the fact that I’m not eating anything all that interesting at the moment!

I realize that I owe you all a more entertaining, funny blog than I have been delivering recently. The events of the past couple of weeks have been anything but funny, but they can be spun into funny experiences for the entertainment of friends and family.

Having talked to a few of you I think people sensed a bit of depression in my last blog email, which was very perceptive and most certainly the case. I have since recovered and am doing fine, but had a couple of weeks where I was really anxious and struggling with well ... life.

Anyways, on a lighter note, Kathryn came to visit for a few days and we started my first study here in my area! Kathryn came down for Honduran Dia de Independencia, where we relaxed in my backyard with a few beers, catching up. We were supposed to go on a hike, but we didn't quite make it and decided to celebrate their independence day with our own traditions, because as Kathryn said, "They took ours from us!" She's referring to the fact that 4th of July was during the golpe de estado and we weren't allowed to leave our sites, which resulted in some bum parties.

Anyways, so the next morning we woke-up and hauled Carl (theodolite) and equipo del diablo (tripod named "Equipment of the Devil") up to Joconales. Joconales is the community I found when I randomly went out with an ODECO technician all that time back. We started at their water source and I've never seen so many mosquitoes in my life. I am now a master at killing then, because they seem to not mind insect repellent! Bugs in Honduras are on steroids! Massive mosquitoes, huge cockroaches and the flat spider in my bathroom is like nothing I've ever seen before. I'm suspicious and haven't killed him because I don't want his bigger family member to stalk me in my bed at night.

We had a much easier go of it this time with the equipment because we are finally familiar with Carl and figured out the trick of the WHITE TRIANGLE!

When I went to help Kathryn on her study we spent HOURS trying to find the estadia (measures distance) and the back shot (reference point) in all the coffee trees. It was so hard to figure out exactly which leaf was the one that was closest to our equipment! GAAH But this lovely white triangle, which I love so much because it has made my life easier and I want to get it tattooed on me (just kidding), is so helpful in finding people that now it takes mere seconds! The joy!

My study is a lot easier because we aren't going through coffee and there's a third of the houses, but alas there are MILLIONS of bugs! We are familiar with the equipment, but spent so much time fighting of blood-sucking buggers that we were still kind of slow!

First, there were the mosquitoes that ate us while we were in the jungle and the entire time the guys helping us were like, "Don't worry! Once we leave the trees there won't be anymore bugs..." But then!, once we got closer to the field we had to pass through, they started changing their tune! Suddenly, it became, "You think the mosquitoes are bad?? Wait for the moscos!"

Now, imagine gnats in all their abundance and annoying-ness, but also the ability to draw blood... Yes, these are moscos and APPARENTLY! Joconales has a "plague" of moscos at the moment!

Kathryn was practically in tears it was so painful when they bite and we got so many bites. She reacted particularly strongly and had to try really hard to keep it together. By the end of the study we were both in a foul mood and itching like you couldn't believe. Not to mention, Hondurans love to point out the obvious! When we finished for the day and got back to Don Manuel's house (he's been spearheading this with me) everyone felt the need to chide us on our arms and tell us that we really should have worn long sleeves. Like I hadn't noticed that I spent 7 hours getting eaten alive and my arms look like crap!?

As a result of the terrible bites, we went and got a bottle of wine and made chocolate-chip waffles (I have a waffle-maker!) to make us feel better. By the evening our arms were swollen and really achy, which was kind of scary because apparently these bugs can give you a fever too. I feel like Peace Corps Honduras could make everyone a hypochondriac because you're constantly assuming the worse will come out of the weird encounters you have with nature here. Kathryn kept muttering, "It can't be good getting that many bites! I mean, they have to be carrying like a million diseases!"

The next day was really fun, because it was our first Dia de Campo. Dia de Campo is a series of events that are held on farms that are working with ODECO. They're encouraging farmers to plant more crops and raise more animals for subsistence farming; coffee is the cash crop, but they're now growing fruits and vegetables to feed their families. At each of these events there are stations about different themes like: chickens, planning your farm/family, sanitation (ME!) and soil conservation. Each event will have different themes for the community and the people attending.

It's actually a lot of fun, because you're interacting with the people and co-workers and there's a lot of REALLY GOOD FOOD! First, we start off with coffee and bread (my favorited) at like 10 am. Then! we had Sopa de Gallina at noon for lunch. Sopa de Gallina is a delicacy here, which is basically soup with roasted chicken, but it's oh so delicious! And then, of course, we have to close the day with more coffee and bread.

Anyways, so Kathryn and I did a sanitation charla to 5 groups of campesinos for 30 minutes each. It got really boring, but at least each group had different questions and we kind of branched into new topics with each new question. Each department (like districts in the States) has a health technician. The one for San Pedro de Copan came and "helped us," which was essentially him speaking 3/4 of the time and KatP and I the rest, but that's ok because it was his job and he covered a lot of stuff we hadn't even thought about.

All in all, a good day, even though I wanted to cry my arms were so swollen and achy. Again, people made sure I was aware that it looked like I had chicken pocks, but oh well...

Second day on the study was uneventful; we wore long sleeves so our arms were somewhat protected. They ended up attacking my hands, but I could deal with that. We still didn't finish, but we're close and I'm going to get the equipment when Kathryn is on vacation the last week in September.

Well, that wasn't as interesting/funny as I had thought. Damn. Well, at least you can imagine me and Kathryn swatting at all these little moscos as we try to level the damn tripod. That thing is the devil, I swear! You screw in one leg and move to another and the leg you thought you just secured suddenly moves, which throws your bubble all out of whack! Then you swear and then the campesinos kind of get quiet. At one point Kathryn yelled, "GET THE F**** AWAY FROM ME!" to the moscos. I got so embarrassed and said, "Kathryn, they might not understand exactly what you're saying, but your tone still makes it pretty obvious..." At least she laughed at that.

I will say that Bourbon is the new celebrity in town. On Saturday as we waited for the bus I had about 7 Honduran men surrounding me, asking about my dog. They're lecturing me on how to take care of him, which I kind of responded with, "I will take better care of my dog than you could possibly IMAGINE!" but I figured that was rude.

People have offered to buy my dog and even asked if I will "gift" him to them. This is part of Honduran culture: they have no shame asking you to "gift" them things, which I find hilarious! One of the guys I work with insists that the leave the puppy behind so he has a reminder of me! HAH in your dreams! This is a good little puppy and he's coming with me! If it's going to be so hard to train him, he's definitely going to accompany me to the States.

Other than that, there's not too much going on. Got work. Got a puppy. Pretty content now!

Take care all! Pictures to come!

This was the best quote from reconnect. I forget what exactly it was in reference to, but I think the speaker intended it to more or less summarize the Peace Corps experience. What can I say, some people (sometimes we) are cynical! We had a “constructive criticism,” which essentially allowed for all the jaded folks to unleash their disappointment with Peace Corps.

Other than that, reconnect was great. It was great to see all my friends again and meet the H12ers. I think reconnect mainly serves as a morale booster, but I learned a few things as well. It was unfortunate, because our last day the power was out until about 5:30 so we couldn’t do all the training sessions that required computers or projectors. These sessions happened to be the ones I was the most interested in!

It essentially was four days where Volunteers could catch up and get rowdy together, but we talked work too. It was absolutely exhausting, especially after the previous weekend with Noche de Fumadores, but well worth the trip. Not too much to talk about!

---

Probably what I’m more concerned about mentioning is the arrival of a permanent visitor in my home … my puppy! After reconnect I went to Andrea’s house and met the remaining puppies. They were so cute! I wanted to take them all home, but this guy will be a handful as it is; HE IS SO HUGE! He’s only two months old and is about the size of an older, 4 month-old puppy. He also has HUGE paws, which I imagine indicate that he will also become a big dog.

After being bombarded by puppy love, I got some one-on-one time with Sapo, which was his name given by Andrea; means toad/frog. I actually really liked that name, but Hondurans DESPISE frogs and I knew they would really not like his name. Actually, they still don’t like Bourbon because they can’t pronounce it. Now, his Spanish name (Hondurans always want to know how names translate and don’t understand when I tell them they don’t normally …) is Toby; that’s a common Honduran dog name and easy for them to say. Anyways, he really could have cared less about my existence and I kind of got sad, thinking that he didn’t like me or something. Little did I know there would be plenty of time to bond in the next two days!

We picked up Bourbon and went to my friend’s house, where a bunch of people were staying for the despedida (going-away party) for a guy in the area. One of the girls in Santa Barbara has Bourbon’s sister and they were playing all day, which was great because I feel like it eased his transition a little bit. They were pretty rough and Lady (the female dog) was dominating Bourbon, but everyone had fun with the two not-so-little puppies in the house … Well, apart from Lady having a fondness of attacking men’s nether regions and Bourbon not yet understanding the concept of not peeing on people’s sleeping mats.

We all hung out there for the night and had a couple of beers to congratulate T on the completion of his service. It was a nice break after reconnect and get used to Bourbon before we continued on to my site. The entire time I was mildly fretting about the 5 hour journey that we had ahead of us …

Two weeks ago Andrea made little traveling boxes for all the puppies. Key words: TWO WEEKS AGO. The little buggers had grown so much that he barely fit in the box and could easily stick his head out the top. He was really good on the way into the city because that was the first time he was out of the house and I think he was majorly overwhelmed.

Well, let’s just say that the next day on the way to the bus stop he was not as well behaved. On the walk down to the bus-stop he was squirming to get out. Not to mention the pitiful crying that he seems to have adopted as a major method of announcing his disapproval of any and all situations.

Anyways, we were waiting in the bus stop for quite a while and he kept crying, wanting to get out of the box. I let him out for a while, because it was really hot, and when the bus finally came I had him securely bundled inside, because bus drivers (especially on the fancy buses like the one we took) aren’t too fond of animals on the buses.

Well, I’m climbing on the bus with the box in my hand and the bus driver says, “Que tiene?” / “What do you have (in there)?”

I couldn’t lie … :sheepishly: … “A puppy…”

“No, dogs aren’t allowed. They’re prohibited.”

“Please.” And Hannah just walks by with the box. Just. Walks. By!

I had just spent a week with a whole bunch of Americans and the extent of my desire to speak Spanish was minimal and I didn’t want to argue with the guy. The bus was pretty full, so I didn’t get very far, and as we drove away I heard the bus driver bitching about how dogs weren’t allowed. As they were discussing the presence of a dog (IN A BOX!) on their bus, a few people around me noticed him (by now he had thrust his head out) and were commenting on how cute he was. A woman sitting in the very first seat told me to put the box at her feet, because they would kick me off if I kept the box in the aisle. After the discussion up front became more heated, I decided to take her up on her offer, and put Bourbon in her seat. He struggled to get out because he was so hot, but we had to keep him in the box because I was hoping that the bus driver would forget and chill out! This woman was really nice! Hondurans hate dogs and this woman was a saint to let me put my dog at her feet while he’s panting and crying to get out! Poor thing, looking back I felt so bad, but at the time I was so stressed! At this point I was cursing myself and my situation because it was really too hot for him, but I couldn’t take him out.

Well it took the bus driver and his ayudante (helper) several minutes to start threatening me; it was weird, we were on the bus for quite a while before they tried to throw me off! I tried to ignore them, but it didn’t really work. Luckily, another Volunteer was with me and he helped advocate to keep the puppy upside. The ayudante wanted to put the box underneath the bus, and I was so thankful that all the people around me rallied on my behalf and battled the mean bus driver! Everyone started shouting, “It’s just a puppy and he’s in the box! He’s not bothering anyone! Plus, he’ll suffocate and get so hot down there he’ll die!!” After a while they laid off and we rode the rest of the bus ride to the stop. I will forever be grateful to those people who stuck-up with me, because if it wasn’t for them I would have just gotten off the bus and been stranded, trying to figure something else out. That experience (with the nice people) really boosted my respect for this culture, because people are quick to help you out and very accommodating and nice.

Even though the guys stopped threatening me, I was on the verge of tears the entire time. A seat finally opened up and I sat done with the box in my lap. After .2 seconds Bourbon started HOWLING and I mean HOWLING to get out of the box. I tried to keep him quiet, but he wasn’t going for it. At this point the bus driver might have forgotten he had a dog on his bus, but this definitely reminded him, and I really didn’t want to upset him anymore. T (the Volunteer) was really nice and told me not to worry about the bus guys and we should take Bourbon out and see what happens. Bourbon was really content just being out of the box and slept on T’s lap for the rest of the trip. THANK GOD!

We got off the bus and almost immediately caught another. This was a chicken bus (yellow school bus) and services local areas, so they could have cared less about a dog on their bus. They’ve probably had tons of weird animals on that bus, because for 99.9% of the population that’s their only method of transportation! I was so relieved, because that first encounter had me terrified that all the buses I had to take would be the same. Bourbon was really good and slept the entire way; he didn’t even go to the bathroom on the bus! … but then again that could have been because the bus broke down shortly after we got on!

We were on the side of the road for a while before another bus came. We tried to rush to make it, but with my big-ass suitcase and all of T’s stuff, we weren’t moving very fast; they left without us. So, I took that opportunity to walk Bourbon and luckily another bus came within a half-hour and we were off again! This ride went smoothly. T got off about 45 minutes before me and I had the rest of the ride to Santa Rosa de Copan. As if the journey wasn’t enough of a hassle, I found out I missed the last bus towards my site and the next bus that would pass about half-hour outside of it was delayed, so it would be getting dark and I didn’t feel too comfortable with that. SO! I called up my lovely friend Kathryn and she is awesome and had no problems with us crashing for the night.

It was actually a welcome stop because I was so tired and stressed it was nice to be somewhere familiar and rest before completing the trip. One of the other PCVs who lives in SRC invited us out to celebrate her boyfriend’s birthday, so we had a wonderful dinner and watched the Honduras vs. Trinidad & Tobago qualifying soccer game for the World Cup (Honduras won!).

At half-time I went to check on Bourbon and see if he had destroyed Kathryn’s apartment. He had indeed used her floor as a public bathroom, which I promptly cleaned up and then decided to take him for a walk. The entire time we were walking around the block he was crying! I think he was so scared of everything and overwhelmed that he just cried and cried. It was kind of ridiculous. So I go to leave a few minutes later and he starts HOWLING again! Like, if I’m not right by his side, he’s howling; even if he can still see me. I wanted to stay and comfort him, but they were waiting for me for dessert and I couldn’t resist … hah! I could hear him howling from about 2 blocks away.

He cried a lot in Kathryn’s place and woke her up in the morning. I’m terrible and pretty much forgot that’s how puppies are! I was mortified because I already felt like I was putting her out, but she was fine. Anyways, woke-up the next morning, jumped on the bus and got to Corquin! I lost my phone on the bus, which I noticed about 15 minutes later and ran to catch up with the bus, but it was already gone. I think the kid working the tickets took it, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I had a lot of credit on there, which was annoying, but oh well. At least we’re home and he’s settling down and seems comfortable. I’m going to go take a nap, but there will be plenty of puppy stories because HE IS SO CUTE!

Not the best blog, but it served to de-stress me at the time. I wrote it when I had just got home and served as more of a bitch session, but things are better!

Bourbon is really intelligent and I good dog. He’s calm and is just a big love-bug. I had people over to celebrate some people in my area completing their two years, and he was great with everyone and didn’t destroy anything! He loved all the people playing with him. He cries less now and is even getting pretty brave. He’s a little rough with other dogs in the beginning and definitely has some food aggression when other dogs are around. I can play with his bowl, but my friend brought his puppy and Bourbon was very aggressive when they were eating. I have to work on that with him!

So, that’s that with puppy stories for now. I have the same number, so don’t worry about that!

Well this was my first real event with Peace Corps Volunteers from a different projects and groups. I stayed at Kathryn’s place with a bunch of people; about 10 to be exact. We were all on our best behavior and everyone was still alive by the end of the weekend. I think Peace Corps gives you such a traveler’s mentality and people are really conscious of their actions and try to be really accommodating. It’s weird, but I don’t know if that many people eating and sleeping in such a small space would have worked at home.

Anyways, there were a lot of people in town and I think final calculations of PCVs in attendance at Noche de Fumadores was about 65 – 70 people. There are four Volunteers living in Santa Rosa and each hosted at least 2 or 3 people in their apartments. The remaining people we in a hotel right around the corner from Kat’s house.

It has become a tradition for me to go and get the “good beers” when I have gone to Santa Rosa overnight. The store that sells the “good beers” is remodeling and I was extremely dismayed to find that there were three HUGE coolers blocking the wee one that houses all the ice-cold Hoegarden, Leffe and Stella. Luckily, they like us and Kathryn has befriended them, so I didn’t think it would be too much to ask if they could do some moving around for me to get at the equivalent of beer heaven in Honduras. I think they figured out what we wanted … can’t help but notice the two gringas standing, staring longingly at the lovely beer cooler. I actually got really embarrassed when three men were called to help move the coolers. It took them a few minutes to get everything situated. Meanwhile, every other customer in the store is watching us wait for the moving of the cooler and then the smiles spread across our faces as the beers are handed over. My pena (shame) was quickly abated when we had the beers and sour cream and onion chips in Kathryn’s apartment. It’s kind of nice living in a world where such simple pleasures as good company and sour cream and onion chips become the highlight of your month and was monumental events in your life. Ok, that might be slightly exaggerated.

After that more people started trickling in and we began the shower process. As people rotated in the shower the others were getting ready and drinking the crappy Honduran (albeit slightly cheaper) beer. Really the point of this blog is not supposed to revolve around beer, but such is life…

So we get all pretty (pictures will be posted). It was really weird to see everyone formally dressed. I’ve seen people in my training group dressed up for swearing – in, but I think people put more effort into Noche de Fumadores.

So, basically they had 400 tickets for this event; about 70 of those tickets were bought by Peace Corps Volunteers. We get there, and after getting out little tote-bags with 4 cigars, matches and a little sample of coffee, we’re shown to our tables. They put us outside on the balcony, very much separated from the rest of the people who were in the main room. You could look at this as they were purposefully trying to get us isolated from the event or they were doing us a favor by putting us outside and together. Either way, once the event got underway they actually gave us a nice shout-out, actually thanking all the Peace Corps Volunteers for their attendance. After the opening ceremony they opened the food line, which was my main focus at the time. They didn’t plan very well on the food front. Maybe they didn’t realize the all the PCVs would pointedly not eat dinner, knowing full well that there would be food at Noche and we could fill up there, since we already paid for it! We also were the first in line and as a result there wasn’t much food left for people who went later. Damn greedy Americans!

There was also free beer (crappy Honduran beer) and free wine (well, free in the sense that you had already paid out you’re a—and they had the courtesy not to charge you more inside). At one point I saw a friend (no names!) walking in with three beers and pointedly putting them down in front of her, making it very obvious that she had no intention of sharing.

Personally, I got excited about the CHEESE! Cheese here is terrible; would make the French weep with the bastardization of an art that they pride in. Nonetheless, the cheese here was decent and more varied that the high-sodium stuff I find in Corquin. I made several passes by that table…

Apart from the cheese I was also very attached to the dance floor. Don’t know what happened, but I took to dancing this past weekend. After a couple of beers and a lot of Friday nights spent alone at home, I wasn’t about to sit around! One of the early dance partners complimented me on my moves (I know he was being nice!) and that coupled with a little liquid courage had me out there all night! I had a blast just kind of making things up as I went along and pretending that I could dance Latin music. For the most part, I don’t think I was all that bad.

I think we actually left around 1 a.m. and a large group split off to find some more dancing places. Instead of going home I tried to find another place to hang out, but they tried to charge cover and that’s when I decided to go home. I have a thing against paying cover and I’m sure not going to start paying it here.

This is one of the main reasons I love Kathryn: the next morning we had bagels! She spent a weekend making dozens of bagels for her house guests! We had cinnamon and raisin, poppy seed and onion, chocolate chip and plain! And cream cheese! Drank coffee, ate bagels, chatted and some people popped some aspirin. I went to bed probably around 3 a.m. and woke up around 7 a.m. Couple of the girls woke-up at a god-awful hour because everyone is so used to waking-up early and then the traffic on the street was horrendously loud. During the carnivals here, they hire trucks to go around announcing things and for some reason they start at 5 a.m. I vaguely remember something loud passing by and Kathryn moaning, “I HATE HONDURAS!”

The adventurous people actually left the house at a decent hour to explore the day’s events, but a few of us stayed in a bit longer and just relaxed. Finally we did go out, eat and explore the coffee tasting. In the Central Park there were a whole bunch of local coffee producers that were giving coffee tastings and selling their wares. We walked around and enjoyed the music and nice weather. Great afternoon.

The partying was not yet completed! Apparently the night before wasn’t enough for us! Actually, one of the girls in Santa Rosa left for the States today (Monday). She finished her service and it’s tradition to have a huge party for the people leaving. Saturday night we all went out to a couple of bars and there was more dancing. I had a blast! Reminded me of times with Old Glory people, just with three times the people! I hardly knew any of the Volunteers who weren’t in my training group, but it was nice to meet people and hang out. I met two girls in the bathroom and here’s the normal conversation when meeting a PCV:

“Hey! (usually there’s no point asking if they’re with Peace Corps) what group are you?”

“I’m H14 Wat/San.”

“Oh, I’m H12 business. What’s your site? I’m in X…”

“Corquin.”

“OH! :insert here mention of sitemate or other people that reside near this site. Also, it’s common to spout-off other information you might know about this person, which usually comes from the rampant Peace Corps gossip chain. (RANDOM EXAMPLE: Oh! So you’re the one who got drunk in training and no one likes?: Obvious exaggeration…).”

And then you carry on. Actually, I ran into one PCV towards the end of the night and asked (in English) if he saw someone from our group. He must not have heard me, because he just whipped me onto the dance floor and then proceeded to talk to me in Spanish… I did the head-cocked, are you crazy look, before saying, “I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer … You bought me a shot earlier!!”

He was like, “OH! Whoops.”

I was really confused when he started speaking Spanish, although there are those Volunteers who are so intent on practicing their Spanish that they won’t speak English to you. I want to smack those people; this is the only time that I can speak English and you better believe I’m taking advantage of it! Snap out of it!!

Some people went out after that bar too, but about 4 am is my limit for being awake. I don’t know what happened to me this past weekend. I morphed into a rare form of Hannah … I don’t dance and I don’t generally like to stay out past 1 am. Sleeping is an important part of my life. Actually, I didn’t expect to even make it to the first bar because I was so tired, but once we got there it was like an adrenaline rush and I became the Energize bunny! I think it was just the excitement of actually seeing people and having something to do that kept me going. I met a lot of cool people and had an absolute blast. I’m not going to make a habit of doing the big, high-profile partying in Peace Corps, but I think events like that are really what keep a lot of people sane. It’s great to get away for a weekend and recharge your patience with Honduras.

:So I wrote this last week thinking I would be on the internet sooner than I was, but I hope it still is somewhat interesting:

Today I had a lazy today. Nothing going on at work, so I decided to stay home and do some stuff around the house. I was supposed to get a ride to buy paint for my bedroom, but my ride never called me back. As a result, I spent the morning just kind of screwing around.

The house is really coming along. I overdosed on painting in the beginning, so just the kitchen and my bathroom have been painted thus far. The paint really improves the way the house looks, so I’m hoping I get a “second wind” and make the final push for my bedroom and the main room. I lay awake at night thinking about what colors I want to put in the rooms. It’s kind of fun and I wish I had more options for decorating; money is kind of limiting.

I’ve been lucky that the couple of girls in the area who are leaving have been generous and given me a few things. I’ve inherited a table, bookshelves (planks of wood and cinderblocks), and kitchen supplies, including: peanut butter (!) and a waffle-maker!! So excited.

I’ve actually kind of taken to sweeping; just sweeping. There’s always dust in the house and I sweep a couple of times a day, which I would never have done before. After the sweeping Hondurans like to mop, but that requires the hand-washing of the mop afterwards, which I don’t find too exciting. One “upside” to the number of bugs that seem to invade the house is that it encourages you to keep the place clean.

So, after doing some sweeping and casual cooking, I went up to the Post Office to pick up my packages. Grandma Jackie and Grandma Jerry both sent me packages with chocolate. After reading the lovely notes and indulging in a couple of pieces of chocolate, I have to admit I got pretty excited about the tins that the chocolate came in. This is what my life has become: I get excited about tins, because they are so multi-purpose! So many things can be put in tins to keep the bugs from invading them! HAH

So we have a lot of fun coming up. The local carnival (feria) in Santa Rosa starts Friday. You get dressed up and pay a set price for entrance and then get food, drinks and cigars for the night. I think there are about 50 Volunteers planning on going at this point! I’ll be seeing a few of my very close friends for the first time in 3 months and I’m extremely excited! The next night we’re doing an “apartment crawl” for one of the girl’s going away party.

After Santa Rosa I head to a week long training with Peace Corps, where again, I’ll be seeing a ton of people from my group that I haven’t seen in a while. After the training I will swing by Santa Barbara to pick up my PUPPY! I’m so stoked. I already have everything bought for him! I’ve been looking forward to this training since the day I finished training and I’m afraid that once it’s over I’ll have nothing to look forward too and I’ll get really sad.

On a sincerely sad note, my computer has taken a turn for the worse. Today we have had a problem staying on, which has proved to be a problem. The cord has cuts in it and I’ve noticed that the connection to the computer is even more fragile. The on/off button has now completely collapsed into the keyboard and it takes about 10 minutes to get the right spot to turn it on. The other day I had to bring my computer to a meeting with the coffee cooperative I’ve been working with and the Director of ODECO was making fun of me because it took so long to turn the computer on and then another millennium for the program to open up! I’ll be really sad when this computer goes. She’s always given me problems, but I’ve written a lot of papers on this computer, done a lot of online procrastinating! Also, how will I watch movies alone in my house at night or do yoga without my computer! JUST FOUR MORE MONTHS! Hang in there viejita!!

About this coffee cooperative I mentioned: This meeting was really interesting. In order for them to maintain their certification and increase their name in the area, they have to comply with a whole host of rules. For instance, before they cut down a tree for wood (even if it’s dead), they have to ask permission from the local government. Also, a lot of coffee farms have temporary housing for the workers that they hire during the coffee picking season. In order to a farm to maintain its membership in the cooperative they have to commit to making certain improvements to the houses each year so that the workers are safe and cared for. It was interesting because every few months an auditor comes and investigates a few farms and then holds a meeting about what the cooperative needs to work on to maintain its certification. It’s serious business.

My part in this is with the GPS. They need a map showing the area and GPS points of each coffee farm in the cooperative. For the auditor’s visit yesterday we just did a map with all the houses, but in the future I have to walk through EACH coffee farm to take points to get their area. There are forty members and some of them have more than one farm. We’re talking some major work here. I don’t like walking through coffee. It’s annoying. There are so many bugs and so many rashes that come from coffee farms. Arggghhh. Yet, its nice knowing there’s stuff to do.

There’s not too much else to talk about. Really hoping my computer stays in touch. She’s stayed on long enough to write this blog. Somebody should visit soon so A) I can see someone from home B) they can bring me one of those new little computers! HAH

Love everyone. Miss everyone. Thanks Grandmas for all the lovely packages and cards. I’m going to make a collage of all the beautiful cards I’ve gotten to put on my wall; add some interest to the bare walls. You get creative with decorating in the Peace Corps.

Honduras Ikea: cinderblocks, planks of wood, broom sticks and nails … that’s all you need to furnish a house! You’ll see in the pictures after I clean the house!

I am proud to say that I have started my first topographic study as a Wat/San Volunteer in Peace Corps Honduras!

Kathryn and I started the study in Quebraditas on Tuesday. This is a small town (aldea) 45 minutes outside of Santa Rosa de Copan. Quebraditas actually already has a water system, but it’s over 20 years old (they’re designed to last for 20 years, if well taken care of) and has a lot of problems. The town is organized and the president of the Junta de Agua, Tito, is a great guy and really does a lot of good for his community. Thus, it seemed like a good project to start with.

I headed up to Santa Rosa on Monday afternoon because Kathryn wanted to play around with the equipment before we started on Tuesday. Monday night we pull out the equipment and start fiddling with the different knobs and going over the steps of using a theodolite. I really hope the people of Quebraditas never read this blog (highly unlikely that they will), but if they were to read this blog they would probably think, “Sweet Jesus, these girls had no idea what they were doing!”

It’s kind of true. There are lots of different kinds of theodolites and it just so happens that we only learned on one kind almost two months ago. Needless to say, having only spent a couple of days with the equipment in the first place, after two months we were most certainly rusty.

Kathryn and I are standing in the kitchen and we can’t figure out nine of the ten knobs that are on this piece of equipment. Luckily, a couple in Gracias had the equipment before they gave it to us, so we called them up … casually asking them what the hell was going on.

Kathryn: “Hey there guys … so Hannah and I are fiddling with this theodolite and we, well, we um … we just don’t understand what’s going on.”

B & K were really nice about trying to explain what to do over the phone, but when you’re just standing in the kitchen it’s really hard to imagine all that you would be doing and what makes the most sense. We still couldn’t figure it out after like three calls.

“Screw it, I’m going to the top,” I declared as I whipped out my phone and called Carlos, one of the wonderful coordinators on the Wat/San team (can’t remember his real title). It’s like 7:30 pm at this point and Carlos answers really quiet, like he’d been sleeping.

“CARLOS! Weneedhelp.KathrynandIaredoingastudytomorrowandwecan’tfigureoutourequipment!!!”

“Can I call you back in a little bit,” says Carlos.

“Did I wake you up? Were you sleeping? I’m sorry.”

“No … I’m in a meeting and I can’t really talk right now…”

“OOOOH! Sorry. Yeah give me a call back, because we really need to figure this out and we have no idea what is going on.”

Carlos must think I’m crazy, because I only really call him when I’m desperate for help and I’m always overly dramatic and probably sound really squeaky. Oh well.

So we keep playing with the equipment and considering I don’t even really understand all the logic and mathematics behind topo studies (that’s a little extreme, but somewhat true), I got really annoyed pretty fast. I mean, give me international political theory any day, but start talking about angles and math and you might as well try to teach a dog this stuff. Kathryn, on the other hand, has an engineering degree and it took her an extra 10 minutes to stay “screw this.”

By the time Carlos calls back I’m cursing Carl (that’s the equipment’s name) and really starting to get anxious for our first day out there. He was distracted and on his way home, and not remembering exactly which theodolite we had, he couldn’t really help us.

Come bedtime (8:30 pm) Kathryn and I had decided to leave it up to the Wat/San and Honduras gods that be and hope for the best. Pretty risky I might say.

First Day

Bright eyed and bushy tailed (not really), Kathryn and I head out to Quebraditas. We pull into the community and are met by a band of men. Seriously, like 7 – 10 men are sitting their in their rubber boots with their machetes.

Sidenote: We’re in an aldea, which are really rural communities of already rural communities. These people work day and night to barely get by supporting their family and missing an entire day helping two gringas move their equipment about the jungle is a big sacrifice for them; finding that many men willing give up a day’s work in a small town like Quebraditas is really impressive.

Tito, the president of the JAA, meets us and explains the deal. These guys know where we’re going that day and he’ll meet us in the afternoon when he brings lunch. Luckily, we got a ride up closer to the toma (source of their water), because we were in for a rough day!

We hop out of the truck and try to break the ice with our band of men by introducing ourselves and being friendly. After lacing up our hiking boots and talking about our intended path for the day, we set off. Now, the men REFUSED to let us carry anything. We had our tripod, our estadia and Carl, and they would not let us put a finger on the equipment to walk it up the mountain. Come to think of it, I’m grateful for that because I barely made it up there just carrying my Nalgene. They tried to take Kathryn’s backpack, but she refused to let it go.

Now, if we’re going up to the source of their water, we’re not going on some weeny hike in rural Honduras. We’re going UP! Actually, I don’t think we hiked that long or that it was really that far, but man did I suffer. At one point, Kathryn stops to drink water and clarifies with the guys, “Hannah and I exercise every day, but we’re just not accustomed to this!” They politely laughed and carried on. And this is something that amazes me about the men here! Here I am, walking in my state-of-the-art hiking boots and they’ve got these flimsy little rubber boots on and they have more coordination and ability on these “trails” than I do. I just don’t get it; don’t the boots give me any kind of advantage??

We finally arrive at the toma and we try to focus on the equipment so we don’t look too incompetent. Well, I’m going to save us some face and say that we finally got started after … well maybe 45 minutes. I think we took our first shot around 11:30. I was really worried at first that we were still doing it wrong, but once Kathryn stopped wanting to kill me, she explained the process better and I kind of put together how exactly all this worked together.

That’s one thing … Kathryn and I got testy with each other. We’re really similar, which never really works in a stressful situation. She had a better idea what was going on than me, but she couldn’t really explain it very well and my brain heard angles and shut down. There were some short conversations, but all ended well!

It really is upsetting that most of you will never see a Honduran wield a machete. It’s fascinating and I think more than a few times I was caught with my jaw on the floor staring. One guy chopped down a sapling in almost two chops. And the machetes don’t look very reliable, but they could filet me in seconds. Once we told them that we would need estacas (little stakes), they disappeared into the jungle and in five minutes returned with enough stakes for the entire study.

We made very little progress the first day, but at least we made progress. As time passed we got more comfortable with our band of men and Carl. One of the kids started helping up level the tripod and Luis started to laugh when I would yell, “LUIS! Pone atencion! (Luis, pay attention!). Obviously we have to be as precise as possible and I’m looking through this scope to the estadia (big stick with measurements on it) and it’s waving in the wind, because Luis is too busy eating a snack and isn’t paying attention to the estadia. Luckily, I found it pretty entertaining and he did too.

On the way back down at the end of the day, the guys started correcting us on our Spanish. Turns out pala means shovel and palo means stick. Kathryn had been saying pala the entire day and no wonder they looked at her weird, because she was technically asking them to cut shovels …

Also, at the end of the day we were invited to Tito’s house to have some coffee. We had a little glass of coffee with some bread (did I mention how much I LOVE the coffee/bread combination?? Do you realize how much better bread products are when they’re dipped in bread?? Amazing). Tito is a great guy and his family is really great too. He has seven children and we met a few of the girls and they were so friendly and welcoming. It really just makes this whole experience so amazing.

The first day was pretty boring other than the incredible stress of thinking that you’re doing the whole thing wrong. The second day we kind of hit our stride and started moving a little more smoothly. I was disappointed that we had a different crew the second day, but the new guys warmed up to us in the end; they ended up staying with us two days in a row!

Other than that, there aren’t too many stories to tell. There were a couple of funny/entertaining moments.

For example: “Fijeseque (there is no English equivalent that accurately expresses all that this word can mean) instead of going the easy way for conduction line, we’ve decided to go up this CLIFF instead… hope that isn’t a problem for you…”

“Nah, don’t worry, there’s nothing like leveling a tripod on the side of a cliff. No, esta bien!”

This is when I made-out with the theodolite. While trying to take the front shot that was a good 6 meters higher than me, I had to turn the scope as vertical as was possible, which meant my face was pushed up against Carl. Not to mention, I had to make sure I didn’t move because I was standing on soil that Band Member #1 (Eligio) had just made into a platform just big enough to fit the tripod and not really me.

Now, remember there’s a Honduran standing holding the estadia for the front shot. Considering they’re not accustomed to thinking about how the study moves or the importance of the placement of the equipment and I’m not accustomed to taking that into the account …. When I get up to my front shot, I realize that he was standing in between two trees that they had chopped down (for no reason. They were a little machete happy.) and it was going to be really hard to fit the tripod in the space. That shot backwards was interesting. While trying to avoid “killer bees” that were escaping out of the felled foliage, I straddled a massive tree trunk, all while trying to be as precise as possible with Carl.

There were several points along this 3-day study (we’re not done yet), that the guys would say, “Oh, don’t touch that. It’s going to give you a terrible skin rash.” Or, “Oh, those big bees flying around your head … yeah, they’re like bees on steroids. It hurts A LOT when they sting. Maybe you should watch out …” We were in a pretty “tropical” looking forest. There were the bright plants that National Geographic tells you means they’re poisonous and things were really wet. Closest I’ll get to a rainforest for now.

After that shot we were served lunch. The first day Tito brought us our lunch, but the two days after that his family hauled it up to us. Women in Honduras don’t hike; they don’t think it’s fun and there’s no reason to go up into the mountains, so why do it? Well, after 20 minutes from Quebraditas to this ranch, you then have another 20 – 30 minute hike upwards, through coffee farms and jungle.

Menu (it’s ridiculous):

-Fried Chicken

-FRIED potato (like baked, but really fried whole)

-rice

-4 tortillas (saucer sized)

Could you eat more carbs??

The second day, after hearing how much we liked chicken soup, three of Tito’s daughters walked all the way up the mountain with a pot of soup, rice, tortillas, orange juice (homemade), coffee and bread (for later) … in flip flops. Chicken soup here is a special meal that most people make for Sundays. It includes carrots, potatoes, yucca, chicken and it’s really good. They put rice and (of course) tortillas in it too. God, how amazing is that that they did that for us? The oldest daughter had never been that far up before, and she did it just to bring us lunch. And they weren’t resentful either; they were really genuinely ok with walking a pot of soup up the mountain.

Hah, there was another change of route that day after lunch that had us going down another steep slope. We’re walking down and Kathryn is carrying the bag with the bread, coffee, and breakable china cups. She does the classic, feet-up-in-the-air, land hard on your butt and go careening down the mountain. There was a loud clink, but luckily the cups didn’t break.

Now this was my favorite meal, because I think it added pound #3 onto the total weight I gained in these five days:

-Fried chicken

-Spaghetti

-Fried potato

-SIX tortillas

-2 liters of Pepsi

I mean, could you ask for anything more glorious than that meal?? AHH!

Last story: So Copan is big coffee country and these fincas (farms) are everyone’s salary. The coffee is their life. Coffee is a major pain-in-my-@$$. We were going at our steady (albeit it kind of slow) pace and were considerably slowed down when we entered the coffee. The first few shots we tried to work with the gagillions of branches in the way, but the shots got considerably shorter and it took a lot longer to find the estadia/back shot. Noticing the change in pace, the guys started to fell coffee left and right. I mean, one minute you’re looking through the scope and in the time it takes you to stand up and try to find the estadia with your own eyes, the guys of have felled every little twig that might have posed a problem. They cut A LOT of coffee. Luckily, Tito had permission to do so.

Anyways, Kathryn was all concerned with the amount of vegetation these men had successfully slaughtered, and knowing how valuable the coffee is, was really distressed by the amount that they eliminated.

:Sound of machete hitting wood:

“OH! No, you really didn’t need to cut the huge branch off! I don’t want you to cut so much of the plants! No! STOP IT! I can see! AWWW man…” Meanwhile, I’m just standing their laughing, because Honduras has really decreased my concern for the environment. I mean, it’s not that I don’t care, but there are SO MUCH bigger problems in these people’s lives than saving a tree that’s in the way of them receiving running water. I think some variation of this conversation (one-sided) happened with each shot.

All in all it was a great experience and Kathryn is still my friend. I hope all of my studies work with communities that organized and willing to give of their time and meager resources to bring water to their communities. We worked with a great bunch of guys and Tito seems to be a great community leader. Not to mention his family, which fed us like kings (much to the dismay of my weight loss goal) and especially to his wife, who brought us our lunch all while toting her two youngest children.

We haven’t even come close to finishing and there are ninety houses in the conduction line, but I look forward to spending time in the community and being out in the tranquil, beautiful setting that is Honduras.

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I wrote this blog about a week ago. I hope it is ok. Wednesday I went to the doctor because the rash that I had ALL OVER MY BODY (itches like crazy) hadn't cleared up and I'm not interested in getting some funky tropical disease. Anyways, turns out I was bit by fleas! I DON'T HAVE FLEAS!!! Just want to clear that up, but I did get bit and had an allergic reaction. Now I'm on medication. Great first experience! Haha

I know a few of us are starting to feel cooped up in site. For the newbies, we’re here (in site) every day, most likely only working a few days out of the week. For those who have moved to their own houses/apartments, a lot of pent-up energy can be spent buying things and improving their living space. For those of us who are still living with host families and feeling a little bit more “monitored,” the idea of staying in the house all weekend is almost unbearable. There isn’t much to do in Corquin on the weekends. During the day many people still have a lot of duties, but seeing as how I don’t have a house or a family there isn’t too much I’m committed to doing.

Point is I wanted something to do Saturday and OH did I find something to do. Kristyn and I went to hike a “peak” nearby Corquin. Kristyn did Educatodos in this aldea nearby and had always wanted to hike to the top. Not really knowing what we were getting ourselves into, we headed up to the aldea around 6:30 am. Unbeknownst to me, to get to the aldea is about 1 hour by car, and (more likely) walking about 2 hours.

Aldea: rural communities outside the more “urban” towns. Corquin is an urban town. I will do most of my work in aldeas because these are the communities that don’t have water, etc.

Jalon: Basically hitchhiking, but there it’s much more common here. For people who live in aldeas 2 hours away from any sort of stores, markets, there is always one person in the town who has a pick-up truck. When that person goes “abajo” (down) then you’re going with him. Jalons are key to getting to these more rural areas.

So Kristyn and I start walking, waiting to see if anyone will drive by and give us a lift. After a little while a pick-up stops, and Kristyn goes to climb in the front seat. As she starts to climb in, the driver picks up a small pistol and puts it in his lap. This is common, but it still kind of shocks when I see guns so proudly displayed.

The driver gives us a lift part way, and we ended up walking the rest of the way. I think it probably took us 1.5 hours. So, we were relying on being able to see the peak to guide us towards it, but there was a lot of cloud cover and we couldn’t see it at all. This resulted is us taking a lot of wrong turns and having to ask a lot of people for directions. A few people asked what we were up to (there aren’t too many gringas wandering around those parts) and we said we were hiking El Tenan. More than a few times we got the, “You’re crazy” look.

So after a few wrong turns and a lot of stares we finally arrived at the house of a woman Kristyn kind of knew. One Christmas, apparently they baked cookies together, and this woman mentioned that you can reach El Tenan from her husband’s finca. Random.

Finca: Farm. Usually finca refers to the coffee “plantations.”

So we walk up to this house, and luckily the woman recognized Kristyn. We tried to politely ask if she could point us in the right direction, but you always have to visit and a visit usually includes polite chat and attempts to feed you. It’s really understandable though, because a lot of these women are locked up in the house all day. Their husbands’ go to work at 5 – 6 a.m. usually the children go to if they’re old enough. The arrival of two American girls is pretty exciting. So we’re talking to Goita (I think that’s her name) about our plans and she insists on taking us to some other houses where there are kids who will guide us up to the top.

Meanwhile, we’re sitting in her house, and having refused any food she made us some “juice.” She goes into another room and brings out a 2 liter cook bottle full of yellowish liquid. My initial reaction, honestly, was it looked like pee. Now as we’re watching her prepare these drinks we’re talking about their water situation. Apparently, she has to go get water from a water source because a tube is broken. We watch her as she pours water out of two jugs (like the ones milk comes in).

No joke … this is how this whole scenario goes down (probably has more significance for me than the readers, but oh well.)

Goita hands the drinks to us. Oh, and the yellow liquid was honey. The juice was honey and water.

Drinks in hand, Kristyn says, “There you go Hannah, the tubes are broken. Work!”

We start politely sipping on the drinks, talking about the view and stuff. While we sit there, Goita starts closing up the house. It probably took her 30 minutes. She had to straighten everything, shut the windows, and also fix herself up. I thought she looked respectable, but we have different standards apparently. She changed her clothes and took her apron off; put different shoes on. Then, she gets a little bowl and goes to the water jugs (where our water came from) and poured a little bit into the bowl. She then disappears into a room and you hear splashing sounds.

Now I’m going to explain my thinking so that you can better understand the culture, and more so the situation. People here don’t waste anything nor do they waste their effort. If a woman were to boil 4 gallons of water, said boiled water would not, then, be used to wet her hair (this is what Goita did with the water, wet her hair so she could comb it). When Kristyn and I saw her take the water from the same jugs we immediately became panicked. We didn’t even question if the water had been boiled. And, here you can’t be sure that the people know to boil their water.

Here we are drinking water from unknown origins, not knowing if it’s purified, and we’re down to half a glass.

“Oh. Shit. Where did that water come from?”

“Why didn’t we think of that?!”

“We are so screwed. We’ve got E. Coli now.”

“Don’t say that. Oh God.”

Now, you might think this is a little dramatic, but it’s really not. I’m one of the few people in my group who hasn’t yet had food poisoning, a parasite or E. Coli. This is a real threat and it’s a nasty 3 – 7 days puking/shitting into your host family’s toilet before heading to the Health Center in your town where they pump you full of weird IVs and don’t tell you what it is. I’ve heard the stories people!!

All I could think of was, “I have a semi-full week next week! I can’t be sick! I actually have work!” Not to mention, my stomach has been a little upset the past couple of days and I can’t really tell why. I feel like its already compromised and can’t protect itself from whatever bacteria that might have been introduced by that water.

We’re about ready to leave and Kristyn and I walk out of the house, where we dissolve into a somewhat frantic discussion about the likelihood of us having contracted some pretty funky bugs. I couldn’t help but notice that Goita had a skin infection all over her hands. After having given the “water quality” charla on Monday I couldn’t stop thinking about skin infections from water. I mean, this woman washes and cleans dishes in this water all day; it’s not entirely far-fetched! We walk around the back of the house and there is a corral for horses and then up on a slope there are about 10 cows. The odds are getting worse and worse.

Kristyn turns to me and says, “I’m going to ask her where that water came from!”

I’m not quite sure if Goita understood the question, and I really hope she didn’t, because she pointed to a trickle of water that ran, no joke!, practically through the cow pasture. I groaned, “Oh. My. God. POO WATER!”

But really, the main part of this story is really the generosity of Hondurans and the random situations you get yourself into when you leave your house at 6 am without the slightest clue of where you’re going.

Goita takes us to a nice house close by, where we talk to more women about our plans. We get more weird looks. They all insist that somebody guide us up there, and I can hear someone asking boys nearby to take us. We sit there, kind of awkwardly, waiting for the boys to get their things together. As we’re waiting they gave us a really nice apple, which was pretty exciting. All the apples here come from the States and they usually aren’t very good, but this one was crisp. Apples are costly here, and it was really nice of them to give us a piece.

So the boys are ready and we depart. I really don’t think they were very thrilled about having to climb a mountain because two white girls wandered through their house to climb said mountain for fun. We start walking and I tried to strike up a conversation, but they weren’t really having it. We started walking through the coffee trees and we got to a point where there was discussion about which path to take.

“Which way are we going?” says Boy 1.

Boy 2, “This way.”

Boy 1, “That’s really ugly…” And yet we continue on that path.

I wish I could convey how incredibly steep this hike was. It was so cloudy as we were walking to the aldea that I really couldn’t see exactly what we were going to hike. After we got down I was amazed at what we had done.

We only walked about an hour, which was less than the time it took to get up to the base of the mountain. These boys must have thought we were really lame. Here we are, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and we start climbing and I’m weezing and sweating profusely within minutes. Me, being the smart person I am, decided to wear shorts. Now in my defense, my legs are sickly pale compared to my arms AND I didn’t realize we’d be climbing on our knees through coffee trees and up sides of mountains.

These boys had rubber boots on (as you can see in the school pictures) and machetes. They hauled ass up that mountain as if they were walking up a small hill. Meanwhile, Kristyn and I are practically dying behind them. But, when we reached the top it was well worth it. We were definitely at the highest point and could see all over the valley. It was beautiful, and I’d like to tell you I brought my camera, but knowing that Kristyn was bringing hers, I didn’t. Kristyn whips out the camera and it barely functions. I don’t know if the pictures will come out. I suck at life.

We stayed up there for a little bit before heading back down. On our way down I couldn’t stop laughing because we were so lame. The boys, once again, gracefully walking as if it were a paved path while Kristyn practically spent the entire time on her butt. I’m really surprised they weren’t openly laughing at us at this point. They were nice kids.

We get to the bottom and decided we should pay them because we took a good chunk of their working day away. They refused the money and walked us to the main road, knowing that we had gotten lost a lot. We bid them a fond farewell, graciously thanking them for their time and started to waddle down the hill because our legs hurt so badly.

You’d think, after having gotten lost so much in the morning that we would have been more careful about where we went in the afternoon, but that was not the case. Kristyn, I thought, knew the area a little bit, and I blindly followed her. It would make sense that, after having been on the highest peak, that you would have to go DOWN to reach the town in the valley. Well, this thought occurred to us after the road consistently starting going upwards. Going up was painful and we’d been walking for an hour already when we stopped and asked a man if we were headed in the right direction. He tells us we have to turn around and walk all the way back to some intersection and then we will find the right road to Cucuyagua! ALL THE WAY BACK! I wanted to sit down in the road and cry.

We bravely walk all the way back, which took less time now that we were going downhill. Having run out of water, we stopped at a pulperia to get some.

Pulperia: Like 7-Eleven/Wawa, but in somebody’s house. Slightly smaller selection too…

We walk in to buy water and they don’t have any! This is what happens in the more rural areas. A) Why would you BUY water when you have it in your house? B) Why would you buy water when you could drink Coke or Pepsi? This is the mentality of the people in these areas. They just don’t have the education.

“When in Rome …”

So we buy Coke and chips and start walking again, laughing at how “integrated” we are. Truly Honduran when we forgo water and veggies for Coke and chips. After a little ways we get a jalon down to Cucuyagua, buy a couple of bottles of wine, shower, and go to Laura’s house to watch movies and rest. Only 7 hours wandering around/hiking`… I got the entertainment I was hoping for.

As we’re jaloning back to Corquin Kristyn looks at me and says, “So, would we be sick already if that water was bad?”

So, maybe this is more for my own benefit than for the people reading. It's interesting to see how this political situation is affecting the amount of work we have. I'm excusing my lack of significant work, but also trying to understand what's going on.

Yesterday, I went with Cooperacion Espanola people to an aldea near Corquin to train them on health and their new water system. Both sides of the project were great to work with and I'm kind of disappointed I didn't have the opportunity to work with them earlier. Cooperacion is really organized and does a lot of work in the area, and after working really closely with a lesser organized Honduran development office I was pretty thrilled at their "organization." Also, on the part of the community, they were really motivated and seem like they're going to be responsible about their water system.

Actually, an "older" Volunteer did the study. He's done a few studies in my area that I've come across, and the communities are always very enthusiastic when they talk about him. He's since left, but I feel like he's haunting me!

"Do you know Engineer (they're formal) X??" they say with beaming faces.

"I know OF him, but I don't know him personally."

I feel a little inferior, because A) I'm a woman and I will never live-up to the fact he was/is male B)He just seemed to be great at getting to know communities and I'm still acquiring those skills. These are my own insecurities.

Anyways, the charla went all right. I was supposed to cover community health and how it relates to their water system. A lot of systems here are designed for the application of chlorine, but many of the communities don't use it because they don't follow instructions and put too much in. As a result, people complain about the smell/taste of the chlorine and they stop using it all together. People here still get a lot of diseases from their water because it isn't treated, and that's a really significant marker of a lack of development in a country. As a result, a lot of trainings with communities after their water systems are built revolve around chlorinating water and why they need to do these things.

Anyways, I had prepared a powerpoint (crazy, right!), but we didn't end up getting a projector and I just stood up and talked. This is never a good way to present, especially when the people don't know you/don't understand you very well. So I got a little disorganized and discouraged by that and didn't feel as great about the charla as I wanted too. I think they understood me, which is really all that matters, but I felt repetitive and really boring.

On the drive down from the community I was asking my companions how the political situation was affecting their work. They said that they have been directed to finish out their current projects, but the funding for future projects has been "frozen" until there is further word on the political situation. That seems to be the word with a lot of projects funded by foreign organizations/governments.

I was pretty surprised last week to hear that a local government in the area had stopped their projects purely because of the political situation, as they already had the funds. I thought that was interesting. What's the difference?

So I really need to push myself more. I need to make a more concerted effort to get to communities and be visible. Even if I'm not doing Wat/San work I will be visible in communities that might need water. If I get the word out then it will be easier to find projects. I can't wait for people to find me. I knew this all along, but I've got to put myself out there more, especially during this financial/political problem.

Thing is, unlike some of the other Wat/Saners, my counter-part doesn't focus on water. They're mostly agricultural projects, therefore they don't have anything to offer me themselves. What I should be doing, is going out with them and talking to people about their systems, their Juntas de Agua, and finding the problems and offering to help. This is my plan.

You know what I forgot? I am the first Wat/San Volunteer to be in this area for a while. There was Chris, but he was far away and only did a few studies out this direction. Amazing, he lived far away and had more work to do than I do, and I live right here. There's work, but because I'm a new Volunteer, people definitely need to know I'm here.

Yes, this is mostly me coaching myself, but it helps.

Yesterday, Carlos (one of the Wat/San bosses)sent out a couple of text messages asking us to respond to how the political situation is affecting our work...

"We'd like to know how this political situation is affecting your service. Are you safe? Rate High or Super busy. Challenges??"

Um ... Carlos? HELLO! Number One: I think it's unfair for the scale to only include HIGH or SUPER busy. I mean, that just makes me feel bad! There should be an option "Sitting Around With Your Thumbs Up Your Ass."

Challenges: NOBODY IS WORKING! I mean, people are working, but projects are only finishing and no one is interested on taking on new things right now. Add that to the difficulty of jumping on already started projects, and you've got a lovely mess of NO WORK!

My email to them, of course, was more polite, and I'm glad that they're inquiring. Sometimes I'm not sure that Peace Corps is really in tune to what's happening on the grass roots levels with us, but then they surprise you. They're usually just late on getting out. Actually, maybe this was prompted by FIVE Volunteers from my group leaving in the past week. Yes, FIVE!!! They're dropping like flies and it's really terrifying. I'm sad when anyone leaves, but I don't want my closer friends to go.

Well, these are the trials and tribulations of life during political instability. Actually, it's not really instability, but nonetheless things are definitely slower. Damn. Take care!

My friend, let's call her Happy, is always telling me stories about the weird beliefs/superstitions Hondurans have shared with her. She seems to have encountered an abnormal amount in our short time in the country, but yesterday I finally experienced my own "weird Honduran beliefs."

Yesterday morning I was eating breakfast with a frequent guest in our little "restaurant." Considering he is a frequent guest (and apparent friend of the family), he was sitting at the family table in the kitchen. This man, he'll be named Cafe, works with a coffee cooperative in the area, and therefore is very particular about his coffee, and I might add, very-well educated.

Naturally, people here are very particular about their coffee, because we're in a major coffee producing area of the country. Many Hondurans don't understand this comparison, but the different aromas, flavors that Napa Valley so proudly cultivates in their wine resembles the importance of the cultivation of coffee in Copan. Not having been a big coffee drinker before my time here in Corquin, I did not realize that coffee taste can vary like fine wines or good micro-brews. By the time I leave here I will be well-versed in the subtle differences of coffee production in the Copan area (maybe).

In any case, considering I am not a seasoned coffee drinker (I still can't drink it black), and the amount of coffee I some times drink in any given day (it's everywhere! Like water!), I have resorted to using a non-dairy creamer in place of sugar in my coffee. It really started to add up ...

A couple weeks ago Cafe was having breakfast while I prepared my coffee and was very dismayed at my use of creamer. Being a purist, he suggested I take my coffee black, since the coffee is produced by my host mother, and apparently of exceptional quality. At the very least I should add milk or do as Hondurans do and add 5 tbps. of sugar.

Well, he yells at me not to add creamer again yesterday and he was in luck, because I had forgotten it at the office. So I add some milk and sit down at the table to drink my coffee and eat my cornflakes (yes, I have become a huge fan of cornflakes in place of the common, heavy Honduran breakfast).

"Do you know why you shouldn't put creamer in your coffee?" he asks me.

"Not really ... additives? Substitutes?" I stammer, a little annoyed that my usually solo breakfast has been interrupted for an early morning quiz. At this point, I would like to add that I really didn't know where he was going to take this. Surprisingly, Hondurans are very particular about their health, despite the amount of carbs and oil they consume in a day; on top of the 2 liters of Coca-Cola a family tends to drink at every meal. Considering their preoccupation with their "health," I was expecting something like additives producing cancer...

"Do you have a boyfriend, Hannah?" Hmm ... this is a little off topic. Not quite sure where he's going to take this...

"Yes, yes I do."

"Then don't give him the creamer in his coffee! Know why? Because creamer has the same chemicals in it that they put in fish food and cow food. Want to know what's in that food??"

Me, thinking, here we go...

"Coincidentally, I don't!"

Cafe, (with his very feminine hand gestures) says,"The food and creamer have chemicals that turn males, ALL males ... (wait for it...) GAY!!"

:Pause for reaction:

Now, I had just taken a bite of cornflakes and just about choked on them. SO NOT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING! Creamer makes ALL MALES (animals and humans alike) GAY. Yes folks, beware that chemicals exist in this world that, simply with ingestion, you will become gay. But, thankfully, it only happens to men. I mean ... where do you get this stuff?? AND, not only are our men turned gay, but fish food and cow food are contaminated as well! All our fish and cows are gay! What has the world come to?

And the thing is, Hondurans don't joke around with this stuff. He was completely serious when he told me this and was seriously concerned that I had been feeding my boyfriend creamer and that he had been turned gay.

Now, that's Honduran Tall Tale #1. Number 2 happened at the end of the day (they tend to catch you when you're most off-guard and have less energy to fight back!)

I've had meetings early in the morning the last couple of days, and considering that I'm inexplicably tired all the time, I couldn't pull my butt out of bed to get to the gym early. Therefore, I have been resorting to going at night after my English classes.

Last night, feeling a short burst of energy, I climbed on the treadmill and ran for 30 minutes. Naturally, the gym has no semblance of circulation and it's a gagillion degrees inside. People must think Americans sweat in abnormal amounts, because whenever Laura and I leave we are completely drenched in sweat.

I arrived home at around 9 o'clock, and considering I had an early morning the next day, I wanted to quickly get showered and go to bed (like 9 is so late, right?) Anyways, the Evil Bathroom continues to torture me, and I shower in a different place every day. I went to the bathroom in the kitchen to retrieve my shower puff so that I could shower in the Evil Bathroom, and encountered various people drinking their late night coffee.

"Are you going to shower????!!!!" says the nice lady who works in the kitchen.

Me, forgetting that Hondurans don't understand sarcasm, look down at my drenched t-shirt and reply, "Yes. Yes I am going to shower now."

Now, Happy had told me during field based training (FBT) that Hondurans believe that you will get sick if you take a shower at night. I was preparing my response for this superstition, when again they caught me off-guard ....

"That's very dangerous! You're "agitated" from working out. Look! You're all red! You can't get in the shower now! You'll get sick. You're :host mom: waits at the VERY LEAST 1/2 hour. You should wait until 10 pm. You should ask her!"

All the while, I'm blustering, trying to figure out how to explain that I won't fall ill if I take a shower. All the while, I'm becoming more convinced that they might tackle me if I actually try to shower before 10 p.m. Also, they told me to ask my host mom, because apparently she went to school as a nurse before she started the coffee business. I ask you ... WHAT are they teaching in those nursing schools if a professional is sure that taking a shower after exercise could make you deathly ill? WHAT??

Walking back to the Evil Bathroom, I burst into laughter, because I had a double-header for weird-Honduran-beliefs, both of which were thoroughly entertaining. I ran to try to call Happy, but her phone was off, so I called Cat instead, barely able to talk because I kept giggling.

Considering that I am typing this blog the next day, I did not get sick from taking a shower about 20 minutes after exercising. I even washed my hair!

Lesson learned in Honduras yesterday: 1) Don't let men consume creamer (if you want one for yourself) 2) Showering right after exercising is strictly forbidden. YOU WILL DIE!

Oh, I love it!

All right, so admittedly I've been a little peeved with Honduras for the last week. Waiting to see what happens politically and not really having any work has made Hannah a little bit frustrated. It just comes and goes, and this time it seems to have come with a vengeance.

In any case, last night after English classes I went to the gym because I hadn't gone in the morning. I also hadn't gone the day before, because we didn't have water and I wasn't entirely sure how I would shower, and didn't feel like spending the day really sweaty and uncomfortable. So, I get into the gym, and there are a whole bunch of teenage guys. GREAT.

I ignore them, put my Ipod in, and hop on the treadmill. Warm-up for 5 minutes and then start running. I really needed to run with all the pent-up frustration. Within minutes of me starting to run this 10 year old boy hops on the treadmill next to me. Mind you, there are four more treadmills open around me so there is no need for him to get on one right next to me.

Now in hindsight, I might have been imagining this situation, but I'm going to tell you about it anyways. I was convinced that he was trying to race me and show me up. Here's pretty much the dialogue in my head:

"Oh, great, he's getting on right next to me. Little punk.

Oh, now we're racing? BRING IT! :couple minutes go by:

Kid, I spend 1.5 hours in the gym almost every day. I hit stride after like ONE minute! You honestly think you can take me?? PUHLEEEZE!

:Hannah continues running ... like a champ ... Boy begins to struggle:

Can't keep up, eh?"

In less than five minutes the kid gave up. You know that champion yelling/gesturing that people do when they've accomplished their life dream? Yeah, I was doing that in my head. "Take that, BICH!"

So I continue running, totally fueled by my frustration and now I've decided I have to show-up Honduran men too. Men here continue to amaze me. I walk down the street and there's, "Hola gringita! Mi amor! Vamonos a los Estados Unidos!" (Hello gringita! My love! Let's go to the U.S.)

Recently, I've been fending off the annoying advances of men I encounter every day. There is absolutely NOTHING you can tell them to back off.

"I have a boyfriend."

"Oh, come on! He's there, you're here. He'll never know! I'm worth it."

"Yes, but he's jealous. He would kill you."

"Nah, man! It's fine. Come on!"

A family friend now harasses me inside my house, which had been my haven previously.

"Hello doll! I love your eyes! Aren't I handsome! We would make a handsome pair!" He tried to give me a picture of himself dressed in 80's striped shirt, aviator glasses and bright yellow cap. I politely declined, and now it's taped to the display case where my host mom displays her coffee and coffee liquour.

"I have a car. A nice house. I have a finca (farm) with a lot of coffee. We would live a nice life!"

"Good for you! Still, no thank you."

He's now getting closer to making physical contact, which I'm not too excited about. I just don't like the fact that my house has now been invaded by men asking to be my boyfriend/husband. And this is so normal in this country that no one defends you. My host family thinks it's hilarious that there is a "swinging-door" of men coming in to harass me while I'm eating breakfast.

So needless to say I have some hard feelings towards Honduran males. As I was walking to English classes last night it was raining, and I had my umbrella up. A truck full of guys came up behind me, and per-usual slowed down to a crawl to stare at me while I walked up the hill. I just pulled down my umbrella so they couldn't see me, because damned if I'm going to feel like I live in a fishbowl. That discouraged them pretty quickly and they drove off.

Honduran Men - 0 / Hannah - 1

Back to the story ...

So the little kid disembarks the treadmill and I am feeling ever so victorious. I pump up the music and keep running. Then two more guys walk in. One, I've never seen before, but the other is that typical gym-goer type that has to show off for everyone. Considering he grew up in a machismo society, this show-off quality of his is on mega-steroids. So they walk in and start making noise, immediately seeing that the gringa was there.

Unknown Guy gets on the treadmill, again right next to me and starts to run.

"B-R-I-N-G I-T.

I know your type ... Come to the gym with your cologne on, smelling all pretty. I'm here cause I'm PISSED! I WILL kick your ass. Count on it!"

That's just a short snippet of all the stuff that was running through my head. Man, you would have thought this guy had insulted my entire family they way I was talking shit ... to myself, I might add.

After a while he goes, "It's nice to run next to a pretty girl..." I just gave that smile, "Yeah right, pal!" If he only knew what I had been so obnoxiously saying in my head.

The awesome thing was, my Ipod seemed to channel my competitiveness and created the best soundtrack. Right after Unknown Guy hopped on the treadmill, "Bitch is Back" by Elton John came on as I began to talk shit again in my head again. After that, Lily Allen "Shame for You" played, which is another good musical example of how I feel here. I may have hit "replay" a couple of times...

So, that's my story of beating Honduran men all while running off some steam about the country in general. Oh, I beat Unknown Guy. He lasted longer than the kid and started to worry me, but soon enough he fell too. He kept taking breaks. That doesn't count.

I ended up running for 40 minutes straight at a good pace (big deal for me!). By then the guys were pretty impressed and I was feeling like I'd won a gold medal. Really helped me get over my frustrations.

Honduran Men - 0 / Hannah - 3

So, if you ever find yourself in a foreign country and a little perturbed, just challenge someone to a run!

I was going to write a blog yesterday, but lost track of time and had to head out for class.

I'm really getting tired of the waiting game. We had plans to go to the hot springs on Saturday and chill out, but it looks as though Mel is trying to make everyone suffer some more and is planning on returning on Saturday. Thus, we will probably be on standby and I will not be able to leave my site. Thank you again, Mel Zelaya!

The other day I decided not to go to work (great, huh? This is one of the benefits of being a VOLUNTEER. I make my own hours!) So I was awkwardly hanging about the house, and since I cannot make tortillas (which renders me virtually useless), I was asked if I could sweep the floor. After I agree and walk away to get the broom, Albita asks me, "Do you know how to sweep the floor?" Ummm ...

Before I could catch myself, I threw my hands up in the, "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid!!!" way and walked away. I just ... I mean ... How do they think we live? Do I come off as the type of American that grew up so sheltered that I don't know how to use a broom? Or, is it that they think we have much fancier appliances to do such work. Come to think of it, I've never seen a vacuum here... HMMM.

I'd like to say that I have better things to do during a coup, but in fact I don't. Not that I would have had work, but I'm finding myself increasingly distressed by this coup and how it seems to have stopped me from feeling able to move forward in Honduras. For instance, the day that the coup actually happened and we didn't have any electricity, I could have studied Spanish or a million other things. But instead I made a necklace. Yes, I took the beads from my host mom's skirt that she didn't want and made a stunning necklace out of beads, thread and a safety pin. I think it's amazing.

The other day my site-mate commented on the necklace, and my reply was, "Thanks! I made it during the coup!" It's now my coup necklace. That would be a good name to launch a jewelry line. I've always wanted to design jewelry, but more for the purposes of just being able to create any piece of jewelry that I wanted, but wasn't rich enough to buy.

So, yesterday a couple of the girls from my area were heading up to the "post office" and I tagged along to see where it was. Turns out, the post office is really just an office in some random woman's house and she in charge of distributing the mail. I'm kind of skeptical of the whole set-up, but we chatted a bit, and of course my introduction was followed by ...

"Look how jovencita (young)she is!"

Hannah twitches.

"Yes, I look young, I know I look like I'm 17 years old, but I'm actually 23."

Trying to avoid the usual Honduran comment, "But you look like you're 17 or 18!!"

Hannah twitches.

My appreciation for the randomness of Honduras waxes and wanes depending on the adventure it throws at me. At times the adventures are difficult, and other times they are rewarding, for example, offering up lentil soup.

The other day I was waiting in the Parque Central for the kids to show up to English class, and this man approached me. He looked Catracho, and spoke Spanish, in which he asked what the park was called. I replied, that as far as I knew, it was just Parque Central. At which point he switches to English, and begins to explain that he is Indian, lived in the States for several years and then decided to move to Honduras. He has been living here for almost two decades, and does research/practices natural medicine.

Anyways, during the conversation he mentioned that he has an apartment in Corquin that acts as his vacation home. Having mentioned earlier in the conversation that I was looking to rent places, he offered to rent me his apartment.

Well, today I went with him to see the apartment. It's actually pretty far out of Corquin so unfortunately I won't be able to rent it, but the experience that resulted was interesting.

I honestly wasn't sure of him in the beginning, because he whipped out his stock investments in the park, which, why do I need to see those? I also am a bit wary of people who directly question you about your religious beliefs and other more personal topics of conversation I generally reserve for closer friends. Nonetheless, he seemed like a harmless guy, and against all better judgment from Juan Carlos (Security Director of Peace Corps) I got in his car to view this apartment.

Again, alarm bells when he had me read the "testimonies" as to the success of his natural remedies, but we went to the apartment and were only there for five minutes before we drove off again. "That was easy," I thought. And then (and this amazes me that I didn't understand even though we were talking in English) if I wanted to go to the next town, and I agreed. I have to admit that I was hoping we were going to get lunch. Well we went farther, but turns out he just needed to go to a hardware store.

Anyways, this entire time we're talking about the events of yesterday and what we've observed/experienced in Honduras. So he asks if I would like one of his natural remedies to cure stomach problems, and I sheepishly accept. Why I do this to myself, I don't know. I mean, for all I know it was that crap from the movies that they put over your nose/mouth and you immediately pass out... my imagination sometimes strays... but you never know!

Well, in the process of getting my cure-all potion, I am offered delicious lentil soup, which leads to more political discussion, a stock investment lesson, and eventually suggested philosophies on life ... The lentil soup and political discussion was lovely. The soup satisfied cravings for food other than beans, cheese and tortillas, and the political discussion catered to my need to get other people's opinions on the current events in Honduras.

And that was my afternoon, in short.

So, none of this has made it into the American news, which I find interesting, although I might be a little paranoid.

The current President of Honduras Mel Zelaya, doesn't exactly want to leave office. He has started a big campaign for "La Cuarta Urna" the Fourth Box. The Fourth Box (depending on who you ask) would do numerous (unspecified things), namely completely reform the constitution, and more specifically for the purpose of creating unlimited terms for the President. Hmmm...

Now, after having asked several people what the Cuarta Urna is, the above explanation is what I've come up with. All I know is this:

I've been watching rallies for the Cuarta Urna on T.V., and Mel is out there in his sombrero, wearing his "campo/country" gear, talking about how we have to help the poor and the poor is so oppressed in Honduras. Ring a bell?

Granted, what he's saying is the truth, but by all accounts from more reliable sources, he was a shoddy President and didn't do much for the poor when he had a chance. So, now Mel Zelaya (who might I add is quite fond of Hugo Chavez) wants another go, and is using the time-tested method of appealing to the poor and wanting to achieve his goals. Bueno.

Well last night, I come home from those blasted English classes (we played games, I lost control) to find my family watching the news. Now, they are avid news watchers (and supporters of the Cuarta Urna), but this is prime-time telenovela time! Paloma (character) has probably just found out that her boyfriend has impregnated yet another woman!

I digress ... This must be something good if they're forgoing telenovelas for the news. I couldn't understand much, but people were all hot and bothered outside the Presidential Casa, and I kept hearing things about the armed forces and "golpe de estado." Now, "golpe de estado" isn't quite a coup de etat, but it roughly translates to "hit to the state." Armed forces + hit to the state = slightly nervous Hannah. Why isn't my language better?!

I mean, I enjoy politics and have severely missed D.C. for this reason. Also, international politics gets me going even more, and not being able to understand the situation was upsetting. I started calling people.

My friend was also paying attention to the news, and had gathered that someone from the armed forces had resigned, and I added in my knowledge that Mel was now the Commander of the Armed Forces.

There was a much longer conversation behind this. Talking about how we wish we knew what was going on, but what we thought was going on was reminiscent of other times in Latin American politics, and we were nervous as to our futures in Honduras if the political climate were to take a turn for the worse.

Mel has some socialist tendencies and this business with the Armed Forces/golpe de estado was a bit peculiar, and I might add a little sudden.

Also, this vote for the changing of the constitution is on Sunday, and Peace Corps issued a mandate that all Volunteers are on Standfast, which means we are not allowed to leave our sites in anticipation that there might be some heightened political activity over the weekend.

Well, I hopped on my wireless this morning and discovered the truth as to what happened yesterday evening:

Mel Zelaya sacked the commander of the armed forces for not agreeing with his Cuarta Urna idea (not a good sign). The Congress and Supreme Court (equivalents) have declared the Cuarta Urna illegal, and the commander said that he couldn't support something that was deemed illegal. THEN!, in solidarity, the heads of the navy and air force resigned. How lovely! Now Mel has full control of the armed forces in Honduras, is continuing with the vote Sunday despite the fact it is illegal, and doesn't seem to give a darn at all. Neither do the Hondurans. Meanwhile, the PCVs I have talked to are kind of like, "Ummm guys ... history, Latin America..." We're being overly dramatic. In all the political turmoil that went down around Honduras, they have always been stable in comparison. It's just funny to see how the different cultures approach the situation.

Even my host brother acknowledged this as we sit there in the dark watching the news, me clutching my dictionary, and he turns to me and says, "Gringos don't like golpes de estados, do they?" And in my sarcasm that has yet to translate, I reply, "Ummm...NO!" They loved it. They thought it was great that Mel is following through with his "pledge to the poor" and not let people stop the Cuarta Urna. Aye dios mio.

It's kind of cool what's happening in that I'm actually living in a political climate that could become pretty volatile (if things go really poorly), but at the same time I don't want to leave! Peace Corps will pull us out if need be, and I don't want to go!

Anyways, that's my ramble from down here. I've kind of got that nervous, something is happening emotion about me today. PS I just wrote this and didn't revise it, therefore forgive all grammar/spelling mistakes porfa!

Adios!

So, earlier last week Kathryn gives me a call and tries to bribe me to come give a charla with her. She really didn't have to work that hard, because I'm dying for work and pretty much would do anything. Anyways, her big hook was we might get to ride "las bestias" to the community. HORSES! WOOT. I accepted.

So, I went to Santa Rosa de Copan on Friday to do a Junta de Agua (water board)training with Kathryn Pastingual, an aldea close to her. We prepared the charla pretty fast because we would only be talking about the administration (president, v.p., secretary, etc.) and how to decide on a tarifa (what community members will pay monthly to sustain the water project). The guy in charge of the local water projects, Denis, was supposed to cover the rest. With the understanding that this was more his deal, we just copied a few things from a presentation we had, and then left to meet the driver to go to the community.

So, we pull up to the Municipalidad (local government office) in Dolores to pick up Denis and continue our way up the mountain to the BESTIAS! Well, Kathryn starts explaining to Denis what we prepared and that we have it written out on charla paper, and he just gets this look...

"Fijeseque, no prepare nada..." (Fijeseque, I didn't prepare anything.)

Kathryn just looks at him, turns around in her seat and says, "Bueno!"

Sidenote: Fijeseque is probably one of the most annoying/awesome frases that Honduras has to offer. It's like an all around excuse, used wherever possible, and quite often. As long as you use "fijeseque," any excuse that follows it is automatically valid. No matter what.

"Fijeseque, I can't date you because you're an idiot." Acceptable.

"Fijeseque, I'm going to come home drunk tonight." Acceptable.

Those are ridiculous examples, and not true by any means, but that's just to show how ridiculously useful this frase can be.

Unfortunately, when someone uses "fijeseque" on you, you know that you're about to get screwed over. Two-way street my friends.

Back to the story: So, this man A) has not prepared the majority of the presentation B) has NEVER trained a Junta de Agua before. Well this is just awesome. Our already lame presentation has just become the most pathetic thing ever imaginable. Kathryn turns around from the passenger seat and says to me, "Hannah, I'm really really sorry." Apparently something got lost in translation, which happens a lot, and I most certainly wasn't mad. If anything, I was just a lot more nervous than I was when we left her apartment.

So we start scrambling with how we're going to make-up for this HUGE gap in the presentation. Meanwhile, the car can no longer continue up the muddy hills, so we disembark and wait for the BESTIAS! The driver for the organization thought it was hilarious that the gringas were going to ride horses. He was disappointed when I told him I had ridden horses before, but I let him believe it had only been once or twice.

This man from the community comes around the bend with five horses for all off us to ride. I must say, they're not the well cared for horses we used to ride out West on family trips. These horses were old and looked as though they had a hard life. Nonetheless, I actually felt like I was back in the corrals with my cousins, eye-ing up the horse that I wanted to ride for the next hour. I picked one, well suited for my height with a pretty saddle. And we were off! It was actually kind of scary, because we were climbing into the mountains, up steep slopes right after a big rain. The horses kept slipping, and I was afraid we were going to fall down the hill a couple of times.

It probably would have been easier walking, because the poor horses seemed as though they couldn't handle our load. My horse was panting half-way up the first hill, which made me feel pretty bad about myself. Still, I must admit I was pretty excited to ride horses. Felt like a pretty genuine Peace Corps moment. Made me forget about our doomed presentation for a while.

And this is how comfortable I've gotten speaking Spanish. I'm still by no means perfect, but I got up in front of 17 Hondurans and just blabbed my way through the presentation. I mean, I don't want you guys to think we did a half-assed job directing these people how to maintain their water system. It could have been better, but they definitely got the information. I just can't believe we showed up with half of it "prepared," and the other half we had to stumble through. In training, had I not had every word outlined before the charla, I would have collapsed in a nervous fit. Denis gave us help with the language and explaining more technical things, but for the most part I'm pretty happy with how it went.

On our way back down on our bestias, one of the women from the charla asked us in for coffee. These people don't have much at all, and she apologized for not being able to provide us with lunch, but she gave us good coffee with AMAZING bread. I'm now a huge fan of the bread/coffee combination. It's quite delicious. We scarfed down two plates of the bread and had a nice conversation on her porch. I think that's my favorite part so far. This little old lady, with few resources, welcoming us into her house. People in the campo (rural areas) are so giving and humble. It's just so fulfilling, sitting there, stumbling through a conversation with people who are genuinely happy to have you there and converse with you. At the end of the week, it's these moments that outweigh all the earlier frustrations.

Anyways, that was my day in the campo. When Denis said he hadn't prepared anything, I was afraid for the worse, but it went well and we survived. Kathryn might go back to give another, more "detailed" charla.

Afterward, we headed back to Kathryn's sitemate's house where she cooked amazing eggplant parmesan and a fruit-pizza cookie! It was delicious and I was very content. I love going to Santa Rosa. I get good food and gringa company. We even had a stimulating political conversation during dinner, which pretty much fulfilled all of my needs for the next couple of months. Good times.

Well, figured I would update people on what I do on a daily basis. I just wrote an email breaking down the hours in my day, so I will do that here as well... It's kind of comical.

6:30am or 7am - 8:30am -- I go to the gym to combat the massive carb/oil intake in

my diet at the moment. I am proud to say I have been slightly successful!

8:45am - 9:30am -- Shower and eat. I am now showering outside of the Evil Bathroom because it is evil and doesn't have water after 7am. The other shower is located in the kitchen/family dining area, which has direct view of the dining area where Hondurans (of course mostly men) are eating their breakfast. Nothing like drawing attention to yourself by walking into view with a towel and shower stuff. I also don't like the fact that I have to bring clothes to change into to leave the shower, because I inevitably look weird and people still stare.

After I get dressed, I go back to the kitchen, where I bumble around like a fool, looking for food and then means to cook it with. Albita and Margarita (they work in the kitchen) have been really patient with me in their territory. I generally end up eating an egg, beans and tortillas for breakfast because it's easiest to assemble. If I'm lucky, they might have some version of cooked banana for a minor amount of healthy food intake. Who am I kidding, it's always got some form of oil involved.

9:45am - 3pm -- I go to ODECO. Usually I stay from 12pm - 2pm when everyone goes to

work, because that is my quiet time. This is usually when I do my shameless internet surfing. I usually check my email, log on to Facebook, and then open the internet page of a local news source to look mildly busy. I constantly monitor Facebook (I've like become Big Brother on Facebook) while hitting up Cnn.com, BBC News, National Geographic website (still haven't gotten over the fact they have a website!! AMAZING), and I'm ashamed to admit I even go to PEOPLE.com on the slow news days. I know more about American pop culture now than when I was living in the States.

3pm - 5pm -- Anymore, because I have been teaching English classes with Educatodos, I leave ODECO a little early because a) I'm not really doing anything b)I like to chill with the fam before I leave again. Again, create a meal for myself from scraps in the kitchen and then head up to the other side of town for the classes.

Educatodos is a program started by the Secretary of Education geared towards students who work and aren't able to attend school during the day. I'm teaching 7th grade and 8th grade in English. These kids are anywhere from 13 years old - 21 years old. They have all dropped out and are taking these classes to get their diploma. It's night school basically.

Until I came along they haven't had anyone teaching them English. They just have books with a CD that they follow along and complete the exercises. So, needless to say they haven't really been learning any English.

The kids are pretty ridiculous, and kind of piss me off sometimes. They're always bouncing around, distracted by each other, but they're good kids. I have to work on setting some ground rules, but they seem eager to learn English. Well, English that pertains to their lives, like saying: "I love you" or "Mission Impossible." I did a grammar session last night, that they silently suffered through, but it's going better than the first couple of classes.

I'm actually devoting a lot of time to it. I'm there almost every week night, and last night found out they're having classes Sat. 8 - 11 and Sunday 8 - 10. We'll see if I go to those sessions, because that's a bit much. But, it's nice to be doing something to keep me feeling like I'm actually being productive.

After Educatodos, I usually get a ride home from my supervisor, who I repeatedly have to shoot down, explaining to him that I don't want to be his girlfriend! Last night, he dropped me off, pulled forward to the door to the main part of the house, and gave my host sister some stupid key chain and FERRERO ROCHE!!!! WTF? Ferrero Roche is the only chocolate in this country that comes close to resembling the goodness of chocolate in the States. You'd think, for as much as Hondurans like sweets, that they would be better at chocolate, but it just isn't true. I should be nice to him, because I'm really start to get desperate for some good chocolate. I thought about mentioning that I like chocolate (he offered to get me flowers), but that would be too close to admitting the possibility of a relationship. Hence, I continue without chocolate.

And that folks is just about my daily life. Of course, there are different things thrown in, like poo-water flooding the house or random, awkward experiences.

You're jealous, aren't you?

Last night I came home from my English class with Educatodos and was putting my backpack in my room when I noticed that I was sloshing through water on the floor. I opened the bathroom door, and someone had taken a massive sh*** and the toilet was overflowing! The water had started to make its way down the corridor towards the family room. I even had poo-water invading my bedroom! Who just leaves a massive bowel movement to flood a house?!

In my “Holy Crap!” moment I forget the word for “flood” and just walked over to my host mom watching t.v. and said, “Bathroom! Water! Everywhere!” And everyone ran over and my host mom does the Honduran, “EEEEEEE,” where you suck in and kind of makes this high-pitched sound that seems as though it should be coming from an animal. My host sister, acting suspiciously guilty (I might add), just kind of walks away, shaking her heard. My host sister-in-law pokes her head out of her room and blames it on her husband and goes back to bed! Then my host mom, angry that someone has degraded her home, just sits down and continues watching t.v. WTF? I’m standing there, in the middle of poo-water, amazed at the fact that the entire family seems content to leave the water where it is!

So, seeing as how everyone else seems to not care that there is poo-water invading the house, I grab a broom and start sweeping. SO FOUL! I mean, it looked clear, but I knew there were poo particles all up in that water.

I think my host mom thinks I was guilty, because I immediately started cleaning up, but really I just had a flashback to the mother vs. child scenarios.

You know that moment as a child, when something really big happens (like poo-water flooding an entire house) and it’s too big to ignore because your mom will ruin your life for “not helping more.” You can’t go and hide in your bedroom, hoping to wade out the storm there, because she’ll find you and you will have hell to pay. You know that, whether you did it or not, if you don’t participate in cleaning up/fixing the situation, your mom is going to go on a RAMPAGE for a very long, undetermined amount of time. So, instead of protecting yourself somewhere, you just quietly start helping, hoping that you get points for helping, but you don’t do anything wrong to draw attention to yourself. As long as she’s still concentrated on the mess, you might be able to get out alive!

So, I recognize the warning signs: seething, stewing mother; nobody taking the blame; children weighing whether or not this is one of those “mayday” moments. Well, the last thing I want to do is encounter one of these all-out-war episodes in a foreign language, in a foreign family. My instincts return to me and I immediately spring into action, grab a broom, and with my head down I start sweeping. If you’re heads down and you’re doing something, maybe she won’t notice you.

Well, my host siblings obviously know Angelica better than I do. There was no real, earth-shaking, mom’s angry episode. Merlin went to her grandmother’s house to sleep and Lorbing ended-up coming home, and like a true Honduran man, left the clean-up to the women and went to bed. I was steaming mad by the end of the ordeal, because I was sweeping up someone else’s poo-toilet-water when I should have been in bed!

Also, when sweeping poo-water, don’t wear your sneakers that you bought because they are mesh so they dry faster. When you wear said sneakers when sweeping, the likelihood of poo-water coming contact with your foot is like … 100%. Every time I felt water splash up on my foot I couldn’t help but dry heave. The great thing about Wat/San, is that in training you get to learn about all the lovely things that happen after coming in contact with human fecal matter. I must have learned a lot, because all those nasty diseases kept flashing through my head. It was like the tunnel in Willy Wonka, where my mind was just racing with the most random, foul pictures related to bowel movements. I’m surprised I didn’t have any nightmares.

After having scrubbed my feet and sanitized my floor, I crawled into bed and started thinking about how I kind of missed mom-wrath. Mind you, my Mom NEVER threw fits like that … I just know from … stories I used to hear from my friends. Right, that…

But seriously, that stupid book excerpt I posted, where you miss the things you least expected, who would’ve thought that I would miss my Mom yelling at me. I mean, not so much yelling, but that awkward dance you do when you’re a kid (or an adult) just trying to avoid bringing down the wrath of your mother. And if you have siblings, sharing that knowing look, and with a rare show of camaraderie you all just work together and don’t point fingers; that “If we don’t work together none of us are going to get out alive!” Or, knowing that even helping will piss her off still, because now she doesn’t have any reason to yell at you and that pisses her off more. And then? She still yells at you.

I guess that really just boils down to family dynamics. I mean, obviously this is a bit dramatized, but we’ve all been there. It was just kind of funny to experience that in someone else’s house, and remember those first, terribly awkward moments where you really just want to hide, but know that you should help. You can feel the tensions mounting and I couldn’t help but laugh with the memories of your own similar experiences. I hope last night got me points and I didn’t place the blame on myself instead.

So I don’t think I have really told you guys how a typical “getting to know you” conversation goes in Honduras. I love it. It is so predictable. The only variation is the order of questions:

“What is your name?”

“Hannah Bryce Ferguson.”

(You may be thinking dear God, why do you give your entire name? Do you have name turrets? No, I do not. But if I don’t give my whole name the next question is “What is your last name?”)

“What state are you from?”

“Florida.”

“Oh! Miami!”

“Well yeah, but I’m about 7 hours North of Miami.”

“Oh, is that near (insert one) New York/Los Angeles/Houston/California?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh, I have a brother/uncle/husband in the states.” “Oh really? Where?”

“Texas (for example).”

“Oh, are they legal or illegal?”

“Illegal.” (almost always).

“Ah, that’s a tough life.”

(I have learned that the legal/illegal question is perfectly acceptable)

“How long have you been here?” “How long are you staying”

“I have been here for 4 months and I will be here for 2 more years. I have been in this town for 1 month.”

(I never know which one they are asking so I always just answer both questions.)

“Do you have a boyfriend?” “No, I do not have a boyfriend. I don’t really want one right now. I had one in the states.” (This extra information usually prevents the “I have a son/ cousin/ nephew/ brother who…)

(This question can vary depending on who is asking and how sly they are “Is your husband in Peace Corps too?” “Is your husband in the states?” “What is your boyfriends name?” Is your husband going to come visit?”)

“Do you have children?”

“Umm…. no.”

(I always really want to answer yes and make some long elaborate lie about how I left my kids in the states. But then I remember that a lot of the women here are single moms because their spouse left to work in the states. So the question really is reasonable. Then I feel like an asshole.)

“Are you Catholic or Evangelical?”

“My family is Protestant. I was raised Protestant.”

(This usually is followed by blank stares from the Honduran, who I am sure is thinking “What is a Protestant and why didn’t she answer the question?” I feel bad for my Jewish friends.)

This is usually where introductions end and one of the following conversational questions ensues (And I am really not joking…):

“Have you tried Rosquillas?” (When in Sabanagrande)

“Do you like mangoes? Would you like 1 (which means 5)?” (When in Pespire)

“Have you tried Papusas?” (When in Valle de Angeles)

“Do you know Baraq Obama?” (Seriously people…. Seriously.)

“Do you like our country?”

And my personal favorite…

“What do you think about the war in Iraq?” (You would be amazed how often I get this question from all ages of Hondurans)

Oh so seriously, last week we were discussing how amazing it would be to bring the phrase “Qué Barbaridad” to the states. And I am sure you all agree with me. Well, I have noticed recently that there is a lazy version of “Qué Barbaridad” that would be absolutely amazing in the states. It makes me laugh inside every time. “Qué Barbara.” When you just don’t have the energy to get out an entire “How Barbaric” just blame it on Barbara!

Now my good friend from my beloved Wat/San group posted part of my blog in her blog, and considering I've wanted to copy ALL of her blogs for you guys to read, I know feel justified in doing so...

I'm not going to use her name, because she doesn't use mine, but she's lovely and I love her dearly and is absolutely hilarious! What she writes about is stuff I deal with daily as well, and since I haven't been good with updating, her writing will suffice for now. I'm sitting in my office reading her blog update, and just trying so hard not to fall on the floor laughing. So, enjoy...

So I survived my first earthquake last night at 2:30 in the morning. I am very south of the epicenter which was located off of the coast of Roatan so it affected my friends up in the North more than me. Up there it was a 7.1 and destroyed a lot of buildings, bridges, etc. I have no idea what it was down here, but it woke me out of a dead sleep. I totally thought somebody was breaking in because my bed is right under the window. I was convinced somebody was jumping on my bed. But then I realized where I was and that the bed was going back and forth and not up and down. And the rumbling sound. And you could almost hear people collectively holding their breath in all of Honduras. And then the children near the house were crying and I tried to figure out who I should call at 2:30am to say “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!? EARTHQUAKE??!?!?!?!” But I wasn’t sure how far out the earthquake reached and if I would wake anybody up. In retrospect I don’t think any of my friends would have been upset to get a phone call with me on the other line saying “AAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! EARTHQUAKE!!!!!” But instead I layed in my bed thinking “What am I supposed to do? Stop, drop, and roll!… no that’s not it… Duck and cover!… no that’s not it either…. Poop your pants!… nope… Stand in the doorway? I think that’s it.” And by the time I figured it out it was over. And then I thought “Should I get up? I don’t hear anybody else up. If I hear somebody up, I will get up.” And I heard my mom talking but that was it. So I thought, “Well, my host mom will save me. She’ll knock on the door if I need to get up.” So I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then this morning I woke up and my first thought was “HOLY SHIT! THAT WAS AN EARTHQUAKE!”

Almost the exact same thoughts I had that night too...

So let’s talk for a moment about bananas. The bananas here look like they have been thrown down a flight of stairs, trounced upon by a dance troupe, and then drug down the road by a horse. But they taste of heaven. I mean seriously. So there are a lot of different bananas and I’m not mistaking them for plantains. I’m not THAT white. I had my favorite for the first time today. They are yellow and red colored, about 4 inches long, and are fatter than the bananas in the states. They are still in the ginormous bunches and are sold out of the front of a house. And the nice toothless lady whacks off a few with a machete for 1 Lempira each. (1 dollar = 18.9 Lempira) They have a really nice banana taste but have an aftertaste that is nutty in flavor. Wow. Amazing. Don’t even get me started on the pineapples and mangoes.

So I tell you this not to make your mouth water in jealousy, but to tell you that there was a worm in my banana today. One time there was a worm in my apple when I was a kid and I didn’t eat apples for like months (sorry mom, I traded them… usually for fruit rollups… sometimes for those little canned hot dog thingies). But here a banana trade would probably land me with more corn tortillas. No thanks. And to waste food is like, super bad. Although I also have to say briefly, because I can’t tell a story without at least 2 asides, that they still tell their children that there are starving children in Somalia. WHAT?!?! You have starving children HERE! Like, right there dude! Like, tons of them! Anyway, so I just kind of looked at the worm (it was dead), shrugged, and ate around it. So the question to all of you is… was it the banana with the nutty flavor? I hope so.

Speaking of food, let’s talk about coffee. I must say that I was horribly horribly disappointed in the coffee here. I mean, I know I used to tell all of you how amazingly uber excited I was about going to Honduras who has some of the best coffee in the world. And I love coffee about as much as…. Well…. Let’s keep it PG. I love coffee. But then, I learned, that Honduras exports all of their good coffee. To whom? The United Freeking States of Preventing Becky From Getting Good Coffee. So instead we get the ghetto coffee remnants that they scoop up off the floor with dust and…. some other gross things and they call it coffee. But then, then I moved to Sabanagrande. One day, I was having dinner and occasionally my host mom gives me coffee with dinner. And one day, the coffee was….. delicious???? I was really confused. I looked around to see if I had woken from some bad coffee dream and was in a Vegan Hippie Independently Owned Free Trade Coffee Shop in some artist colony in Berkley, but no it was the same wall I stare at every evening! I know for sure because I usually stare at the fishing rod in the corner and think “Nobody uses a fishing rod in Honduras…. There isn’t even a river NEAR here…” I was so excited I sent text messages about coffee! I thought for sure she put something IN the coffee. I mean, it was honestly the best coffee I have ever had. Ever – no exaggeration. So I couldn’t let this phenomenon go! So I ask my host mom “What’s the difference between the morning and evening coffee?” “Why?” she asks. “Because it tastes much different.” “You didn’t like the coffee?” “NO! I LOVED the coffee! It’s really good!” “Oh, that’s because the morning coffee is Indio or Maya (like the Columbia House man with the sombrero and donkey vomited into a can and called it coffee). That coffee was from Marcala and is pure coffee.” SCORE!!!!! So, I happen to have two friends placed in Marcala. Guess who is going to Marcala? Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas? Trust me. You will thank me. I have tasted the hell and the heaven of coffee and lived to tell the tale.

My friend Kisser McGee just sent me a text message saying that a semi-pro Ping Pong player stopped by her house today to ask for help in starting a team. Let that be a lesson: anything is possible in Honduras.

One more thing about food. Let’s talk about meat for a moment. Now, most of you knew me when I was a devout vegetarian. And you all know I am a vegetarian in my heart and will very very likely go back to the way of the veg. But I must say, the meat here is really, really sketchy. I was shocked when my host brother-in-law’s brother (does that make him my like, my host second cousin or something?) told me that Honduras is known for the high quality of its beef. “LIARFACE!” I yelled at him. But apparently, Hondu really DOES have high quality meat! So, the next time you enjoy a delicious steak, think of Becky, who is eating the really really sketchy meat that is NOT shipped to the States. How sketchy you ask? Well let’s just say there is no such thing as rare, medium rare, medium, or medium well meat here. You get well, or weller, or shoe leather. It’s safer that way.

This is an excerpt of the book I’m reading now, Paris to the Moon, it’s actually not a very good book, but I liked this paragraph. It’s about a family that moves to Paris for five years, and the experiences they have living as Americans in Paris.

“The things an American who is abroad for a very long time misses – or at least the things I missed – I was discovering, weren’t the things you were supposed to miss. We are supposed to come to Europe for leisure, sunshine, a more civilized pace, for slowness of various kinds. America we are supposed to miss for its speed, its friendliness, for the independence of its people and the individualism of their lives. Yet these were not the things I missed, and when I speak to Americans who have lived abroad, for a long time, those are not the things they seem to miss either. I didn’t miss cross-town traffic, New York taxicabs, talk radio or talk television, or the constant, appalling flow of opinion that spills out like dirty floodwater.

I didn’t miss American “independence” either. If anything, I missed its opposite, American obsequiousness, that yearning, beseeching tone of a salesman trying to sell something that you never hear … I found, to my surprise, that what I missed and longed for was the comforting loneliness of life in New York, a certain kind of scuffed-up soulfulness … It isn’t possible to just remove yourself from a friendship in Paris for a month or two, as you can in New York. (“What have you been doing?” “Working.” “Oh.”) … The things Americans miss tend to involve that kind of formlessness, small, casual, and solitary pleasures. A psychoanalyst misses walking up Lafayette Street in her tracksuit, sipping coffee from a cup with a lid with the little plastic piece that pops up. My wife, having been sent the carrot cake that she missed from New York, discovered that what she really missed was standing up at the counter and eating carrot cake in the company of strangers. I thought I missed reading Phil Mushnik in the sports pages of the Post; what I really missed was reading Phil Mushnik on the number 6 uptown train on a Monday morning around ten.

The consensual anonymity of men in crowds is what we are escaping when we leave, and then it is what we miss. You can be alone in [Honduras] a lot, but it is hard to be lonely; there is always another pair of eyes, not unfriendly, appraising you. You are a subject, not an object, and if this is part of the narrow, centuries-old happiness of life in [Honduras], it is also one of the things that narrow that happiness. Walk into Central Park to watch the sea lions, and you disappear from the world for a little while … in [Honduras] you are always conscious of the [things] leading you back the way you came ... We go to cities to become invisible, or to be invisible and visible by turns, and it is hard to be invisible in [Honduras] … What that American misses is the blues.”

It’s not exactly fitting for Peace Corps and Honduras, but I liked it enough when I was reading, and figured I copy it over for everyone else in the occasion that I haven’t written in a while and don’t really have the motivation to at this point either. I’ve got the Honduran blues.

I went to another town the past two days with people from ODECO (my organization) to 1) get out of the office 2) learn more and hear Spanish. During the charla I desperately wanted to write out a blog, but alas, I didn’t have my computer. Instead, I took notes of what I wanted to write about, but we’ll see if it transfers a couple hours later.

So, yesterday in all honestly was pretty boring, so I won’t tell you about that. We just went to a high school and the two guys I was with told them about ODECO and what ODECO was. It was meant to include information about the environment, but we were running TWO hours behind, it being a Honduran event and all.

Anyways, so today I went with Wilmer and Carlos (my counter-part) to a barrio (neighborhood) beyond Belen Gualcho.

OH, side-note, so Saturday I went with my host dad and host siblings (Lorbing and Merlin) to, honestly I dunno, some land they or their family owns. This is how the conversation went:

Lorbing: “Do you have anything to do today?”

Me: “No. Well, yes. I go to party at house of other Volunteer. Later.”

Lorbing: “Do you want to go to the finca (this I thought meant farm, here it usually pertains to a coffee farm. Apparently, it means a lot of things…) with us?

Me: “When we get back?”

Lorbing: “One. We’re walking.”

Me: “Yes.”

Anyways, so we crawl into the truck, the girls in the bed of the truck (naturally), and start driving up the mountain. Now, as I understood, we were going to a farm and I knew there were cows. So, I’m sitting in the back of the truck with Merlin, in silence, and my ONE lame attempt was, “So the guys come here every day to work?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy (natural for me), and says, “No.” Well with that, I’m done trying to strike up conversation. So I would estimate we drove for about one hour. Farther and farther north, until we reach a road, which clearly has been recently built. Want to know how I know? The men were STILL working on it as we drove to our final destination! Now, it continues to amaze me that there are communities here that only recently have received roads that can support a car.

Oh, and by this time I’ve noticed that there isn’t any coffee growing in this area, because we’re pretty high up. Now, forgetting that I often lose things in translations, I start to panic about what is really the mission for this jaunt into the mountains…

1) They’re selling me into the sex trade and we’re going to the obscure meeting spot

2) They’re going to kill me, because I haven’t paid them rent yet

3) They’re going to sell me into regular slavery, because they don’t like Americans

Well, we get to a point where it doesn’t appear that cars would be able to go much further. It’s a lot cooler, and just extremely beautiful. So, eventually the road does end, we hop out, and start climbing upwards. Well, apparently they have animals up here, and we’re checking on them. Where’s here? A national park. Turns out we were in Celaque National Park, which is an extensive park in this area, which I think includes a cloud forest, which is where the forest is in the clouds? I don’t know. I feel like a bad person, because apparently everyone else did a lot of research on Honduras before we got here, and one of the major attractions was the Bosque de Nubles (Cloud Forest). So I wandered around, KICKING MYSELF, for being so stupid and not understanding enough Spanish to understand we weren’t going to a coffee farm, but a national park. Granted, I don’t think I would have known anyways, because those details weren’t provided anyway, but I should learn to just bring my camera everywhere I go.

The point of that was to tell you, but also to note that I went back towards that are the past two days and I brought my camera. That was pointless….

Back to the original story…

They were going today to talk to community members about responsible farming techniques. They live in an area that has poor soil, and they need to optimize their techniques to ensure that they still have a living in a couple of years. This community is a community of Lencas, which are indigenous people of Honduras. As in most countries, these communities tend to be most stricken with poverty.

These people are mostly doing subsistence farming (only meeting their own, personal needs), and have very little opportunities to expand into the bigger markets in the area. Either way, ODECO is very environmentally conscious, and is present in Tejeras (the barrio) for many reasons.

This area was settled by the Spaniards in the 1600’s because it was rich with minerals, and there were a lot of successful mines. Now, the people are in a remote area of Honduras with poor soil that is prone to terrible landslides. Two years ago 28 families lost their homes to landslides that result from torrential rains (that happen every year). ODECO is helping 10 families rebuild their homes, now, two years later. The poverty here isn’t as severe as some places, but I hardly can imagine that these people would be able to recover financially after losing their homes. Most of the homes in this area were built with adobe (mud bricks), because the people can’t afford more stable materials. Therefore, you can imagine a) the vulnerability their homes had to torrential rain and mud slides b) the little resources they must have had to rebuild their homes afterwards.

But, this charla was attended by 50 people, both men and women, which I always find encouraging. They talked about contour farming, live fences, and other stuff that I didn’t quite catch. We ate THREE times throughout the course of the day (9 am – 3 pm). There is a tradition in Honduras that if you have a charla that is longer than 3 hours or goes past 12 noon, you have to provide food. So first, we had a merienda (snack), then lunch (which is the biggest meal here), and then at the end we had coffee. It was ridiculous, but now I don’t have to pay my host family to eat tonight! Hey, I’m in the Peace Corps…

Speaking of in the Peace Corps… here are some of the things that snapped me back to Honduras reality today…

1) I was made to stand-up and present myself to everyone, which isn’t a big deal, but I swear two people whipped out camera phones and video taped me.

2) People then proceeded to stare at me the entire day. OH, especially when Carlos said, “gringo.” Now, mind you, gringo can apply to American gringos, Russian gringos… in many cases the “gringo” applied to a German… why are you looking at me?

3) I went to the bathroom, which was virtually half a toilet on a flooded floor. One of my biggest fears is unknown water in places where there is a good chance it’s nasty water. For instance, liquid on the floor of a bathroom or liquid on the floor in a house where a dog resides… there’s nothing worse than walking through a house in bare feet and stepping in a puddle and thinking, “Good God, where did this come from?!”

Anyways, so I have never mastered the “hover” position, and doing that while trying to keep my pants from dipping in the mysterious liquid was quite a treat. I literally walked in and said to myself, “And I’m in the Peace Corps…”

4) I am camera shy. I have a glorious hunk of machinery, which is on of my most prized possessions, but it is a HUNK of machinery. A lot of people here don’t own cameras and never will. When they see them, they STARE. Now, I could have pretended I was taking pictures for ODECO, but Wilmer already had me taking pictures with their slick, pocket-sized camera. So, I couldn’t very well whip about my beauty to take more. At least, that’s what I think. I mean, even gringos comment on my camera…

“….OHHHH! You have the D70!” As they hold their D80…

“Yes, yes I do…My parents gave it to me.” For some reason I always have to qualify it was a gift for a major milestone in my life.

So, imagine if Americans are impressed by my camera, the Lencas are going to be mighty impressed. Somebody needs to invent a camera that you can put in your mind’s eye so that you can take a picture without people knowing. My limited artistic eye was twitching today, because there were so many great opportunities for great photos and I couldn’t get a single one!

What am I supposed to do? “Hey! You’re a cute, little old Lencan man, can I take a picture of you?!?” Yeah, you try that. Peace Corps already dances a fine line in some communities with acceptance of American aid, and imagine if the Peace Corps Volunteers were taking pictures of the people like they were tourism sites?

5) Things were spelled wrong on the boards of the elementary school. During one of the breaks Carlos pulled me aside and made me pick out the mistakes. I was 2 for 2! They were pretty basic, but it’s very sad. People spell things here LITERALLY like they sound, which makes for a lot of spelling errors when they even pronounce the words wrong.

6) It started raining so hard (on the metal roof) that Carlos had to stop talking. For like 45 minutes. Then, the water started coming in under the door. The school was flooding because of the rain. It rains like this for 5 months every year. They then proceeded to sweep the water out with a broom. It came back.

That’s about it. Interesting day. Besides just plain missing my friends, I also miss having people with me to share ridiculous experiences. Sometimes you just need someone to agree that what you just saw/experienced was indeed strange. Now I don’t have that, and I don’t have English, so I think I’m going to rely a lot more on my blogs to share those experiences I wish everyone was there for. After a day of Spanish even writing in English is a God-send (even if it’s poor grammar).

So I slipped up yesterday. Now, my house is connected to two businesses: 1) the comedor (small, home-grown restaurant), and 2) the coffee business. The living room, where we sit all the time, is connected to the comedor, in which case you can hear everything going on in there.

Background: One day in Spanish class we went over “Taboo Subjects,” which ended up being the various names for private parts! This in fact did come in handy during the HIV/AIDS charla, but at the time we thought our Spanish teacher was just expressing her “unique” methods of teaching us Spanish.

So, I was sitting in the living room with my host mom and my host sister. From the other room I hear one guy say, “Mira! Pan de mujer!” Now, in my Spanish class (as far as I was concerned!), “pan de mujer” is a euphemism (write word?) for a woman’s private parts (my grand-parents read this!). So, me thinking that he was being a typical Honduran man and thinking that no one could hear… I snickered. I also was proud of myself for remembering too.

Well, my host mom notices the snicker, and starts to laugh. Well, I think she’s laughing for the same reason I snickered. No. She then asks me what “pan de mujer” means, at which point I turn bright red, because how do you explain that in Spanish to your host mom (the only meaning you’re aware of)? Adding to the situation, I stammer out, “the capital!”

The night before, my host sister and host sister-in-law were asking me the English equivalents to “bad words” in Spanish. Well, my sister-in-law said, “the capital!” when I said we called the nether-regions, “vagina.” Yes, that was not smooth. Well, they all dissolve into chuckles, and politely explain to me that “pan de mujer” is actually what you call the little buns we eat with coffee. The bread is made by a woman, opposed to the bread you buy, which is mass produced in a factory. Literally “bread of (made by) women.” I DIDN”T KNOW! I even have a dirty mind in Spanish.

I then proceeded to explain that we only learned the slang translation in Peace Corps… it was a lost effort.

Now, I don’t know why, but I make eye contact a lot. I think it’s because I spend a lot of time observing people, and when you stare at them long enough they’re bound to catch you. I also seem to secretly befriend the crazy Hondurans; at least until yesterday.

In Pespire there were a couple of crazy guys that roamed the park. One would do yoga/tai chi type things in front of the church, usually while singing. If not, he was just in front of the church singing. The other guy would (I think), walk the entire town; whenever he passed by my house I would say, “buenas,” and he would keep walking. Harmless.

The other guy was my favorite. He was silent and would just sit in the park all the time. I kind of became enamored with him from the start, because he just looked like such a lost soul, but the day that my friend told me she saw him crying in the park was the day I really fell for him. I used to say, “buenas,” but he seemed unnerved by it, so I just gave a slight smile. In my mind, we were friends and had a secret understanding.

Well, there are a few crazy guys in Corquin too. One is younger, and walks around in the same clothes with a broom handle. He’s probably about my age. Now, he seems a bit more “with it” than the Pespire crazies, so I wasn’t giving him a slight smile, but you know, noticed him/I might have made eye-contact. Well, yesterday I went to the gym in the evening, and as I was walking back I passed the young crazy guy. He stopped, and just stared at me with an intensity that only crazy people can manage. GREAT! That’s all I need, a crazy person noticing me, because once they’ve noticed you you’ve entered their world and you don’t want to be a part of their world.

Also, during the charla today (and I think that blog will be after this one), I got caught in eye contact with a couple of the guys in the audience. Well then, after the initial meeting of eyes, I want to see if they’re still looking, so I look again and we meet eyes again. And the thing is, people STARE here, and that is considered normal, but you don’t make eye-contact. For all I know in Tejeras I’m known as the gringa who was making sexual advances on all the men. That’s an exaggeration, but I need to check myself. These are the things that you do as an American, that as a Honduran you can’t do.

These are my little thoughts today after I lost the ability to listen in Spanish. There comes a point in the day (no matter the saturation of Spanish), that your brain just can’t handle it anymore. You stop being able to process the words. You stop caring in all honesty. So, these are the things that I think about when I can’t think in Spanish.

The other day my friend sent me the following text…

“Ever want to have time to be alone with your thoughts and then gotten it? I think that’s when you realize that you thoughts are boring…”

Disclaimer: This post contains references to the private goings-on in bathrooms. If you’re at all shy about it (because I’m not anymore) beware; it’s not graphic though.

I’ve been fighting with the bathroom of my new house since the very first day I got here. The first night, I go to brush my teeth, and can’t get the damn water to turn off! It felt like eternity, but was probably only a minute, that I stood there, panicked that I would never figure out how to turn the water off! What if it didn’t turn off?? Do I walk away, because they will know it was me! Do I ask for help? You know those moments, when you are so distressed by the situation time seems to slow down as if to reinforce the torturous awkwardness you are already experiencing.

Well, I finally figured out how to turn the water off after twisting the knob back and forth for a minute. The thing about living with host families is when you have a problem, you hesitate to ask for help … at least I do. That night I stood at the sink, panicking, thinking, “How do I say in Spanish ‘I need help turning off the sink.’” You think of all the various combinations you could say that one phrase, knowing very well that there’s some obscure cultural saying that you don’t know, and when you ask the family in your own special “gringo Spanish,” they won’t understand and look at you as if you have three heads. So, you just don’t ask, and you panic through the situation, all the while cursing the forces that be for putting you there.

ANYWAYS, up until this house, I have had to use a bucket to flush the toilet. You go, and fill up a bucket with three gallons of water, and take it in with you. Then, instead of using the flusher (which are still there!), you pour in the bucket of water.

1) I think the flushers remain on the toilets to tease ignorant gringos, who just might happen to forget where they are, and try to flush normally. Having used these toilets for 3 months now, I still forget the bucket, and I still try to use the flusher. You push down the flusher, and nothing happens, and you brain is confused for .5 seconds, and then you remember you’re in Honduras, and you just kind of go, “Oh … yeah.”

2) Why we ever progressed beyond the bucket flush is beyond me. It’s so efficient (maybe not in water usage)! I know that much of my audience has indeed clogged a toilet before in their lives, and I ensure you that bucket flushes eliminate such problems! With the bucket flush, if you don’t have enough water you just go and refill the bucket! You don’t have to wait for the toilet to stop running, hoping that it will in time for you to try another flush before you have to abandon your shame, and pretend like it worked.

So, this toilet has a weak flush by all standards, and is conveniently located on the opposite side of the house from the pila, where Hondurans hold all their water. So, in order to get a more efficient flush I would have to abandon the toilet, walk across the house, ask for a bucket, walk back through the house with said bucket, and flush the toilet! Yeah, no.

ALSO, the bathroom has CONVIENENTLY been out of toilet paper for about 4 days!! In all my awkward, infinite wisdom, I just avoided going to the bathroom in my house. It got to the point I considered stealing toilet paper from my office to serve as a private stash in my house.

Now, you ask, “Hannah, why wouldn’t you just ask for toilet paper?”

Well it isn’t that easy! See, the housing situation here is different, so I have to pay rent out of my own pocket, and I don’t know if that includes soap, toilet paper, etc. (this was a problem before!) Therefore, what if I was to ask for toilet paper, and my host mom said, “You’re supposed to supply your own! And stop using my soap!” Now, I know she wouldn’t do that, but I have a lot of time to think about the worst-possible-scenario. I’m so pathetic.

But, HALLELUJAH there was toilet paper this morning!

So, I first fought with the sink, then I fought with the toilet, and then I had a fight with the shower this morning.

Now, luckily I didn’t go to the gym this morning (yes, there’s a gym in my town, and I have wireless internet in my office. I’m in Posh Corps!), so I wasn’t sweating when I got into the shower. Now, turn on the water, and a slow, steady dribble comes out. Greeeaaat. Well, I decide to abandon washing my face for the sink, which has a steadier water flow. Unfortunately, I’m a bit too big to fit in the sink to wash the rest of my body, so I lather up my shower puff, and starting soaping up. Now, what I was thinking in this moment, I still can’t figure out. When there is a steady dribble of water in Honduras you can pretty much count on there being no water by the time you need it. That’s just how it works here.

So, left the water on, because there wasn’t too much coming out that I would drain their tank, so kept soaping up, and turns out slowly watching the water STOP. Yes, by the time I had soap covering my body, the water decided to turn off. Yup, just inexplicably no running water at this moment.

Turn the knob left. Turn the knob right. Jiggle, jiggle. Turn the knob farther to the left. Farther to the right. Nothing.

DAMMIT! Well I stood there, staring at the shower, praying that enough water would come out to allow me to get at least the majority of soap off. Nope, didn’t come. So I just toweled off the soap and left. Just abandoned all hope of running water. What was I going to do, wrap the towel around my soapy body, walk into the kitchen and ask the women there for a bucket to continue washing myself? Maybe some of you would have done that, but I am not one of those people. Spare the shame of my host family knowing the EXTENT of my awkwardness, only to put it on the internet, where the rest of the world can read it!

So I’m not itchy yet, which makes me pretty happy, because that was my number one concern this morning. Also, the mango/lime scent that is my soap is a little stronger, so I have a nice natural perfume today.

To add insult to injury, I was walking out of the house today to go to work, and saw under the counter in the restaurant a 24-pack of toilet paper. WTF?!?

Bathroom 3 – Hannah 0

I thought people would appreciate this little mini-war with the bathroom. I sure don’t, but at least it provides some humor for somebody’s day.

So I'm sitting here in my office, ODECO, tooling around, trying to find the motivation to study, learn about topographic studies, not be on Facebook, and this guy walks up and says, "I heard there is a Volunteer here from Wat/San." Well, I perk up, naturally. Of course, my counter-part is there, but he just walks away. I had a minor panic attack, but not as big of an attack as I thought. So, he sits down and starts explaining that he is the president of a water board nearby that needs to expand its water system, because it was built a while ago, and they've extended beyond the capacity of the existing water system.

Now, we're entering winter here, which means it's going to rain a lot. The first rule about designing a water system is to measure the "speed" of the water. Well, you want to design the system on the basis that they will have enough water in the dry season, so you can't take a foro (measurement) of the water in the winter/rainy season.

Well, I was glad I remembered this fact in my frenzied, "CRAP! He's talking to me!! Will I understand??" So I got that out, all comfortable in my ability to handle myself in a Wat/San fashion, and he goes, "Well, the streams are at the same level as they would be in the summer, so that's not a problem." SHOT DOWN! Oh well, that didn't get me down, I'm new.

So he's like, "I don't know if you have time, but if you do, we have to get on the foro immediately." He introduced himself, and left.

HOW EXCITING! In training they always tell us that people will randomly approach us and ask for help, but I didn't think it would happen my first week! Apparently people were expecting me, and that's pretty cool! I want to go do it, because it would be easier to work with an existing system (maybe). And I could do the foro, but not do the project for various reasons. Either way, I'm stoked!!

Sitting here does pay off!

Well I'm in my site! I have to admit I don't quite feel like writing a blog, so this one might be a little boring, but I felt like I had to check in.

A couple of weeks ago we found out our sites, and I am now in Corqui, Copan. Copan is a department of Honduras on the border of Guatemala. I'm about 3 hours away from Copan Ruinas, which are the Mayan ruins here in Honduras. My engineer is one of my very good friends Kathryn, and she lives in Santa Rosa de Copan, which is about 1 hour away.

Let's see. I work with a local non-governmental organization (NGO), which is great because I think it will be good experience for work after Peace Corps. ODECO is committed to the development of Corquin, but has now also expanded to include municipalities surrounding Corquin. My main work here will actually be repairing water systems in the area. Last year, tropical storm 16 went through and destroyed a lot of the communities here, including their water systems. Now, they have a Wat/San Volunteer here to not only design new systems, but also help educate the communities on trash and health so that they start as successful, sustainable communities.

My counter-part is a great little old man named Carlos. He already treats me like his daughter and has offered me anything if I should ever need it. Carlos, although he is my parents age (he looks older), reminds me of both my grandfathers. He knows everyone in town, always starts random conversations with random people, and if full of random knowledge. It comforts me a little bit trying to pick the similarities out between Carlos, Pap-Pap and Grandpa. Actually, he's very religious and is pioneering a new farming method here! The similarities are abundant.

So I feel very at home with Carlos, and am working on inserting myself into the office life. There doesn't seem to be too much going on right now, because they're in between funding. I've basically been on the internet all day, but that's ok with me. Hopefully, in the next couple of days, people will start opening up more and maybe even throw work my way.

Oh, I have a sitemate also. She's pretty cool and seems very busy. She's from business. She's trying to pass a couple of English classes off to me, so I might have a weekly job in a couple of days as well. I like having a sitemate, because it makes the loneliness of being in site a little less acute.

I'm living with a family in town for 2 months. My host mom owns a small restaurant and also produces her own brand of coffee. We have great coffee here in Corquin. She's really busy, but the house is comfortable and as always the family is very hospitable. There's always a lot going on, with people working and moving about. I hate two host siblings, but they go to school away from Corquin for the week, so I'm glad to have other people around.

It's hard living in site. When we had to say good-bye, me and all the girls were crying. In Peace Corps you make such close friends, and then you are ripped away when you go to site. Carlos was crying too (Carlos the guy who trained us), which made me cry harder and even sadder to leave. It's hard not having that immediate support system from your friends.

Needless to say, I have my ups and downs each day. It's hard speaking Spanish all the time, and by 4 pm I pretty much have verbal diarrhea consistently. Nobody can understand me, and I just feel awkward. Anyways, as a whole I really like my site and am trying to get out and explore. I think Carlos will help me integrate, and I'm looking forward to getting a little bit more going on.

I put up pictures and I think they will express a lot more than I can write now with my lack of motivation. http://picasaweb.google.com/hannah.b.ferguson

Signing off for now. Love you all!

Hey guys-

So I'm actually sitting in ADEPES writing this blog in person as opposed to writing it ahead of time and pasting it in. Knowing luck in Honduras, the internet will cut out soon, but I'm getting to the point where I will be ok with that.

So yesterday we went to the river. It was hands down the best day of my life. We met up at 8:00 am, which meant I could sleep in, and made food in groups to take to the river. My group made guacamole. At around 10, we headed to this farm, where if you walk down a ways you get to this awesome part of the river! It was actually clean, cool, and had a really deep part where you could jump off a rock and not hit the bottom. We were like little, happy fish!

Everyone spent the entire time in the water and we just splashed around and had a great time! We were so happy to be swimming and cool again. It was great not to be in Spanish class and just be able to relax. We are all so burnt out from Spanish, training and not sleeping. Out of the 10 hours a night I TRY to sleep, I probably achieve REM 4 - 5 hours each night. Only one week left! I'm sad and happy about that.

So, the river was awesome. Great food and great friends. We were having a blast tooling around in the water. There were a lot of jokes and stories, but I can barely remember them, and I don't know if they would translate well. Peace Corps Honduras humor is the epitome of "you had to be there". For the first time our conversation strayed of the following topics:

1) Who pissed you off today in Spanish class/technical training.

2) What food/ beverages you miss.

3) What about Honduras is completely backwards.

We seem to be really negative, but when you only have a few people to talk to and a lot of things that are frustrating, you tend to just bitch. Everyone is really happy though, and our little sessions of negativity are necessary to relieve a lot of stress. We always have a blast together though.

But, yesterday was perfect. I had a blast and cannot begin to explain how awesome it was to be in cool water for about 4 hours. I'm burned to hell on my back, but that's ok. Such a great group of people we have here, because we all have so much fun together. I'm pretty bummed to be leaving them soon, but hopefully we'll all keep in touch and get together for parties/holidays.

So, Monday is the big site announcement day! I'm going to try to get on the internet some time this week to put up a little blurb about my post. Saturday we're moving back to Sarabanda, and then have a week there before we go to our sites! I don't know when I'll get internet next, so FYI.

Other than that life is good. I can't believe I'm moving on to the next stage of my service! Crazy that time has passed so quickly.

New pictures posted! Take care everyone!

At times, because I am spending so much time speaking Spanish, I completely lose my ability to speak English. There is a rule that exists when learning a new language, that when in doubt you don’t know the word in one language, you use the other. Therefore, I might slip some Spanish words into my blogs or just totally write like a fourth grader because I can’t remember how to form more complex sentences. Entonces (see! meaning then/therefore) FYI. Lo siento.

Wat/San-ers work a lot with health themes, because our work very much incorporates health problems. We work with latrines and water systems, and how, when you’re giving a community a charla (talk/instruction) on their new water system, can you not also go into proper use of water and the health risks if you don’t maintain a clean water system? So, one of the big pushes from Martin (the HEAD of the Wat/San program) is to get Wat/San-ers to work more in charlas, because we tend to resist giving them. That’s what happens when you get a whole bunch of engineers/awkward people together into one program!

So, yesterday a few of the health Volunteers came and gave us a multi-hour charla on HIV/AIDS (VIH/SIDA en Honduras) so that we could then give the same charla today (I have to write the blog while I’m still suffering the after-shock). Great.

Now, this was all planned for us, all we had to was actually give the lesson, but that’s like saying, “Well you have a parachute, now all you have to do is jump out of the plane!” Not only were we doing this in Spanish, but to colegio students (high school freshman). Plus, they’re not like American kids, where they see sex in the culture and all over the t.v. These kids are more sheltered because they live in a conservative country and are really only taught abstinence. Entonces, this was probably the first time they had ever heard in depth about VIH/SIDA and how to put a condom on an erect penis. Yes, yes I had to do that with 26 15 year-olds. ME! :Pause for reaction:

Now, it continues to amaze me that the Spanish language doesn’t have a single word that is the equivalent of AWKWARD. As a person that would probably choose awkward to describe their life as a whole, I am often without words to describe how my day has been. For instance, my host mom asked me when I walked in the door, “Como le fue (how did it go)?” and I wanted to shout “AWKWARD!” but alas there isn’t an equivalent and I always forget the various phrases, so I usually don’t really say anything. Awkward. Peace Corps has made me more convinced that I haven’t the slightest clue how to navigate social situations. So, to compensate for this grand lack of expression in my life, I am going to make up for it in this blog.

Now I was the kind of kid who just didn’t talk to people I didn’t know. I wasn’t quite on the par of my sister, who had to be bribed with a guinea pig to talk to family friends, but I was quite quiet. I still remember when my Dad would sit me down and say, “Hannah you’re just going to have to talk to people some time. At some point in your life, talking to other people is going to be necessary.” At first, I didn’t believe him, but eventually I figured out what he was talking about. I mean, I’m still less than proficient at making conversation, but at least I will speak to people when it becomes absolutely necessary; I still don’t always enjoy it. Entonces, imagine being such a person, learning a foreign language, talking about sexual relations in front of a whole bunch of adolescents.

“Que es homosexual, heterosexual y bi-sexual? Alguien sabe?”

(What is … …. … , Anyone know?”

CRICKETS. Well great! Let me just go ahead and explain that to you in my DAZZLING Spanish.

My response more or less was equivalent to this complexity … “Men sleep with men. Women sleep with women…” and on.

AKWARD.

I such a topic would be difficult in English, but forget about spending FOUR HOURS teaching Hondurans about HIV/AIDS. I literally thought I was going to vomit this morning. Literally. So, there’s no way around it, obviously it had to happen.

The kids were pretty diplomatic, as always and only really laughed at the awkwardness of having to write “street slang,” for such sensitive words as penis, vagina, homosexual, etc. Not only that, but imagine pulling a young boy up to the front of the class and having him read the synonyms for “menstruation,” to get everyone comfortable with the topic. Now, I don’t know about you guys, but that does NOT make me comfortable. That makes in UN-comfortable. That makes me want to crawl into a hole and DIE. He lived, though.

God, I wish you guys could see a video of this, although most people wouldn’t understand, but I’m sure the facial expressions are priceless.

My favorite part? Oh yes, how could I forget… teaching pairs of adolescents how to use … CONDOMS! God, how could we make this even more uncomfortable!

So, Kalin is walking through the steps and I’m the penis. Yes, I am holding the green banana to which she needs to apply a condom. Now, the kids thought this was oh, so very funny when they didn’t think they had to do it, but then!, I walked around and gave each pair a banana, man they were not happy. I thought a couple of girls were going to flat out refuse, but everyone played along, if only grudgingly. So they laughed, and one boy was making highly inappropriate comments to the girl he was paired with. I don’t actually know what he said, but she kept hitting him so I just assumed it was inappropriate!

What can I say, it was great practice and we did have fun, but I think I ruined my shirt from sweating so damn much out of panic/heat. It’s one of those things, where you do it and while you’re doing it you think to yourself, “this isn’t so bad,” but then when you’re done the adrenaline is used you and you think, “dear God what did I just do?”

I really think they learned stuff. For instance, most people here don’t know that mosquitoes don’t transmit HIV/AIDS. Or, anal sex can transmit HIV/AIDS as well as vaginal intercourse. So, obviously these charlas are BIEN IMPORTANTE (very important), but nonetheless doesn’t stop me from wanting to faint from fear each morning we have to do them. This one was the longest, FOUR HOURS, and was definitely exhausting.

GOOD NEWS: After I wrote this blog we went back to ADEPES to process the charla and then speak to a person who is living with HIV in Honduras. Part of the processing of the charla involves the Spanish professors who sat in our classroom pulling us aside and “constructively critique” -ing our participation in the charla. Now, I have kind of waged war with the Spanish language to prove that I’m not entirely stupid in navigating this language and don’t constantly have verbal diarrhea each time I open my mouth. So I was EXTREMELY excited when, Monze (the director of Wat/San Spanish stuff and specifically my teacher at the moment) said I did a great job!! YAY. In charlas past I haven’t participated as much as some of the other aspirantes, and tend to take more passive roles in the charlas, but I get yelled at for that, so I picked more complicated roles this time. Well, she said that she expected me to sit back again, but I surprised her because I was very active, spoke loud enough, and interacted well with the students! I starting jumping up and down when she said this, because this was the best time to prove I wasn’t retarded. She sincerely seemed stunned. That said, not a bad day!

This past week was a good week. We focused on the environmental aspect of Water/Sanitation. We hiked up to a watershed and talked about ways to protect a water system/water source. We also built more efficient stoves, and then started a tree nursery with the organization that’s hosting us in Pespire (ADEPES).

On Tuesday, which was, what we thought at the time, the hottest day we’ve experienced yet in Pespire, we hiked up to a watershed to learn about how to protect our water sources. Now, obviously, water originates higher up in mountains, and we were taking GPS points to learn how to load them on our computers, so we weren’t taking the normal trail. We divided into two groups, each taking one side of the watershed, and walking up the ridges to meet in the middle. Now, in order to figure out where a watershed, if you were a raindrop and were going to find the closest stream, where would you go? Downhill? But we had to go around the watershed, so we were scrambling up sides of pretty steep hills, etc. Our path was reminiscent of scrambling up hills on my Volunteer Visit in Santa Barbara, only not as pretty. And it only took 1.5 hours. So, we met the other group in the dry river/stream bed, and then hiked back down. It’s amazing how goofy and ridiculous people can get when they’re hiking in 104 degree weather in jeans. We had a lot of fun.

A funny story: We eat TONS of tortillas. Little, saucer-sized corn tortillas. Do you already have a monton (mountain) of carbs/starches on your plate? Oh well! Eat a tortilla! They’re nice with some meals, but we’re kind of pushed to eat a lot of them because they’re so central to Honduran food. As a result, I don’t really have a huge appreciation for tortillas. Anyways, my friend Jill, who is hilarious in a very dry, sarcastic manner, is the lowest Spanish level in our group. Her teacher, who is also dry, but not in the fun way, asked Jill how far away her house was from her Spanish class. Jill, trying to lighten the mood, measured the distance in tortillas; “Well, I’d say it’s about 3,000 tortillas from here.” Apparently, her teacher didn’t much appreciate the joke, but we thought it was hilarious. Therefore, this entire hike we measured everything in tortillas.

“When was our last GPS point?”

“Oh, I’d say about 1,000 tortillas back.” Guess you had to be there.

Also, “that’s-what-she-said” jokes have been taken to a whole new level in Honduras. When you struggle to entertain yourself with the same 16 people in sweltering heat, the most retarded jokes become epic. For those of the older generations, that’s-what-she-said involves comments that could be twisted to be sexual. Example not included.

So, we’re sitting in our AC back at ADEPES, learning how to load GPS coordinates on our laptops, and we’re all just enjoying the cold air. Nick, the Volunteer who hiked with the other group, had turned his shirt an entirely different color with sweat. We were all so incredibly foul, that I couldn’t imagine what people would have thought had they walked into the room. We had kicked of our hiking boots, and were just sitting in chairs, trying not to move. We get so sweaty in our outdoor training, that I can literally catch a whiff of someone’s body odor and tell who it’s coming from! I could identify people by there BO in a blind smell-test. How gross!

So we’re sitting there, trying not to fall asleep during Nick’s boring presentation, when Carlos walks in and tells us to look at the window in the room that leads to the office of the boss of this non-governmental organization (NGO). Naturally, we all look, and the door opens behind us and in walks the BUSINESS TRAINEES!

Now I don’t know if you guys remember, but our training group is separated now into our three sectors. I haven’t seen anyone from business of health in over a month, and I’m getting pretty darn tired of these Wat/San people! Just kidding. But anyways, they were on their way back from a camping trip on an island (don’t get me started on that!), and they were driving through Pespire and were allowed to stop and say hello! They all walked in, and started trying to hug us before they realized that, even after having been in AC for over an hour, we were still drenched in sweat. After a while, they would just pat us on the back. They said, when they opened the door and first walked in, they had never smelled something so foul before in their lives than 16 Wat/San aspirantes after a hike.

So we got to catch up with them for a few minutes before they were all wisked off again. They were happy that we had to sit through boring power-point presentations too, but we were quick to say that this wasn’t the norm. Our activities outside are one of our biggest bragging points. So after everyone was so excited to see the business people, the door shuts behind them and we all settle back into our chairs and Nick (who wasn’t thrilled about having to do this in the first place) says, “So I’m going to save the text file…” and just heads his head in shame, and we all start laughing.

It’s so great that 15 minute visits from your friends can make your week so much better!

And then, after that training class we went to Carlos’ house to play soccer for a while. It was “whoever-scores-the-next-goal-wins” time, and Carlos had Nick jammed up against the wall, trying to get ball, and Nick falls. Now, Nick is probably about 6 foot 5 inches (he’s really tall) and he fell, but his left arm got dragged down the wall by the other 250 pounds of him. His dislocated his shoulder. This was right after, at the beginning of the game, not to tell the PCMOs (Peace Corps Medical Officers), that he had been hiking or that he was playing soccer, because he had already been injured and was forbidden to do more than walking. Whoops. He’s fine, although they had to drive him sweaty and dirty two hours to Teguz because there wasn’t anyone in Pespire who could fix his arm. Well, there’s a Cuban national who apparently does all the locals, but Peace Corps wouldn’t let him go there.

Stoves

The next two days we built stoves around Pespire for different poorer families. There will be a picture of the finished product with the pictures!

So, we basically mixed soil and cow crap to make the “mortar,” and then used bricks to construct the structure before we covered it in more “poop.” We were working in a really small space, so small that only two people could work on the stove at a time (we had four people in our group). Now, for all of you who have made fun of short people in your lifetime, you can take it back! I was the only person in my group able to stand-up straight in our workspace without smacking their head on one of the “roof beams!” Take that! Becky and Darren, who are both probably over 6 feet, kept smacking their heads on the roof, which was covered in soot from the previous stove that didn’t have a chimney. Kathryn and I would be outside mixing more poop, and hear :BANG: … “GOD DAMMITT!!!!”

Instead of coming up with a more professional name for our mixture, we just said “poop” or “shit”.

“How do you think this looks?”

“Oh, you’re going to need a lot more shit in that corner…”

Again, funny when it’s hot and you’ve hit your head several times.

We fixed the stove for an 89 year-old woman and her family, and she was pretty excited to see the stove finished. We paid for all the materials, and they got a stove with a chimney, and insulation so that it would burn less wood.

You know, over the course of college I forgot that I was the kind of girl who wouldn’t have a problem using crap to stucco the outside of a stove. I just dug right in. It’s cool to realize stuff like that again.

Charlas

Tuesday and Wednesday we also gave “talks” to fifth and sixth grade students in the escuela. We went to two different classes and talked to them about trash in the streets of Pespire and why it was bad. We had them draw posters to hang around town, asking people to throw their trash in trash cans. It was fun, despite the stress of speaking Spanish in front of 45 adolescents. They were cool though.

On Friday, we organized a trash clean-up morning with all the kid we gave charlas to. We met at 8 am and headed into the streets to pick up trash with them. Two aspirantes got about 30 kids, and went to a specific neighborhood. Now, imagine sending thirty sixth-graders, into the streets of a small town, with two twenty-something kids who don’t speak the same language. To pick up trash…without gloves. Naturally, it was a little chaotic, because kids just took off, but it was ok in the end. I was pretty upset about the lack of gloves, because that’s just irresponsible. But, the kids were enthusiastic and seemed to enjoy the fact that they were picking up trash in 90 degree weather.

Now, between the three classes I worked with, I can’t walk down the street without a kid calling my name. It’s pretty cool that they seemed to enjoy us that much.

That’s pretty much it for this week. Well, to add to a good week, I got a package in the mail! Mom sent me coloring books in the mail, which I knew were coming, but was oh so pleasantly surprised by the Mini Eggs in the box! Of course, I opened the box in front of the whole group, and clutched the Mini Eggs to my chest when I saw them. Well, at that point there’s no hiding the fact that I got candy in the mail. I was happy to share (some of them), because I’m pretty sure that single-handedly improved everyone’s day. We had been frustrated by the activities on Friday and it was just so perfect to get deliciousness like Mini Eggs in the mail. THANKS MOM!

Semana Santa both lived up to its expectations, and at the same time did not. I think I pictured the week to be much more religious than it turned out to be, but still there are stories impart.

Cultural Day

On Wednesday we did a “cross-cultural” exchange with our host families. The advanced Spanish classes had to organize the entire day from needing to find a place to host the event, a sound system, decorations, and people to be masters of the ceremony. All this had to be free too. It worked out well. Each Spanish class did a presentation for the families, and were as follows

1) La Bamba (my group) – Sing and dance combination

2) American Football – An explanation

3) Cotton Eyed Joe – Dance explanation

4) April’s Fools Day Jokes – Examples

So we all presented little five minute diddies on the above subjects. Our song/dance was definitely the most fun, and our families really enjoyed it. During the guitar solo we got families to come up and dance with us, and my host sister was very dismayed when I made a bee-line straight to her. She had to expect it though after she came to our rehearsal the night before and critiqued us up and down! Hah, no she was quite diplomatic and made some good suggestions.

We also had to make food with our host moms to bring to everyone to eat at Cultural Day. My recipe was pretty easy, thank god. We put little fruits, called jocotes, into a vat of sugar and let it sit there for three days. End of recipe. But seriously, the jocotes are kind of like hard plums. If you get them green, they are a bit tart, but the red ones are nice and sweet. We boiled the green ones and then let them sit in sugar. Other recipes were carne asada, fried chicken (native dish, eh?), pollo tostadas, etc. Kathryn got to go to her host grand-parents house to milk cows and make cujada, which is kind of like mozzarella, only not as good.

Also, some of the host families performed some songs and folk dances. I would just suggest looking at the pictures, because there really isn’t much I can say about it all without everyone having been there.

I will say, however, that snot-rocket teacher played a bird in a song about a bird that dies. I didn’t understand the entire song, obviously. But, she was having the kids practice this song in class when I was sitting in a couple of weeks ago and so ridiculously got whistled at (no, I am not over that yet). So this song comes on and I have flashbacks to that subtle whistle, but then I realize that she was the bird! I had seen her in the audience, much to my dismay, but didn’t know what was going to happen. She basically flitted back-and-forth on the stage before she fell over and died. That’s my story about snot-rocket/dead bird song. I hope I don’t get in trouble for this blog, but I’d call her by her real name (maybe) if she had introduced herself.

Our maestros also did a song. It’s called “Habla Espanol,” and it’s basically all lyrics of Hondurenismos (special Honduran adaptations to the Spanish language). So basically, this guy is poor, a drunk, and getting bit by dogs (this is a loose translation). And he decides to go “wet-back” to the U.S., and when he’s there he is told to go back to where he came from by a U.S. policeman. The end of the song is him yelling, “F*** you bich, I speak espanol! Yo soy catracho, pero hablo espanol!” He’s saying I’m Honduran (catracho), but I speak Spanish. It’s pretty funny, when you teacher is swaggering across the stage with a Grey Goose bottle, while your female teachers have stuffed their shirts with balloons and their butts with newspaper and shake it across the stage. The director of the Spanish program for us in Pespire, Monze, is a really quiet, all business type and her balloons in her shirt had these HUGE nipples drawn on them, and it was surprising. Guess you had to be there.

So, in order to show our gratitude for our host families’ hospitality, we served them first, before getting food ourselves. Now, at this time there are 16 Wat/San aspirantes and then some of our teachers made food with their families, so you can imagine there’s a lot of eat. Plus, Hondurans don’t seem to have picked up on portion control. So, it has become tradition at almost every meal for me and Nolvia to laugh over the amount of food that she puts on my plate. We have conversations about health and eating, and yet I continue to get HUGE portion sizes. So … I decided to exact revenge. Everything that was available, I piled onto her plate! She screamed when I walked over with the food, but she recognized that I was making a statement. I still get the same portion sizes.

After Cultural Day, we went to the hotel to get a couple of beers. Afterwards, we went to Hammock Land, to hang out for the rest of the afternoon. Hammock Land is our name for Carlos’ house. He lives in a compound that is owned by Randy’s host family, and we meet there sometimes and have a Spanish class there. Anyways, there are a bunch of hammocks that we like to hang out in, and we were just chilling out in Hammock Land before we all had to head home for dinner. That’s also where we have our soccer games.

So, Cultural Day was fun and I enjoyed interacting with the families. It didn’t seem like it was going to be fun, so it was an unexpected, pleasant surprise.

The River

So a river runs through Pespire and is constantly full during Semana Santa. Semana Santa is a holy week (obviously), and Easter is a big holiday here. So, on Friday – Sunday there was a “dry law,” where people couldn’t buy beer in the normal places, etc. Supposedly. Well, anyways, we were up in the Parque Central waiting for a procession out of the Catholic Church (apparently happened two hours beforehand), and were watching at cases upon cases of beer were carried down to the river. These little makeshift stands popped up along the river were people just sold food and drinks for all the river-goers.

Well, Juan’s family, had been trying to get us to go with them to the river for a couple of days. Most people go to the beach, but we usually don’t get permission from Peace Corps because the beaches are really crowded and just far enough to make it a chaotic security hazard. Therefore, most of our families couldn’t go, so they settled with the river instead. We went up river, which was apparently cleaner and had less people. Now, I’m going to put pictures along with this blog, but try to explain the situation here as well. I live in a developing country. There’s no way to argue otherwise.

A couple of times each week we run across the bridge into the aldeas (small towns around Pespire) to change up the routine. Every morning we pass the cattle drive taking the cows to drink in the river. On the Pespire side of the bridge is where a lot of people dump/burn their trash. It’s not clean by any means.

The day before this jaunt to the upper part of the river, we went to the bridge with Juan’s family. There’s apparently a dam upstream, and it was closed, so the underneath the bridge was dry and we could sit and watch the kids swim. My host mom bought me and Juan’s host mom a beer, which was exciting because I didn’t think she was ok with that. Anyways, people would go to these make-shift stands and buy packets of chips, and then just toss their bags into the river. Also, there are a lot of people drinking and hanging out all day. We all know what happens when people hang out, drinking liquids, near a body of water. We’ve all done it!

So, we head upstream about 15 minutes (driving, woot!), and walk across the river and set-up camp on a rock near the river. There was a deep part there where you could jump off a big rock without breaking your neck the bottom. Across the ondo (deep part), was a truck, with speakers and beer. Up a little ways there were selling snacks too. Because it’s the dry season, people just drive their cars across the riverbed and park right next to the water. Before they leave, they enjoy cleaning their cars/trucks in the water where other people continue to swim. Yum!

Now, I couldn’t ignore the scum floating near the shores, and all the trash on the riverbanks. I just hung back as everyone else waded in, and decided to guard my camera. Juan, another aspirante, was wading in and turned back and said, “Swimming is not an option Hannah, they’re going to make you get in.” And, within one minute of that comment, Juan’s host mom yelled for me to come in. My name is Hannah, and I swam in a dirty, dirty river in Honduras. I must add, my head went under because I slipped and fell into the deep part. After that, there was no denying the water any longer, so I decided to embrace the idea of a parasite and just have fun.

Now, people in Honduras generally don’t learn how to swim. People in Pespire may have learned, because they live close to the river, but most people just never learned. You know how in the States people just assume that you know how to swim, and if you were to say you didn’t, they are stunned? Well, it’s the opposite in Honduras. They were surprised that Juan and I knew how to swim. Nolvia and Marjory both know how to swim. Anyways, I saw THREE PEOPLE get carried away by the Red Cross because they were drowning. Now, that day no one died, but the day before a man died because he was wasted and hit his head and drowned in the water. Apparently, people just go to the river, drink like fish, and then past out in shallow water and drown. That’s what happened to these people. The funny thing is, the Red Cross was stationed about 100 yards out on the bank, so it took them a good 5 minutes to tread over the rocks in the dry riverbed to get to the people; the people who had been drowning for a couple of minutes already because no one had bothered to take notice. Ridiculous! It was a fun day though, and I don’t think I have a parasite. Good times.

This is boring.

Other than that, not much happened. They made a beautiful fombra out of wood-shavings in front of the Iglesia. A few teenagers spent all night working on this, and it was preserved until Friday morning. SEE PICTURES.

Que mas? I saw Jesus get led through the streets on Thursday night. Ate a lot of dried fish because Friday – Sunday you can’t eat meat. Honduran tradition I suppose. I was pretty distressed when I smelled the dry fish in my house Friday morning, but the soup wasn’t too bad.

Sunday we didn’t even go to church. No one did. Apparently, the Catholics go to Mass for hours the week leading up to Easter, and then when the big day comes they’re too tired of Mass to go on the most important day. I expected my host grandma to come get me, and it don’t even know if she went, but I didn’t go to church on Easter. Now it’s off my chest.

All in all, Semana Santa included some cultural experiences. Included some fiestas. Mostly people just swam in the river and hung out. Not so much holy.