Learning another language, your bound to make mistakes. But the mistakes we are making tend to lean toward the vulgar.
I think the first most egregious mistake was when one of us tried to explain to her family that she just loved peanut butter. See, the previous day, we had learned the words for peanut butter (crema de mani) and penis (pene.... remember, we all have 20-something-year-old teachers who giggle and gossip like they are 13, which means we learn muchas malas palabras).
The next morning, my friend A's family is serving peanut butter at breakfast. She lives in a highly religious Seventh Day Adventist home with some one dozen kids. She looks square at her padre, and says "Mmmm, mi favorita! Me gusta crema de pene!" Which, I am sure you can understand translates to the fact that her favorite food is penis cream. Nice one. After dying a thousand deaths, her painfully quiet padre just looks at her blankly. It took her a few minutes to realize what she had said, and at that point, she was too mortified to explain her mistakes.
Other incidents have also included our friend L holding up a bottle of an illegal alcoholic beverage called "chi cha." But rather than calling it by it's proper name, she holds it up and hollers "Chi Ches!" which is slang for boobs. Similarly, one friend tried to explain that she wanted to do something, but that she was scared (Tengo miedo) and instead replied that she had shit (Tengo mierda.)
And finally, today A was talking with her teacher about the guy who took us horse back riding last week. She said she was looking forward to riding again with Don Pedo, and her teacher erupted in laughter. We've been calling him Don Pedo, because, well we thought that was his name. It's not. It's Don Beto. Don Pedo translates to Mr. Fart. Ooops again.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
surreal moments, Copan edition, part II
More surreal moments here in Central America:
1. We went to San Pedro Sula last night to see one of our friends off at the airport early this morning. The $5 bus ride included two movies: Duece Bigalow European Gigalo, with hysterical Spanish subtitulos, and Snow Dogs, with almost as funny subtitles.
2. Upon arriving, we stop by the hotel for a shower and then head directly to the mall. That's right. The mall. We travel three hours to S.P.S. to hit the mall, at which point we saddle up for a good old fashioned chicken sandwich from Wendy's. I guess "developing country" really means "the US making it more like the suburbs."
3. The mall is followed by TGIFridays. I wish I was lying. Flair and all. Christ.
4. Finally, discoteque time, and the reggeaton we have grown to adore and crave was a welcome break from the American pop songs and nauseating air conditioning of Friday's. But the strange part came in the middle of the evening, when the dance floor erupted to the classic "Whoop There It Is." Again, we found ourselves wondering if we were really there.
5. We left S.P.S. this morning on a giant yellow school bus where the seats had been replaced with reclining bus seats. There were a few moments when the bus took the infamous hair-pin turns through the mountains that I was sure we were all going to soon plunge to our deaths (flash back to night train to Budapest). Either that or be car sick all over the place in a school bus sans bathroom.
Somehow we made it back, and although it was a nice break from the tiny town of Copan, I am glad to be back in a place not lit entirely by fast food signs and mall lights.
1. We went to San Pedro Sula last night to see one of our friends off at the airport early this morning. The $5 bus ride included two movies: Duece Bigalow European Gigalo, with hysterical Spanish subtitulos, and Snow Dogs, with almost as funny subtitles.
2. Upon arriving, we stop by the hotel for a shower and then head directly to the mall. That's right. The mall. We travel three hours to S.P.S. to hit the mall, at which point we saddle up for a good old fashioned chicken sandwich from Wendy's. I guess "developing country" really means "the US making it more like the suburbs."
3. The mall is followed by TGIFridays. I wish I was lying. Flair and all. Christ.
4. Finally, discoteque time, and the reggeaton we have grown to adore and crave was a welcome break from the American pop songs and nauseating air conditioning of Friday's. But the strange part came in the middle of the evening, when the dance floor erupted to the classic "Whoop There It Is." Again, we found ourselves wondering if we were really there.
5. We left S.P.S. this morning on a giant yellow school bus where the seats had been replaced with reclining bus seats. There were a few moments when the bus took the infamous hair-pin turns through the mountains that I was sure we were all going to soon plunge to our deaths (flash back to night train to Budapest). Either that or be car sick all over the place in a school bus sans bathroom.
Somehow we made it back, and although it was a nice break from the tiny town of Copan, I am glad to be back in a place not lit entirely by fast food signs and mall lights.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
a night of barfing
Well, it was bound to happen. When you're cursed with a sensitive stomach and you're living in Honduras, you're bound to spend a night hugging the toilet.
Last night I split a chicken burrito with my friend. We've eaten at this place before, and the flour tortillas and white meat chicken were a welcome change from the corn tortillas, frijoles and huevos. Until about four hours after dinner.
I was violently puking most of the night - ok maybe I am being a little dramatic, but puking is never fun, and last night was especially painful. Between bouts, I would lie down and have these dreams where people were eating really disgusting food. That's probably why I kept barfing. In one dream my vegetarian friend who is here with us was chowing down on a giant ground beef pie. Gross.
I managed to make it to class today, and am feeling a bit better, but I can guarantee that my love affair with the chicken burrito is over. I just thought I'd share that with everyone.
Last night I split a chicken burrito with my friend. We've eaten at this place before, and the flour tortillas and white meat chicken were a welcome change from the corn tortillas, frijoles and huevos. Until about four hours after dinner.
I was violently puking most of the night - ok maybe I am being a little dramatic, but puking is never fun, and last night was especially painful. Between bouts, I would lie down and have these dreams where people were eating really disgusting food. That's probably why I kept barfing. In one dream my vegetarian friend who is here with us was chowing down on a giant ground beef pie. Gross.
I managed to make it to class today, and am feeling a bit better, but I can guarantee that my love affair with the chicken burrito is over. I just thought I'd share that with everyone.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
drama en copan
So I sit down to breakfast this morning - which surprisingly was not Corn Flakes, but not surprisingly involved frijoles and huevos - and had an interesting conversation with mi madre. Again, it was all in Spanish, so there is a small caveat that I misunderstood. But I gotta tell you, no matter how you say it, it wasn´t cool.
She starts by asking if we are staying in a hotel when we travel, and when I tell her yes, she goes on this rant about how expensive everything is and how the food in Copan is so expensive because its all from San Pedro Sula. OK, fine. Then she sits down and proceeds to tell me about how after me, she doesnt want to host any more students because its just too expensive. She said she tells them she doesnt want anymore students, but then they call her and she agrees. I ask her if the money we pay each week is not sufficient, and she said it wasnt and that she doesnt want to do it anymore.
So I asked her if she would like me to find another family to live with. She said no no no, of course not, but I am beginning to think this is not a good match. It was all fine and good at first, but now her son Juancho wont look at me and rarely eats meals with us now - what a baby - and Yolanda has complained ever day how expensive everything is, especially the vegetables I want to eat (even after I assure her I dont need to eat a small mountain of broccoli at every lunch). Ugh, drama.
The good news is I am close to finishing the intermediate book and embarking on advanced. Little by little, friends.
Tonight the small city of Copan is being turned upside down for a giant fiesta in the name of the new mayor. I think he is being inaugurated here this afternoon, and then a big old celebration ensues. The streets are packed already with locals and tourists, and they started setting up for this shin-dig last night. Vamos a ver....
She starts by asking if we are staying in a hotel when we travel, and when I tell her yes, she goes on this rant about how expensive everything is and how the food in Copan is so expensive because its all from San Pedro Sula. OK, fine. Then she sits down and proceeds to tell me about how after me, she doesnt want to host any more students because its just too expensive. She said she tells them she doesnt want anymore students, but then they call her and she agrees. I ask her if the money we pay each week is not sufficient, and she said it wasnt and that she doesnt want to do it anymore.
So I asked her if she would like me to find another family to live with. She said no no no, of course not, but I am beginning to think this is not a good match. It was all fine and good at first, but now her son Juancho wont look at me and rarely eats meals with us now - what a baby - and Yolanda has complained ever day how expensive everything is, especially the vegetables I want to eat (even after I assure her I dont need to eat a small mountain of broccoli at every lunch). Ugh, drama.
The good news is I am close to finishing the intermediate book and embarking on advanced. Little by little, friends.
Tonight the small city of Copan is being turned upside down for a giant fiesta in the name of the new mayor. I think he is being inaugurated here this afternoon, and then a big old celebration ensues. The streets are packed already with locals and tourists, and they started setting up for this shin-dig last night. Vamos a ver....
Monday, January 23, 2006
surreal moments, copan edition
So every once in a while, my friends and I stop and look around at where we are and what we are doing. Every day we seem to have these really surreal moments like we are living someone elses lives. Here are a few:
1. The four of us crammed in the back of a souped up Toyota Carrola - complete with two spinners and two missing hubcaps - riding through the Copan countryside, with American pop songs blaring, on the way to the coffee farm where we will be volunteering.
2. At said coffee farm, measuring and bagging coffee beans, while my friend seals the plastic bags in a machine. Wouldn't be so strange, except that she does this for a living in the States and today she did it in Central America.
3. Listening to a Honduran cover band play Metallica, among other American rock songs, while the bassist headbangs and the crowd goes nuts for the heavily accented English songs.
4. Realizing at about noon each day after classes, that I have just spent the last four hours speaking completely in Spanish, and for the most part, I knew what was going on.
Also noteworthy is my interactions with my family. See, I haven't eaten a green vegetable in a week and a half. So I mentioned this fact to the school director, who promtly calls my madre and tells her to please cook more vegetables. She confronts me last night when I got home, and said - Hey, I thought you said you ate everything and now Enrique said you only eat vegetables? After some difficulty, I think I managed to explain I do eat everything, but sometimes I like to eat vegetables. Green ones. So for lunch, they had set out a massive mound of broccoli, green beans and tomatoes for me. They ate a meat and potatoe pie. Strange.
(I have a hunch that he also told Juancho to leave me alone, because be barely looked at me during lunch. A small part of me feels bad, and a larger part feels relieved.)
We've started seeing a lot of tourists filter into the city and we feel like they are infringing on our territory. We like to think that since we spend time speaking Spanish and hanging out with locals, that we are regular Copanecas.
1. The four of us crammed in the back of a souped up Toyota Carrola - complete with two spinners and two missing hubcaps - riding through the Copan countryside, with American pop songs blaring, on the way to the coffee farm where we will be volunteering.
2. At said coffee farm, measuring and bagging coffee beans, while my friend seals the plastic bags in a machine. Wouldn't be so strange, except that she does this for a living in the States and today she did it in Central America.
3. Listening to a Honduran cover band play Metallica, among other American rock songs, while the bassist headbangs and the crowd goes nuts for the heavily accented English songs.
4. Realizing at about noon each day after classes, that I have just spent the last four hours speaking completely in Spanish, and for the most part, I knew what was going on.
Also noteworthy is my interactions with my family. See, I haven't eaten a green vegetable in a week and a half. So I mentioned this fact to the school director, who promtly calls my madre and tells her to please cook more vegetables. She confronts me last night when I got home, and said - Hey, I thought you said you ate everything and now Enrique said you only eat vegetables? After some difficulty, I think I managed to explain I do eat everything, but sometimes I like to eat vegetables. Green ones. So for lunch, they had set out a massive mound of broccoli, green beans and tomatoes for me. They ate a meat and potatoe pie. Strange.
(I have a hunch that he also told Juancho to leave me alone, because be barely looked at me during lunch. A small part of me feels bad, and a larger part feels relieved.)
We've started seeing a lot of tourists filter into the city and we feel like they are infringing on our territory. We like to think that since we spend time speaking Spanish and hanging out with locals, that we are regular Copanecas.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
a regular caballera
Today was tough. It all started with the fact that it was the second cloudy and cold day here in Copan, quite the rarity I understand.
Then in class, we are working on direct and indirect pronouns, which I can't distinguish in English, much much less in freaking Spanish. Something about receiving things from an action and the other receiving the aciton or something. Fine. But then they change depending on other things and the alignment of the sun and the shift in the tide and whatnot. Almost cried.
I was also frustrated after trying to use the phone for several days and it's just a tragedy. See, you go to this internet cafe (a different one for those keeping track), you give the phone number to some dude, who picks up a portable phone and dials it and then when it starts ringing, hands it to you. It goes through about 42 percent of the time, and if you are lucky enough to make the connection, it's quiet and after about 2.5 minutes, it cuts off, and all you hear is "Can you hear me? I can't hear you...." Muy frustrada.
Then there's mi familia, which I understood today is unlike other families in Copan. My family eats together every meal, sitting and chatting for a long time. It's also a good time for the son, Juan - who everyone in town calls Juancho, which I am convinced is because he is pushing 500 pounds and looks like a latino Java the Hut - to make total fun of me. He makes some oh-so-clever plays on words that I of course do not understand and then laughs and acts like I am an idiot for not understanding. I have been on the verge of tears about four times during meals there. Lo siento, no entiendo Juan! Leave me alone!!
Example: Today I told him I made tortillas. So he said, Did you make "insert another Spanish word for tortillas that Sara doesn't understand here." I think, hmmm that doesn't sound like tortillas, so no I didn't make that. Then he laughs and says, tortillas IS "said word." Bwa-hahahaha. I know, it sounds mild, but when you spend the entire day every day speaking a language that is frustrating and your head hurts and all you are doing is trying your hardest to be fluent and open, and then some jackass treats you like a tiny gringa, it's hard. There are other examples... I am sure Juancho will come up again.
But today, for now the second time in my life, I rode a horse. (Here's where the tough part of the day ends.) Not riding Oak Mountain style, like I did after Christmas, where I could only trot for a second, and the guides were timid for fear of litigation. In Copan, it's very different.
My two friends and I met up with our Caballero who led us the edge of town where we mounted four horses and set off on the dirt road, pulling over every few minutes to let souped-up cars pass. After a few minutes were in the mountains.
No words can describe what this was like. But I will try, in English. We trotted along for a bit, looking at jalapeno farms and hordes of cows and men walking by with giant machetes and knee high rubber boots (coffee farms, I think). We climbed hills, and descended hills leaning back in our saddles so as not to spill forward and loose all our teeth. We wound around tiny break-neck roads, looking at lush green plants and rolling hills. In the distance, every once in a while, you could see a tiny statue at the top of the mountain with a roof over it. They were small Mayan statues, protected from the rain and sun.
Our guide took us up one mountain and to the house of an indiginous family, of Mayan descent. The dusty children were playing in front of the mud and tree house - the girls all in dresses, and all barefoot - while the women crafted tiny dolls inside out of dried and dyed corn husks (the same dolls these girls then sell in town for 20 limpiras or about one dollar). They showed us how they made them, chatted with us a bit, and then we all chewed on some fresh sugar cane the caballero cut from the brush. Oh, and then the phone rang, which was kind of strange, because considering some kids didn't even have pants on and there wasn't a light or door or wall to speak of.
We then made another stop a home where we learned to make corn tortillas. Ours were a little fatter than they are supposed to be, but we patted them down, put them next to the hot fire and then ate them up with frijoles. Muy rico!
The way home, though, was priceless. The horses were antsy and given the go-ahead ran the whole way home. Full f-ing gallop, folks. We were flying down the hills and along the rocky paths, the wind in our hair, our asses bouncing painfully, our stomaches sore from laughing uncontrollably and our fingers blistering from hanging on for dear life. This was by far the most amazing experience, and my most unbelievable so far.
Every once in a while, we look at each other and say - We are in f-ing Honduras. We did it. We are really here, speaking only Spanish, sitting in a hot spring, talking with locals, and riding horses. The horses part was just incredible. The caballero said he would take us out again next week and we could ride - galloping most of the way - to the Guatemala border. Como se dice - giddyup y'all!!
Oh and one more thing. I haven't had an enjoyable bathroom experience in about four days, and one of us is deathly ill - diarrhea and vomiting ... the works. I am beginning to think this is just part of it, that I will no longer wish for a normal bathroom experience and just get used to the current state of affairs. Great.
Then in class, we are working on direct and indirect pronouns, which I can't distinguish in English, much much less in freaking Spanish. Something about receiving things from an action and the other receiving the aciton or something. Fine. But then they change depending on other things and the alignment of the sun and the shift in the tide and whatnot. Almost cried.
I was also frustrated after trying to use the phone for several days and it's just a tragedy. See, you go to this internet cafe (a different one for those keeping track), you give the phone number to some dude, who picks up a portable phone and dials it and then when it starts ringing, hands it to you. It goes through about 42 percent of the time, and if you are lucky enough to make the connection, it's quiet and after about 2.5 minutes, it cuts off, and all you hear is "Can you hear me? I can't hear you...." Muy frustrada.
Then there's mi familia, which I understood today is unlike other families in Copan. My family eats together every meal, sitting and chatting for a long time. It's also a good time for the son, Juan - who everyone in town calls Juancho, which I am convinced is because he is pushing 500 pounds and looks like a latino Java the Hut - to make total fun of me. He makes some oh-so-clever plays on words that I of course do not understand and then laughs and acts like I am an idiot for not understanding. I have been on the verge of tears about four times during meals there. Lo siento, no entiendo Juan! Leave me alone!!
Example: Today I told him I made tortillas. So he said, Did you make "insert another Spanish word for tortillas that Sara doesn't understand here." I think, hmmm that doesn't sound like tortillas, so no I didn't make that. Then he laughs and says, tortillas IS "said word." Bwa-hahahaha. I know, it sounds mild, but when you spend the entire day every day speaking a language that is frustrating and your head hurts and all you are doing is trying your hardest to be fluent and open, and then some jackass treats you like a tiny gringa, it's hard. There are other examples... I am sure Juancho will come up again.
But today, for now the second time in my life, I rode a horse. (Here's where the tough part of the day ends.) Not riding Oak Mountain style, like I did after Christmas, where I could only trot for a second, and the guides were timid for fear of litigation. In Copan, it's very different.
My two friends and I met up with our Caballero who led us the edge of town where we mounted four horses and set off on the dirt road, pulling over every few minutes to let souped-up cars pass. After a few minutes were in the mountains.
No words can describe what this was like. But I will try, in English. We trotted along for a bit, looking at jalapeno farms and hordes of cows and men walking by with giant machetes and knee high rubber boots (coffee farms, I think). We climbed hills, and descended hills leaning back in our saddles so as not to spill forward and loose all our teeth. We wound around tiny break-neck roads, looking at lush green plants and rolling hills. In the distance, every once in a while, you could see a tiny statue at the top of the mountain with a roof over it. They were small Mayan statues, protected from the rain and sun.
Our guide took us up one mountain and to the house of an indiginous family, of Mayan descent. The dusty children were playing in front of the mud and tree house - the girls all in dresses, and all barefoot - while the women crafted tiny dolls inside out of dried and dyed corn husks (the same dolls these girls then sell in town for 20 limpiras or about one dollar). They showed us how they made them, chatted with us a bit, and then we all chewed on some fresh sugar cane the caballero cut from the brush. Oh, and then the phone rang, which was kind of strange, because considering some kids didn't even have pants on and there wasn't a light or door or wall to speak of.
We then made another stop a home where we learned to make corn tortillas. Ours were a little fatter than they are supposed to be, but we patted them down, put them next to the hot fire and then ate them up with frijoles. Muy rico!
The way home, though, was priceless. The horses were antsy and given the go-ahead ran the whole way home. Full f-ing gallop, folks. We were flying down the hills and along the rocky paths, the wind in our hair, our asses bouncing painfully, our stomaches sore from laughing uncontrollably and our fingers blistering from hanging on for dear life. This was by far the most amazing experience, and my most unbelievable so far.
Every once in a while, we look at each other and say - We are in f-ing Honduras. We did it. We are really here, speaking only Spanish, sitting in a hot spring, talking with locals, and riding horses. The horses part was just incredible. The caballero said he would take us out again next week and we could ride - galloping most of the way - to the Guatemala border. Como se dice - giddyup y'all!!
Oh and one more thing. I haven't had an enjoyable bathroom experience in about four days, and one of us is deathly ill - diarrhea and vomiting ... the works. I am beginning to think this is just part of it, that I will no longer wish for a normal bathroom experience and just get used to the current state of affairs. Great.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
heuvos y frijoles, frijoles y huevos...
Today I learned the past tense. Finally.
I had been asking my teacher if we could learn that, and she kept saying we needed other lessons first, but without past tense (which, yes, I took many years ago and just don´t remember), I am pretty useless when talking to mi familia. They always ask me what we did, where we went... and really I was not following.
Until now. I think I turned a corner in my Spanish speaking. More and more, I am picking up vocab words and trying phrases. I am pretty much speaking Spanish to my teachers, family and locals we meet and sometimes with mi amigas. But, it was refreshing to have a day in class where it seemed to click.
What is also refreshing is a hot shower at my friends house, which by the way is a coke den without a doubt. The men there are all strung out and my friend swears she saw a man dressed in a full motorcross uniform and another man with a massive wad of American dollars. Definitely a coke house, and we do hear coke is popular in these parts.
We also spent the day at the pool, working on our tarea (homework) and getting some sun. What a life.
Things are not refreshing include the current state of my stomach. Not happy. Me duele mi estomago. I am surprised I got this far without problems, and I am a little worried about the traditional Honduran meal mi madre is planning for tonight.
Which brings me to the meals. Para desayuno (for breakfast), huevos y frijoles (eggs and beans, actually a nice break from the corn flakes and warm milk) and then para cenar (for dinner), lo mismo ... huevos y frijoles, frijoles y huevos. A massive lunch at noon and eggs and beans to start and finish the day. Not bad now, but I give myself about four more days until I never want to see frijoles again... its already that way with corn flakes.
Yesterday we went hiking in the mountains, stoppìng to talk to some locals along the way. As you leave Copan, the people become visibly smaller (12 year olds look 6 at best), and the state of poverty is glaring. Most people live in small huts, some without electricity or running water. At one house, there was a young man who was 17, but looked maybe 12 or 13, and had three children, one of which was I think 5. But they are so nice, and seem to enjoy talking with us.
Tomorrow, there is are rumors of horseback riding. (p.s. I couldn´t find spell check again... lo siento)
I had been asking my teacher if we could learn that, and she kept saying we needed other lessons first, but without past tense (which, yes, I took many years ago and just don´t remember), I am pretty useless when talking to mi familia. They always ask me what we did, where we went... and really I was not following.
Until now. I think I turned a corner in my Spanish speaking. More and more, I am picking up vocab words and trying phrases. I am pretty much speaking Spanish to my teachers, family and locals we meet and sometimes with mi amigas. But, it was refreshing to have a day in class where it seemed to click.
What is also refreshing is a hot shower at my friends house, which by the way is a coke den without a doubt. The men there are all strung out and my friend swears she saw a man dressed in a full motorcross uniform and another man with a massive wad of American dollars. Definitely a coke house, and we do hear coke is popular in these parts.
We also spent the day at the pool, working on our tarea (homework) and getting some sun. What a life.
Things are not refreshing include the current state of my stomach. Not happy. Me duele mi estomago. I am surprised I got this far without problems, and I am a little worried about the traditional Honduran meal mi madre is planning for tonight.
Which brings me to the meals. Para desayuno (for breakfast), huevos y frijoles (eggs and beans, actually a nice break from the corn flakes and warm milk) and then para cenar (for dinner), lo mismo ... huevos y frijoles, frijoles y huevos. A massive lunch at noon and eggs and beans to start and finish the day. Not bad now, but I give myself about four more days until I never want to see frijoles again... its already that way with corn flakes.
Yesterday we went hiking in the mountains, stoppìng to talk to some locals along the way. As you leave Copan, the people become visibly smaller (12 year olds look 6 at best), and the state of poverty is glaring. Most people live in small huts, some without electricity or running water. At one house, there was a young man who was 17, but looked maybe 12 or 13, and had three children, one of which was I think 5. But they are so nice, and seem to enjoy talking with us.
Tomorrow, there is are rumors of horseback riding. (p.s. I couldn´t find spell check again... lo siento)
Saturday, January 14, 2006
bailamos mucho
It feels like it has been a month since we arrived. Everyday is so different, and every day we wake up feeling different about this place, the school, our Spanish skills, our travel plans. Here are a few disjointed thoughts:
On the second day of class, I felt like I could no longer speak any Spanish. I was just frustrated (one of my friends here cried in her first lesson - talk about frustrated, but then again she had what we called la maestra stricta) and my brain was too full of different words and tenses. Breakfasts and lunches with mi familia are the hardest part because no matter what I have no idea what my host mother is saying. In the mornings, I am tired and dreading slurping down another bowl of corn flakes and she starts talking to me right away, words I don't know coming at me way to fast. And lunch is the big meal of the day, so we all sit around the dining room table and I struggle to keep up.
This morning we went to the Mayan ruins, about a kilometer away from the town. It was a beautiul, sunny, humid morning, and the ruins were breathtaking. See, the Mayans apparently predicted that something big will happen in 2012 - the end of the world or something similar. Well at first I was ready to buy this, seeing their massive structures, intricate writings and traces of the society. Then I am told they also believed that we all lived on a giant turtle, hovering above the underworld and below the heavens. Hmmm, a turtle. Now I am not so sure I will be rushing to prepare for 2012. But that aside, the ruins were spectacular. We had a great tour guide who loves what he does and told animated stories.
And last night, we danced. We went to the discoteque with the director of the school, his friends, a few teachers and a couple other students. Surprisingly, we have been speaking Spanish most of the time. Sure, conversation is limited, but we have been learning so much - including malas palabras, courtesy the silly 23-year-old teaches - and are able to hold our own and keep laughing. But before the dance party, we sat out in the street, in front of the liquor store, drinking rum and sprite from plastic cups. It was amazing. We laughed and talked and drank. Once again, everyone here is incredibly nice and open.
Other observations: Here, you can't put toilet paper in the toilet. That's right. You use the bathroom, then use the toilet paper and then discard it in the garbage can. That's hard to get used to. Also, what they say is a warm shower is something just above ice water. And to get said "warm" shower, there is a water heater mounted on the shower head, plugged in an electric outlet just above the shower. It's seems a little death defying, but I am not sure there is much of a choice here.
We are still not sure what our plans are after the classes, which may be for two weeks, maybe three. Maybe Guatemala, maybe Belize, maybe the coast of Honduras. As I said, we are learning a lot, and using a lot of our Spanish - which when it's just the four of us, quickly becomes disjointed Spanglish - and soaking in the laid back lifestyle of Copan. It's a sleepy town, and I am gathering that our families and teachers think we are a little loca, because we laugh a lot, like having fun and drinking cervezas and of course, dancing.
On the second day of class, I felt like I could no longer speak any Spanish. I was just frustrated (one of my friends here cried in her first lesson - talk about frustrated, but then again she had what we called la maestra stricta) and my brain was too full of different words and tenses. Breakfasts and lunches with mi familia are the hardest part because no matter what I have no idea what my host mother is saying. In the mornings, I am tired and dreading slurping down another bowl of corn flakes and she starts talking to me right away, words I don't know coming at me way to fast. And lunch is the big meal of the day, so we all sit around the dining room table and I struggle to keep up.
This morning we went to the Mayan ruins, about a kilometer away from the town. It was a beautiul, sunny, humid morning, and the ruins were breathtaking. See, the Mayans apparently predicted that something big will happen in 2012 - the end of the world or something similar. Well at first I was ready to buy this, seeing their massive structures, intricate writings and traces of the society. Then I am told they also believed that we all lived on a giant turtle, hovering above the underworld and below the heavens. Hmmm, a turtle. Now I am not so sure I will be rushing to prepare for 2012. But that aside, the ruins were spectacular. We had a great tour guide who loves what he does and told animated stories.
And last night, we danced. We went to the discoteque with the director of the school, his friends, a few teachers and a couple other students. Surprisingly, we have been speaking Spanish most of the time. Sure, conversation is limited, but we have been learning so much - including malas palabras, courtesy the silly 23-year-old teaches - and are able to hold our own and keep laughing. But before the dance party, we sat out in the street, in front of the liquor store, drinking rum and sprite from plastic cups. It was amazing. We laughed and talked and drank. Once again, everyone here is incredibly nice and open.
Other observations: Here, you can't put toilet paper in the toilet. That's right. You use the bathroom, then use the toilet paper and then discard it in the garbage can. That's hard to get used to. Also, what they say is a warm shower is something just above ice water. And to get said "warm" shower, there is a water heater mounted on the shower head, plugged in an electric outlet just above the shower. It's seems a little death defying, but I am not sure there is much of a choice here.
We are still not sure what our plans are after the classes, which may be for two weeks, maybe three. Maybe Guatemala, maybe Belize, maybe the coast of Honduras. As I said, we are learning a lot, and using a lot of our Spanish - which when it's just the four of us, quickly becomes disjointed Spanglish - and soaking in the laid back lifestyle of Copan. It's a sleepy town, and I am gathering that our families and teachers think we are a little loca, because we laugh a lot, like having fun and drinking cervezas and of course, dancing.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Bievanidos a Copan, Honduras
I made it, and so far this place is unlike any place I have ever been to. Where do I begin? (p.s. I couldn't get the spell checker to work on this computer, so I apologize if there are blatant mistakes.)
After nearly 12 hours of flying and waiting in airports, my three friends and I finally landed in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. We went through customs and were greeted by a man holding a sign with my friend's name on it. We had heard San Pedro Sula gets pretty sketchy at night and that there is some gang violence, so we were eager to get to Copan and settle in our respective host homes. What I didn't realize was that it was going to be a three-hour white-nuckle death-defying ride to get there.
We piled into a small chicken bus and took what appeared to be the only road - "road" being a generous word here... more like beaten path for cars - to Copan. Even in the dark, we could tell the landscape was breathtaking: rolling hills, lush vallies, tropical plants, and strangely Pepsi logos on ever other sign or building. But most of the ride was concentrated on not tipping off the side of the mountain or slamming into the plethora of yellow school buses as we passed them as if in a stunt car. At one point we passed a truck that had collided with an even bigger truck. This was the point that just gave in, and figured what's going to happen is going to happen. (Toward the end, we were all concentrating on not barfing up the peanut butter crackers we had for dinner. And nevermind the fact that as we got close to town, we kept slowing to dodge meandering horses and stray dogs in the road.)
A few hours later, we were dropped off at our host homes. I am living with Yolanda's family, which so far I think consists of a son, daughter-in-law, daughter, and perhaps a few others. It's a one-story bright yellow house with a patio festooned with maybe two dozen wind chimes. I get my own room, complete with three framed pictures of Jesus and a plastic bust of praying Jesus above my door. In fact, Jesus is all over the house. The room is painted a jarring orange and smell faintly of a recent bug bomb.
My host mother means business. When I woke up yesterday, she had a bowl of Corn Flakes waiting for me, and she spoke to me exhaustingly in Spanish. She informed me that lunch was at noon, dinner at six, and I would eat with my family to practice my Spanish. Yes ma'am. Or Si Senora.
After seeing the town and stuffing our faces with pasta for lunch, we went to school. I took one look at the entrance exam, and immediately changed my expectations for the trip. Perhaps fluency is expecting too much. I didn't remember any of my verb tenses. But after I sat down with my teacher and we spoke a bit, the several years of Spanish came back. I found I could converse, but those damn tenses still mess me up. Toward the end of the day - and last night after dreaming in Spanish - I began to think maybe I can do this. A few weeks of this constant Spanish speaking, as well as lessons on the tenses and vocab, is sure to make a Spanish speaker out of me.
Last night we went with a group from the school to some hot springs about an hour away. Again: small bus, bumpy roads, upset stomach. At the springs, we dipped in these large, round pools of steaming, sulfer-smelling bath water. We spoke mostly in Spanish, chatting with a few of the instructors. Our host families had packed us all dinner, so we took a break for ham and cheese sandwiches slathered with mayo on sticky white bread and a beer. I thought for sure I would be eating healthier - at least more beans and a corn tortilla or two. But it's been white bread and pasta and Pepsi, and I have noticed there are more overwieght people here than I expected. I suppose that is a universal sign of wealth, and I am guessing my host family is among Copan's upper class, as seen in their weight and diet and the fact that they can dedicate an entire room and bathroom to some random American girl - then again, I'm income.
Anyway, it's warm here, and humid. We're in shorts and T-shirts. Copan is a tiny town with cobblestone streets and brightly colored concerete buildings. Most of the houses have open courtyards where a foyer or entryway would be and the bars and restuarants seem to have similar back yards teaming with lush tropical plants. Everyone we have met has been so kind and welcoming, which I am realizing is a far cry from my travels in Central Europe. There are wandering, barking dogs everywhere and the occassional horse. As we drove to the hot springs, the streets were lined with small, open homes with children playing in the dirt, a mother washing clothes on the porch, and often a small lit porch where men in white cowboy hats sat around drinking beer.
It's only day two, but so far this place is amazing. The landscape, the people, the weather, the vegetation - it's all so spectacular. Now, I just need to get better at my Spanish. And I am sure our outing to the discoteque tonight with help with that.
After nearly 12 hours of flying and waiting in airports, my three friends and I finally landed in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. We went through customs and were greeted by a man holding a sign with my friend's name on it. We had heard San Pedro Sula gets pretty sketchy at night and that there is some gang violence, so we were eager to get to Copan and settle in our respective host homes. What I didn't realize was that it was going to be a three-hour white-nuckle death-defying ride to get there.
We piled into a small chicken bus and took what appeared to be the only road - "road" being a generous word here... more like beaten path for cars - to Copan. Even in the dark, we could tell the landscape was breathtaking: rolling hills, lush vallies, tropical plants, and strangely Pepsi logos on ever other sign or building. But most of the ride was concentrated on not tipping off the side of the mountain or slamming into the plethora of yellow school buses as we passed them as if in a stunt car. At one point we passed a truck that had collided with an even bigger truck. This was the point that just gave in, and figured what's going to happen is going to happen. (Toward the end, we were all concentrating on not barfing up the peanut butter crackers we had for dinner. And nevermind the fact that as we got close to town, we kept slowing to dodge meandering horses and stray dogs in the road.)
A few hours later, we were dropped off at our host homes. I am living with Yolanda's family, which so far I think consists of a son, daughter-in-law, daughter, and perhaps a few others. It's a one-story bright yellow house with a patio festooned with maybe two dozen wind chimes. I get my own room, complete with three framed pictures of Jesus and a plastic bust of praying Jesus above my door. In fact, Jesus is all over the house. The room is painted a jarring orange and smell faintly of a recent bug bomb.
My host mother means business. When I woke up yesterday, she had a bowl of Corn Flakes waiting for me, and she spoke to me exhaustingly in Spanish. She informed me that lunch was at noon, dinner at six, and I would eat with my family to practice my Spanish. Yes ma'am. Or Si Senora.
After seeing the town and stuffing our faces with pasta for lunch, we went to school. I took one look at the entrance exam, and immediately changed my expectations for the trip. Perhaps fluency is expecting too much. I didn't remember any of my verb tenses. But after I sat down with my teacher and we spoke a bit, the several years of Spanish came back. I found I could converse, but those damn tenses still mess me up. Toward the end of the day - and last night after dreaming in Spanish - I began to think maybe I can do this. A few weeks of this constant Spanish speaking, as well as lessons on the tenses and vocab, is sure to make a Spanish speaker out of me.
Last night we went with a group from the school to some hot springs about an hour away. Again: small bus, bumpy roads, upset stomach. At the springs, we dipped in these large, round pools of steaming, sulfer-smelling bath water. We spoke mostly in Spanish, chatting with a few of the instructors. Our host families had packed us all dinner, so we took a break for ham and cheese sandwiches slathered with mayo on sticky white bread and a beer. I thought for sure I would be eating healthier - at least more beans and a corn tortilla or two. But it's been white bread and pasta and Pepsi, and I have noticed there are more overwieght people here than I expected. I suppose that is a universal sign of wealth, and I am guessing my host family is among Copan's upper class, as seen in their weight and diet and the fact that they can dedicate an entire room and bathroom to some random American girl - then again, I'm income.
Anyway, it's warm here, and humid. We're in shorts and T-shirts. Copan is a tiny town with cobblestone streets and brightly colored concerete buildings. Most of the houses have open courtyards where a foyer or entryway would be and the bars and restuarants seem to have similar back yards teaming with lush tropical plants. Everyone we have met has been so kind and welcoming, which I am realizing is a far cry from my travels in Central Europe. There are wandering, barking dogs everywhere and the occassional horse. As we drove to the hot springs, the streets were lined with small, open homes with children playing in the dirt, a mother washing clothes on the porch, and often a small lit porch where men in white cowboy hats sat around drinking beer.
It's only day two, but so far this place is amazing. The landscape, the people, the weather, the vegetation - it's all so spectacular. Now, I just need to get better at my Spanish. And I am sure our outing to the discoteque tonight with help with that.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
adios amigos
At this time tomorrow night, I will be nestled in the home of complete strangers in Copan, Honduras. I am not sure what to expect from the host family, the school, the trip in general.
But I am packed and ready, and after a no-doubt restless night of anxious tossing and turning, I'll be on my way.
I am hoping to have Internet access (oh God, life without it? Now, I am not sure I signed up for that.) and will be keeping the blog posts going. I might even do one or two in Spanish, so dust off those dictionaries.
Adios.
But I am packed and ready, and after a no-doubt restless night of anxious tossing and turning, I'll be on my way.
I am hoping to have Internet access (oh God, life without it? Now, I am not sure I signed up for that.) and will be keeping the blog posts going. I might even do one or two in Spanish, so dust off those dictionaries.
Adios.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
faux-duation 2005 - er, uh 2006
In my final days speaking my mother tongue before shipping off to Central America have been spent scrambling to finish a couple stories (decorative pillows = bane of my existence), packing up a few things, and participating in a faux-duation or mock-duation....
See my grad school holds graduations twice a year, even though people are finishing each quarter. My designated time to walk was in the Spring, three months before I actually finished. The same was true for several of my colleagues so we decided to ask the Assistant Dean to host a mini ceremony. So on Saturday, several of us trucked out to the burbs to drink some wine and walk across her deck.
The whole idea was a little strange, but when we pulled up and saw purple balloons tied to her car (school colors), we realized she had a good sense of humor about the whole thing. She had draped her tables in purple plastic tablecloths, bought purple spoons and cups and hung a giant "Congratulations" sign in her living room.
After being one of only three silly enough to walk across the deck, shake the dean's hand while holding a purple cup of wine in the other, and then drink a champagne toast to J-school, it finally felt official. Still no job, but at least now I really graduated.
(We also had a chance to sit down with one of the professors and, with wine-induced and new-graduate honesty, tell him just how we think they should change the school. With a new dean coming in, all seem a bit anxious about impending transformations - the ever-present fears of selling out and tainting the media with the business side surfacing. We did advice him that to avoid bad press, they should fully involve the alumni in the process - we've all seen how that listserv can run amok when the alumni see danger. More on that as the process gets underway, I'm sure.)
I leave on Wednesday. We have shortened our five weeks of classes to three immersed weeks and two weeks of traveling. I am nervous about again heading to a country where I don't really speak the language, knowing the isolation and frustration that brings. However, I will be with friends, and I am trying to keep my wits about me - remembering that this is an adventure, it's only five weeks, the Spanish skills will come rushing back.
See my grad school holds graduations twice a year, even though people are finishing each quarter. My designated time to walk was in the Spring, three months before I actually finished. The same was true for several of my colleagues so we decided to ask the Assistant Dean to host a mini ceremony. So on Saturday, several of us trucked out to the burbs to drink some wine and walk across her deck.
The whole idea was a little strange, but when we pulled up and saw purple balloons tied to her car (school colors), we realized she had a good sense of humor about the whole thing. She had draped her tables in purple plastic tablecloths, bought purple spoons and cups and hung a giant "Congratulations" sign in her living room.
After being one of only three silly enough to walk across the deck, shake the dean's hand while holding a purple cup of wine in the other, and then drink a champagne toast to J-school, it finally felt official. Still no job, but at least now I really graduated.
(We also had a chance to sit down with one of the professors and, with wine-induced and new-graduate honesty, tell him just how we think they should change the school. With a new dean coming in, all seem a bit anxious about impending transformations - the ever-present fears of selling out and tainting the media with the business side surfacing. We did advice him that to avoid bad press, they should fully involve the alumni in the process - we've all seen how that listserv can run amok when the alumni see danger. More on that as the process gets underway, I'm sure.)
I leave on Wednesday. We have shortened our five weeks of classes to three immersed weeks and two weeks of traveling. I am nervous about again heading to a country where I don't really speak the language, knowing the isolation and frustration that brings. However, I will be with friends, and I am trying to keep my wits about me - remembering that this is an adventure, it's only five weeks, the Spanish skills will come rushing back.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
for shame, news media
Today's headlines in the print editions of the New York Times, USA Today and no doubt several others across the country announced the news that the 12 of the miners trapped in West Virginia were found alive.
Problem is, we now know all but one are dead. For three hours, the cable news channels and newspaper Web sites were reporting that the miners had been rescued alive. Many of the stories - many still glaring from the front pages of the print editions - reported this news with little doubt or qualifications that the news wasn't confirmed. Instead, they ran with it.
An Editor & Publisher story explains: "It is unclear why the media carried the news without nailed-down sourcing. Some reports claim the early reports spread via cell phones and when loved ones, and the governor, started celebrating most in the media simply joined in."
After the reports were corrected, TV stations and newspapers apparently scrambled to correct it, some stopping the presses, some adding hedge words to the stories, and some rewriting the news entirely. But, according to E&P, few explained why they decided to run with the story without confirming the rumors. And now the news media is disgraced, and the miner's families are on an emotional rollercoaster.
Something tells me it has to do with the pressures to get the story first, heightened by the 24-hour news channels and Web sites. I am certainly not an editor faced with making this decision, but really there should be no excuse for misreporting any news - particularly that with such painful repercussions.
Problem is, we now know all but one are dead. For three hours, the cable news channels and newspaper Web sites were reporting that the miners had been rescued alive. Many of the stories - many still glaring from the front pages of the print editions - reported this news with little doubt or qualifications that the news wasn't confirmed. Instead, they ran with it.
An Editor & Publisher story explains: "It is unclear why the media carried the news without nailed-down sourcing. Some reports claim the early reports spread via cell phones and when loved ones, and the governor, started celebrating most in the media simply joined in."
After the reports were corrected, TV stations and newspapers apparently scrambled to correct it, some stopping the presses, some adding hedge words to the stories, and some rewriting the news entirely. But, according to E&P, few explained why they decided to run with the story without confirming the rumors. And now the news media is disgraced, and the miner's families are on an emotional rollercoaster.
Something tells me it has to do with the pressures to get the story first, heightened by the 24-hour news channels and Web sites. I am certainly not an editor faced with making this decision, but really there should be no excuse for misreporting any news - particularly that with such painful repercussions.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
giving in to the New Year hype
Although I stand by the notion that New Year's Eve is just another night (with just more drinking - and this year, a barrel roll on my friend's back porch by a guy who looked just like Peter Jackson), I do get caught up in the idea of having New Year's resolutions.
I don't necessarily keep them, or even remember what they were, but I like the idea of starting over, making some changes and setting goals. If I recall correctly, I vowed that I would become a good runner in 2005. I planned to start slow, building up my stamina and maybe, just maybe, one day see the possibility of a marathon on the horizon. I failed. I can jog maybe ten minutes if you were to chase me with a bucket of fire.
I also meant to read more, eat well, exercise regularly, yadda yadda yadda. We've heard it all before.
A few things I did do in 2005 that I am not entirely disappointed by are:
1) Finished grad school. (Yay! Now maybe one day, I'll apply for a job, leverage my aces J-school connections and heavy weight alma mater, and then eventually become an award-winning writer.)
2) Moved to a new city alone (technically this part happened last fall, but humor me here), made new friends and survived a Chicago winter. Then moved to a foreign country, learned a few key words, wrote a few stories, struggled in the dregs of isolation and loneliness, made a few friends, traveled through Middle Europe and survived the whole mind-scramble that was the global journalism quarter.
3) Learned to knit (sort of. I am stuck on this one stubborn stitch, which has caused me to feel like a failure, put the needles down and swear to try again soon... but I am getting ahead of myself.)
4) Subsisted as a freelancer, making it through the weeks where I had taken on too many stories, weeks where I thought for sure I would never write again and be doomed to eat only Ramen Noodles, and weeks of constantly checking my mailbox waiting for the check to finally arrive.
Shoot, this entry morphed into the dreaded year-end post. Gross. What I meant to get into was a few things I have planned for 2006. As I previously referenced, I would like to get better at knitting. And I am not too ashamed to reclaim my goals of becoming a solid runner (marathon 2007?), reading more, flossing daily and eating better.
Also on the docket this year are to get a newspaper job and to get back to the business of being a good GF who lives in the same city as her BF. I also feel the need to dedicate a little time on me - finding ways to be a little less high-strung, a little more comfortable with who I am and the choices I make, and focusing on being just all-around generally happy.
I don't necessarily keep them, or even remember what they were, but I like the idea of starting over, making some changes and setting goals. If I recall correctly, I vowed that I would become a good runner in 2005. I planned to start slow, building up my stamina and maybe, just maybe, one day see the possibility of a marathon on the horizon. I failed. I can jog maybe ten minutes if you were to chase me with a bucket of fire.
I also meant to read more, eat well, exercise regularly, yadda yadda yadda. We've heard it all before.
A few things I did do in 2005 that I am not entirely disappointed by are:
1) Finished grad school. (Yay! Now maybe one day, I'll apply for a job, leverage my aces J-school connections and heavy weight alma mater, and then eventually become an award-winning writer.)
2) Moved to a new city alone (technically this part happened last fall, but humor me here), made new friends and survived a Chicago winter. Then moved to a foreign country, learned a few key words, wrote a few stories, struggled in the dregs of isolation and loneliness, made a few friends, traveled through Middle Europe and survived the whole mind-scramble that was the global journalism quarter.
3) Learned to knit (sort of. I am stuck on this one stubborn stitch, which has caused me to feel like a failure, put the needles down and swear to try again soon... but I am getting ahead of myself.)
4) Subsisted as a freelancer, making it through the weeks where I had taken on too many stories, weeks where I thought for sure I would never write again and be doomed to eat only Ramen Noodles, and weeks of constantly checking my mailbox waiting for the check to finally arrive.
Shoot, this entry morphed into the dreaded year-end post. Gross. What I meant to get into was a few things I have planned for 2006. As I previously referenced, I would like to get better at knitting. And I am not too ashamed to reclaim my goals of becoming a solid runner (marathon 2007?), reading more, flossing daily and eating better.
Also on the docket this year are to get a newspaper job and to get back to the business of being a good GF who lives in the same city as her BF. I also feel the need to dedicate a little time on me - finding ways to be a little less high-strung, a little more comfortable with who I am and the choices I make, and focusing on being just all-around generally happy.
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