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.