If you are every considering going to Rio Dulce, Guatemala, don't. We arrived by the insane chicken bus and checked into probably the worst hotel on the face of the planet. For 35Q each (way too damn much for this shithole), we got a bright blue concrete room with three beds - one of which was more like a warped wooden palet with a sheet - no blankets, no running water, no flushing toilets and a night filled with a cacophany of noises. We woke up, or rather, we sat up after laying in this dump for most of the night, and promptly left Rio Dulce.
After a two and a half hour boat ride up the river, we arrived in Livingston, a place unlike any other in Guatemala. (Sidebar: the boat ride was billed as a tour, with stops at a bird island, hot springs, and a random oasis of lily pads, but calling it a tour is pushing it. The boat driver would pull over, say nothing, we would all take pictures of what we guessed were hot springs or a bird sanctuary, and then the boat would pull away. Strange, but the scenery was breathtaking.)
First of all, the people here in Livingston are mostly black, which we haven't we haven't seen much of since traveling in Central America. The majority of the people are Garifuna, which is decendant from African slaves and Caribs here. Livingston is on the mouth of the Carribean, and at one point we were standing on the Guatemalan beach looking out at Belize to our right and Honduras to our left. The Garifuna call it La Boga which means The Mouth, since it's the mouth of the Carribean. It's incredible. Anyway, the people are beautiful and kind and laid back and everywhere you turn, there is fish frying and drum music playing. Oh, and the landscape is much more tropical than we have seen so far, complete with lush jungle-like brush, palm trees, white sandy beaches, and crystal clear water.
We are staying at this gorgeous little hotel complete with thatched hut cabanas and fresh fish dinners. Today we wandered down the beach today (for about an hour and a half) and made it to Siete Altares, which were seven waterfalls... really today they were like five pools of cool water and a ton of rocks since it hasn't rained in so long, but it was amazing. This place really is unbelievable.
This morning, we also met a man on the street named Polo, who suggested we eat at a Garifuna's house to get a real authentic experience. He then proceeded to lead us down the beach, stopping into his friends' houses until he found a friend who would cook us dinner tonight. So we went back this evening and had grilled red snapper and rice cooked in coconut milk. The meal was amazing, mainly for the experience of being in these people's home and talking with them. Polo told us all about the Garifuna, the lifestyle (really, really laid back), the history, racial tensions between the blacks and the Hispanics here (some things are univeral around the world, I guess.) It was a good way to really get a better understanding of Livingston, the people, the culture.
As much as I have fallen in love with every place we have visited (besides Rio Dulce, that shithole), Livingston really struck a chord with me. Just walking down the street and feeling the energy... this whole town feels alive and happy, and the people just seem to be enjoying their lives. It's been nice to experience a culture so vastly different than what we have been living in the past month or so. I understand it's similar at the beach on the Bay Islands, which si Dios quiere, we will be heading tomorrow... that is if we can tear ourselves away from this place.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
"if we make it through this...."
About ten minutes into our bus ride from Guatemala City to Rio Dulce, my friend leans over to me and says, "Sara, if we make it through this bus ride, you have to write about it on your blog." We lived, so here goes.
We paid the gringo price for a shuttle from Lago de Atitlan to Rio Dulce, and we expected to take a shuttle the entire way, with a change in Guatemala City. Well, we did change, but rather than the posh tourist shuttle, we boarded one of the infamous and god-forsaken chicken buses. Without knowing entirely what was going on, we trusted our bags in the trunk of the bus, seriously wondering if we would ever see them again. The bus was packed (or so I thought it was to capacity when we got on) and we filed to the back row. This said back row was slightly elevated from the other seats, giving us a clear view through the windshield, sharing the same line of the site of the driver.
Ah, the driver. For the entire four and a half hour ride, he had this scary maniacal smile on his face (which we were able to admire from the rear view mirror). Like the other drivers we have seen so far in Central America, he wasted no time to pass the slow drivers, but I think this guy took it to a whole ´nother level. For each turn, he would throw his whole body into it, like he was playing an intense game at the arcade, sitting in one of those car seat booths with a large steering wheel and a screen in front of him. He´d lean to one side and throw his arm all the way across his body to make a turn. And it was quite interesting to see just how fast he managed to get this massive school bus-turned-chicken bus to go. It was equal parts terrifying, thrilling and nerve-shattering to watch as we sped past trucks, heading straight head on toward another truck, and then swinging back into the proper lane. None of us knew whether to laugh or cry or scream, so of course, we giggled incessently.
Even though every single seat was taken, we stopped every once in a while to pick up some folks. At first, we thought maybe he was looking out for his friends, and giving them a ride, since he would wave and smile and then bring the bus to a screaching halt. Then, as people began to pile into the isles, it clicked. This must be why they call them chicken buses. At one point, we saw a few guys get on, one of which had a gun. It was at this time that I had to take a few deep breaths, and just resign myself to the fact that whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Maybe we were going to get robbed blind, or shot up, or go flying above the 30 rows of seats and through the windsheild after colliding with one of the many 18-wheelers we were playing chicken with. Or maybe everything was just fine, and this is how it´s done.
It does appear that the latter was the case. But not without some pains. For one, Senor Know-it-all sat down next to me, and after telling him that we were from Alabama, he proceeded to give me the history of the state´s name, and then list all the states, towns and rivers in the US that were Native American in their origin. That´s a lot of names, folks. My friend was ready to scrap with him after he insultingly told us we were dumb for going to a travel agency and that as three young women traveling alone, we really were safe and shouldn´t worry about anything. Right. I managed to ignore him for most of the trip, but that´s just because he fell asleep and allowed his arm and leg to flop about, sqeezing me into half of my oh-so-comfortable bus seat. At least he wasn´t talking to us then.
Then we pulled over for a few women to hop aboard and sell food. Gallinas con tortillas y salsa. Despite the fact that I was starving, it didn´t seem right to gnaw on a hen leg in the back of a bus (especially next to my vegitarian friend.... and I am trying to go veg for the rest of the trip), so I asked for just a few tortillas. The woman promptly said no, gallinas y tortillas. OK, no thanks. There were a couple other stops, at which point men and women would swarm around the bus holding up baggies of cut fruit or bread for passengers to reach out the window and buy.
Somehow, I managed to snag a nap amongst this death-defying, video game of a bus ride. As we approached Rio Dulce, we began to fantasize about the cold beer, cold but much-needed shower and perhaps a plato tipico for dinner that awaited us, assuming we stepped off the bus in one piece. And we did, with our bags intact as well, and I think I am a little surprised we made it alive.
We paid the gringo price for a shuttle from Lago de Atitlan to Rio Dulce, and we expected to take a shuttle the entire way, with a change in Guatemala City. Well, we did change, but rather than the posh tourist shuttle, we boarded one of the infamous and god-forsaken chicken buses. Without knowing entirely what was going on, we trusted our bags in the trunk of the bus, seriously wondering if we would ever see them again. The bus was packed (or so I thought it was to capacity when we got on) and we filed to the back row. This said back row was slightly elevated from the other seats, giving us a clear view through the windshield, sharing the same line of the site of the driver.
Ah, the driver. For the entire four and a half hour ride, he had this scary maniacal smile on his face (which we were able to admire from the rear view mirror). Like the other drivers we have seen so far in Central America, he wasted no time to pass the slow drivers, but I think this guy took it to a whole ´nother level. For each turn, he would throw his whole body into it, like he was playing an intense game at the arcade, sitting in one of those car seat booths with a large steering wheel and a screen in front of him. He´d lean to one side and throw his arm all the way across his body to make a turn. And it was quite interesting to see just how fast he managed to get this massive school bus-turned-chicken bus to go. It was equal parts terrifying, thrilling and nerve-shattering to watch as we sped past trucks, heading straight head on toward another truck, and then swinging back into the proper lane. None of us knew whether to laugh or cry or scream, so of course, we giggled incessently.
Even though every single seat was taken, we stopped every once in a while to pick up some folks. At first, we thought maybe he was looking out for his friends, and giving them a ride, since he would wave and smile and then bring the bus to a screaching halt. Then, as people began to pile into the isles, it clicked. This must be why they call them chicken buses. At one point, we saw a few guys get on, one of which had a gun. It was at this time that I had to take a few deep breaths, and just resign myself to the fact that whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Maybe we were going to get robbed blind, or shot up, or go flying above the 30 rows of seats and through the windsheild after colliding with one of the many 18-wheelers we were playing chicken with. Or maybe everything was just fine, and this is how it´s done.
It does appear that the latter was the case. But not without some pains. For one, Senor Know-it-all sat down next to me, and after telling him that we were from Alabama, he proceeded to give me the history of the state´s name, and then list all the states, towns and rivers in the US that were Native American in their origin. That´s a lot of names, folks. My friend was ready to scrap with him after he insultingly told us we were dumb for going to a travel agency and that as three young women traveling alone, we really were safe and shouldn´t worry about anything. Right. I managed to ignore him for most of the trip, but that´s just because he fell asleep and allowed his arm and leg to flop about, sqeezing me into half of my oh-so-comfortable bus seat. At least he wasn´t talking to us then.
Then we pulled over for a few women to hop aboard and sell food. Gallinas con tortillas y salsa. Despite the fact that I was starving, it didn´t seem right to gnaw on a hen leg in the back of a bus (especially next to my vegitarian friend.... and I am trying to go veg for the rest of the trip), so I asked for just a few tortillas. The woman promptly said no, gallinas y tortillas. OK, no thanks. There were a couple other stops, at which point men and women would swarm around the bus holding up baggies of cut fruit or bread for passengers to reach out the window and buy.
Somehow, I managed to snag a nap amongst this death-defying, video game of a bus ride. As we approached Rio Dulce, we began to fantasize about the cold beer, cold but much-needed shower and perhaps a plato tipico for dinner that awaited us, assuming we stepped off the bus in one piece. And we did, with our bags intact as well, and I think I am a little surprised we made it alive.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
tan(ish) and happy
We just spent the day in Chichicastenanga, which roughly translates to the gringo marketplace rip off madhouse. Or something like that. It´s basically endless rows of textiles, jewelry, useless Guatemalan nick-nacks, and of course gingos. That said, it was fun.
The highlight was when I decided I really wanted this beautifully colored fabric with birds sewn into it. Sounds lame, but it is beautiful. The woman wanted 600 quetzales for it, which was like $80, ridiculous and way more than I had in my wallet. We finally got her down to 400 quetzales when I realized I only had 300 to my name. After much wrangling, we got her down to 300, as long as we had a regalito (small gift) for her. We dug around in our bags, and my friend came up with a pink luggage tag with a butterfly on it. The woman´s daughter liked it, so she agreed, and I got this lovely textile for a somewhat more reasonable price. It was strangely fun talking with this woman and haggling a bit.
This weekend was the 10th anniversary of the hotel where we are staying in Santa Cruz, which is a few minutes boat ride from Panajachel. (There aren´t any roads leading to the towns surrounding the lake - each of which consists of about 2 or 3 hotels and some fancy houses perched precariously on the mountainside.) This means about 150 people piled into this tiny hotel for free dinner, a live band and much drinking and dancing. We met a ton of neat people from all over the world (including a Chicago contingency that I hope to see again when I get home) and have been having a blast. We also went on a boat ride out in the lake as part of the celebrations, ending the day with a wet, sloshy, somewhat perilous kayak trip in the chopping waters.
Tomorrow, we head to Rio Dulce. Now that we have changed our flights and have much more time on our hands, the tenor of the trip has changed for the better, as we are all more relaxed and soaking in our time here. Oh, and por fin, I am tan. OK, kind of tan, but for a blancita like me, it´s a start.
The highlight was when I decided I really wanted this beautifully colored fabric with birds sewn into it. Sounds lame, but it is beautiful. The woman wanted 600 quetzales for it, which was like $80, ridiculous and way more than I had in my wallet. We finally got her down to 400 quetzales when I realized I only had 300 to my name. After much wrangling, we got her down to 300, as long as we had a regalito (small gift) for her. We dug around in our bags, and my friend came up with a pink luggage tag with a butterfly on it. The woman´s daughter liked it, so she agreed, and I got this lovely textile for a somewhat more reasonable price. It was strangely fun talking with this woman and haggling a bit.
This weekend was the 10th anniversary of the hotel where we are staying in Santa Cruz, which is a few minutes boat ride from Panajachel. (There aren´t any roads leading to the towns surrounding the lake - each of which consists of about 2 or 3 hotels and some fancy houses perched precariously on the mountainside.) This means about 150 people piled into this tiny hotel for free dinner, a live band and much drinking and dancing. We met a ton of neat people from all over the world (including a Chicago contingency that I hope to see again when I get home) and have been having a blast. We also went on a boat ride out in the lake as part of the celebrations, ending the day with a wet, sloshy, somewhat perilous kayak trip in the chopping waters.
Tomorrow, we head to Rio Dulce. Now that we have changed our flights and have much more time on our hands, the tenor of the trip has changed for the better, as we are all more relaxed and soaking in our time here. Oh, and por fin, I am tan. OK, kind of tan, but for a blancita like me, it´s a start.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
bienvenidos a lago atitlan
After a three hour shuttle bus ride (we chose to forgoe the chicken bus ride, which is just old American school buses painted different colors and given cool names like Esmeralda), and then about a ten minute boat ride across the lake, crammed in with a dozen other people, our bags, a German shephard and splashing waves into the boat, we arrived. We are now in Lago Atitlan.
As far as we can tell, the activities here are much like those at Earth Lodge - sitting around, enjoying the view (equally stunning this time with a massive lake and towering mountains), drinking beer, talking to people from all over the world except Central America. I think we are itching for more activity, more sights, something a bit different. So we´ll see how tonight goes and determine our next move. If I have learned anything, it´s that nothing on this trip is set in stone - from itinerary to departure date to hotel .....
As far as we can tell, the activities here are much like those at Earth Lodge - sitting around, enjoying the view (equally stunning this time with a massive lake and towering mountains), drinking beer, talking to people from all over the world except Central America. I think we are itching for more activity, more sights, something a bit different. So we´ll see how tonight goes and determine our next move. If I have learned anything, it´s that nothing on this trip is set in stone - from itinerary to departure date to hotel .....
three days sequestered on a Guatemalan mountainside
You haven't really lived until you have taken a shit in a 30-foot long drop toilet. Or perhaps, watched the sun set behind an active volcano in the mountains of Guatemala, while a second active volcano rummbles and releases steam off to your right.
We meant to stay one night in this place called the Earth Lodge, which is nestled on the side of a mountain overlooking three volcanoes, a roughly 15 minute drive from Antigua. As soon as we got there, we fell in love with the owners (a 28-year-old American girl and a 27-year-old Canadian guy.... and an Isreali guy who has been there five times, more recently for three months with no plans to ever leave), the views, the food, the entire atmosphere.
We heard about it from a couple we met in Copan, and it turned out we were the only guests at the time. We bunked in a dorm room with out electricity or Internet or a phone, and as I mentioned, the bathroom consisted of a long drop toilet, a sink and a freezing cold shower that broke after the first morning. But the location was unbelivable. Each night, we went to sleep to knock-you-over winds and amazingly bright moonlight and a plethora of stars. The nights and mornings were cold, but the sun warmed us up considerably during the day. One day, we decided to help out by painting avocado trees. (It's an avocado farm, and you have to paint the tree trunks white so they don't sunburn.)
The couple had four dogs (including the new edition, months-old huskie puppy Lola), two cats, seven goats, two pigs, a mountain side of avocado trees..... Really, nothing I say about this place does it justice. The views of the volcanoes were unlike anything I have ever seen before in my life, and each night we ate mounds of vegetables, which if you have been following, we a welcome change.
It looks like we are going to extend our trip. We delayed for a bit around Antigua and I was nursing a cold that slowed us down a bit more. But now were are off to Lago Atitlan, after I call American Airlines and see what I can work out.
We meant to stay one night in this place called the Earth Lodge, which is nestled on the side of a mountain overlooking three volcanoes, a roughly 15 minute drive from Antigua. As soon as we got there, we fell in love with the owners (a 28-year-old American girl and a 27-year-old Canadian guy.... and an Isreali guy who has been there five times, more recently for three months with no plans to ever leave), the views, the food, the entire atmosphere.
We heard about it from a couple we met in Copan, and it turned out we were the only guests at the time. We bunked in a dorm room with out electricity or Internet or a phone, and as I mentioned, the bathroom consisted of a long drop toilet, a sink and a freezing cold shower that broke after the first morning. But the location was unbelivable. Each night, we went to sleep to knock-you-over winds and amazingly bright moonlight and a plethora of stars. The nights and mornings were cold, but the sun warmed us up considerably during the day. One day, we decided to help out by painting avocado trees. (It's an avocado farm, and you have to paint the tree trunks white so they don't sunburn.)
The couple had four dogs (including the new edition, months-old huskie puppy Lola), two cats, seven goats, two pigs, a mountain side of avocado trees..... Really, nothing I say about this place does it justice. The views of the volcanoes were unlike anything I have ever seen before in my life, and each night we ate mounds of vegetables, which if you have been following, we a welcome change.
It looks like we are going to extend our trip. We delayed for a bit around Antigua and I was nursing a cold that slowed us down a bit more. But now were are off to Lago Atitlan, after I call American Airlines and see what I can work out.
Monday, February 06, 2006
staring down an active volcano
Yesterday, I peered into the mouth of an active volcano. With the lung-singeing smoke swirling around me, and three people tightly grasping me, I leaned over the edge of the volcano. As the wind moved the smoke, I could see a bright orangish red lava below. It was amazing.
We arrived in Antigua, Guatemala Saturday afternoon after a 6 hour ride in a tiny knee-cramping bus. It's very different from Copan, and considering that we have been feeling very nostalgic for the place where we just spent nearly a month, we didn't fall in love with Antigua. In fact, we were a little surprised how hard it was to leave Copan. I guess we hadn't realized how much we had built up this community of friends and peers and family (although I do not miss Juancho, and the goodbyes with my family were short and pressed). We always had people to hang out with and place to go, and always when we walked down the street, we were waving at people we knew. Now we are tourists, which we are finding is a tough transition. I think it's making us all homesick, since we no longer have the comfort of a home base.
That said, we hiked to the top of Volcan Pakaya in Antigua, which next to the horse back riding (which we did one last time before leaving Copan), was one of the best days on our trip. (Side note on the horseback riding: When we went Friday, Don Beto took us to the Frontera, near the border of Guatemala, where we pretty much had free reign to gallop with the lush green mountains spreading out in front of us. Truly breathtaking. I was riding Muneca, who I had grown quite close to, and all the horses were excited to have the room to run. Now I am toying with the idea of one day moving to a farm with horses and land and veggies and whatnot. We'll see.)
The hike to the top was roughly three hours, with the last hour being more of a scramble than a climb. One step forward, two slides backward. It was so hard, unbelievably steep, and much like climbing an escalator the wrong way. But all of the scramble was worth it when we reached the top, where we could see Guatemala City, three other volcanoes, one of which was also active and steaming from the top, fantastically green pastures, and of course, the depths of this massive volatile mountain. We were surrounded by vivid yellow, red and white rocks from the chemicals, and our guide pointed out several craters from recent erruptions, one three months ago, and a more intense one in 2000.
After resting a bit, we ran down the top part of the volcano, digging our heels into the dark ash dirt and sliding down. It was amazing.
We are trying our best to use our Spanish, but Antigua is painfully toursity and we are meeting more people from other parts of the world (which is cool in its own way, yes), but few that are fluent in Spanish. We did talk to the guide and a woman we met who weaves tapestries, but it's tough to find more opportunities to practice. We have tried to institute time during the day to talk in Spanish, but we'll see. I just don't want to loose all that we have worked so hard on.
We arrived in Antigua, Guatemala Saturday afternoon after a 6 hour ride in a tiny knee-cramping bus. It's very different from Copan, and considering that we have been feeling very nostalgic for the place where we just spent nearly a month, we didn't fall in love with Antigua. In fact, we were a little surprised how hard it was to leave Copan. I guess we hadn't realized how much we had built up this community of friends and peers and family (although I do not miss Juancho, and the goodbyes with my family were short and pressed). We always had people to hang out with and place to go, and always when we walked down the street, we were waving at people we knew. Now we are tourists, which we are finding is a tough transition. I think it's making us all homesick, since we no longer have the comfort of a home base.
That said, we hiked to the top of Volcan Pakaya in Antigua, which next to the horse back riding (which we did one last time before leaving Copan), was one of the best days on our trip. (Side note on the horseback riding: When we went Friday, Don Beto took us to the Frontera, near the border of Guatemala, where we pretty much had free reign to gallop with the lush green mountains spreading out in front of us. Truly breathtaking. I was riding Muneca, who I had grown quite close to, and all the horses were excited to have the room to run. Now I am toying with the idea of one day moving to a farm with horses and land and veggies and whatnot. We'll see.)
The hike to the top was roughly three hours, with the last hour being more of a scramble than a climb. One step forward, two slides backward. It was so hard, unbelievably steep, and much like climbing an escalator the wrong way. But all of the scramble was worth it when we reached the top, where we could see Guatemala City, three other volcanoes, one of which was also active and steaming from the top, fantastically green pastures, and of course, the depths of this massive volatile mountain. We were surrounded by vivid yellow, red and white rocks from the chemicals, and our guide pointed out several craters from recent erruptions, one three months ago, and a more intense one in 2000.
After resting a bit, we ran down the top part of the volcano, digging our heels into the dark ash dirt and sliding down. It was amazing.
We are trying our best to use our Spanish, but Antigua is painfully toursity and we are meeting more people from other parts of the world (which is cool in its own way, yes), but few that are fluent in Spanish. We did talk to the guide and a woman we met who weaves tapestries, but it's tough to find more opportunities to practice. We have tried to institute time during the day to talk in Spanish, but we'll see. I just don't want to loose all that we have worked so hard on.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
todo es macanudo en Copan
Tomorrow is the ultimo dia of classes. On Saturday we leave for Guatemala, and the plan so far is that we head first to Antigua and surrounding areas, then to Rio Dulce and then back down to the much-awaited playa in Honduras.
After roughly three weeks, we feel ready to leave to Copan, and hit the open Central American calle with our Spanish, or Spanglish or whatever happens to come out of our mouths at this point. I think I will be sad to end classes, and will miss the amazing people we have met here (save for my loco family), but we are anxious to get to traveling.
Among the plethora of slang words and dirty words that we have picked up alongthe way is one word that I understand is mainly used in Honduras: macanudo, which means cool. And yep, todo es macanudo en Copan.
After roughly three weeks, we feel ready to leave to Copan, and hit the open Central American calle with our Spanish, or Spanglish or whatever happens to come out of our mouths at this point. I think I will be sad to end classes, and will miss the amazing people we have met here (save for my loco family), but we are anxious to get to traveling.
Among the plethora of slang words and dirty words that we have picked up alongthe way is one word that I understand is mainly used in Honduras: macanudo, which means cool. And yep, todo es macanudo en Copan.
Monday, January 30, 2006
a few language mistakes
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.
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.
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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