Reitoca! Part Deux

Where did I leave off? Oh yes, my first night at the hotel. Aside from a small battle with a large cockroach in my bathroom at 3AM, the night was quite uneventful. Those suckers can move quickly, but in the end my shoe emerged victorious. Cockroaches can be a pain even in death, as un-hatched eggs from the dead corpse can stick to the bottom of your shoe, ready to hatch at a later date. At least this one wasn’t as big as some of the ones I’ve seen in my bathroom late at night in my host family’s bathroom. But I digress.

Trapped

Anyway, I woke up early to get ready and grab breakfast before meeting Pat at the school to observe him while he worked. The main entrance of the hotel was closed, so I went to the side door that the hotel attendant said would be open after hours. It was a large metal door that can slide open, and when it is completely ajar it is large enough for an automobile to enter (and it is used to park a car from time to time). Ready to greet the morning sun and search for a cup of coffee, I pulled at the door handle, but… Nothing happened… It wouldn’t budge! I tried moving around a latch on the lock in hopes of loosening it, but to no avail. The key to my room didn’t fit in the keyhole either. I walked around the bottom floor looking for another exit, but there was none to be found. The door to the main lobby was locked, and although my room key did fit in the lock, it wouldn’t turn. I started to realize that I was going to be a little late for my day.

I walked to the second floor, where there was an open-air balcony. I looked over the ledge and started to contemplate if I could make the jump. Perhaps I could climb over the railing, slip down so that I would be hanging from the bottom of the balcony, and then only have to let go and drop several feet… However, aside from the obvious possibility of injury, I was hesitant to jump because it would bring some unwanted attention to myself. It was broad daylight, and people were walking by the hotel once in a while. A giant gringo jumping off the second floor of a hotel wasn’t exactly the kind of image I was trying to convey to the community. I decided to call Pat for help, who was able to talk me down from the ledge. He didn’t sound like he was sure of what to do, but at least he understood my predicament and would know I wouldn’t be able to make it to his first class.

After calling Pat I knocked on every door of the hotel. Nobody was home. Turns out I was the only occupant, and apparently they don’t have a staff member there 24/7. I decided to go back to my room and relax while I waited either for Pat to figure something out, or for the hotel open up. Luckily I had a book to read to keep me occupied. After reading for about twenty minutes, I finally heard the large side door to the hotel opening. The man that opened the door explained that he works there during the night, but didn’t realize that I was staying there. Assuming the hotel was empty, he left the door locked when he left an hour or so before I woke up.

Fresh out of prison, I grabbed some breakfast before meeting Pat at the school. As I sipped my coffee I thought to myself: “Only in Honduras.”

Down By The River

I could sit here and describe all of the different types of work Pat does in his community, but I don’t really feel like it. Let’s just say that I’m excited about the work I’ll be able to do in my own community in the coming months. For now I’ll just say that he does the majority of his work at the local elementary school, and I had fun helping him out and meeting some of the students. I had to chuckle when the students asked me in Spanish if I could touch the ceiling (something I was always famous for back in the States).

One of the highlights of the trip was when we went to the local river in the afternoon. Reitoca is definitely very hot, so it was nice to take a moment to relax in the water. I didn’t bring sandals with me, so I ended up wading through in bare feet, but I survived the afternoon without incident. Our destination was a collection of hot springs located a couple hundred yards upstream. I slowly made my way step by step so as not to pierce my feet in the rocks, but for the most part the ground was composed of sand and didn’t hurt too much. The hot springs themselves may not have been all that exciting in reality to look at, but they were still interesting to see. I couldn’t get too close as the rocks and sand nearby were extremely hot (bare feet, remember). Pat talked about how he’s had a picnic their a couple times, as you can boil an egg in the water and even cook Ramen noodles if you bring a pot with you. After checking out the springs briefly, I returned to the water and simply relaxed for a little while as I braced myself against the current (which wasn’t incredibly strong, but would take you if you let go). After we had all had enough time to relax, we made our way back to the shore where we left our things. The return trip was much easier, as I was simply able to float and let the current take me.

Qué Más?

Those were more or less the highlights of the trip. I know I left out a lot about our work in the community (which for the most part was me observing him, save a few instances), but I’m sure I’ll talk about my own work plenty enough in the future. Essentially we spent a lot of our free time gossiping about Peace Corps life, and it was great to get an inside scoop from a primary source.

We all left together on Thursday morning, as Pat wanted to accompany his friend to the airport. We had to take a bus at 4AM, thus I was quite tired. The bus ride for the return trip was much smoother than the arrival, and it even seemed to take a lot less time. The view of the sunrise from the mountain roads was a one of the best I had ever seen, but I didn’t take any pictures (both because I didn’t want to reveal how much technology I was carrying, as well as because I knew no photo could do it justice).

We all arrived together at the Peace Corps office, but I was instantly ready to head home. I felt bad for not hanging out with them a little while longer, but all I could think about is how much I wanted to be back in Las Cañadas. I needed to catch up on some sleep. I took a taxi to the bus station, and then took a bus the rest of the way back. As I got off the bus I realized how much Las Cañadas has become a ‘home’ for me, and how lucky I am to feel that way about a place that is hundreds and hundreds of miles away from the only place I had ever previously called home for my entire life. As I made it to my house, I breathed a sigh of relief and talked with my host family for a moment about the trip. Then, finally, I went to my room, shut the door, and fell right asleep.

Volunteer Visit to Reitoca (Part 1)

Traveling & Bus #1

I feel like I’m getting the hang of this country. On Sunday I traveled to Reitoca, where I am living with a current volunteer until Thursday. From my home in Los Cañadas I brought my hiking backpack with enough clothes for the week and took a bus by myself to Teguz. When I got off the bus stop I took a cab to the airport. I had to bargain the cab ride down from 120 Limps to 90, though I was hoping to only pay 70. My mistake was probably that I took a cab that was waiting right off of the bus stop, and it might have been cheaper to flag another one down.

I felt like I proved to the cab driver that I wasn’t a tourist as we chatted on the ride to the airport. I explained that I wasn’t in fact catching a flight, but rather that I was meeting two other people there. The volunteer that I’m staying with (Patrick) was picking up a friend at the airport that would also be staying with us for the week. It made it much easier for all of us to meet in one place and then travel to Reitoca together.

Patrick showed up a little late (he had a rough night, but I’ll let him tell his story), and at around 11 we were ready to make our way to his site. We found a bus that would take us at only halfway to Reitoca, as apparently the last direct bus had already left. It was a cramped old school bus, but luckily it wasn’t very full and I was able to sit by myself with my backpack. Patrick and his friend Kristine sat behind me. I chatted with them for a bit, but I was starting to get motion sickness from facing towards them so after a few minutes I made myself comfortable in my seat and just listened to music. The first leg of the trip was about 90 minutes, and was a relatively pleasant ride. One intriguing sight in the countryside was a group of giant wind-energy turbines scattered throughout the mountainside. They weren’t operating, but they still looked like something out of a science fiction movie. I would have taken pictures, but I felt it wouldn’t be smart to take out even more technology (besides my MP3 player) to make myself a bigger target for theft.

Bus #2 (The Mountain Pass)

When we got off at our stop, we waited at a pulperia (convenience store) situated at the fork between the main road and our new path. Our next road was not to be quite as luxurious, as it leads up a steep and windy dirt road. The plan was to wait for Pat’s friend for an hour or so and then ride into town on the bed of his truck. However, as fate would have it, a bus for Reitoca showed up after about 10 minutes. In retrospect it might have been more comfortable to wait for our private ride, but I probably wouldn’t have been able to convince my party to do so.

The bus was completely packed, and we all had to stand in the aisle at first. Within about 5 minutes more motion sickness set in. I’m usually not such a wuss, but I think a lack of sleep, odd Honduran food, and noxious bus exhaust chemicals combined for a perfect storm of sickness. I immediately began to plan a vomiting escape route. The windows were wide enough to stick my head out of, but since each seat was crowded there would be no way I could shove the people out of the way and reach it in time. Eventually someone got off the bus and I was able to sit down, and I the man I was sitting next to that I might have to stick my head out the window at any second. As my nausea worsened, I realized that this would not be ideal either.

While I sat towards the front of the school bus, I observed the bus attendants (who collect money from passengers and help people with bags) sitting on the entrance stairs. The bus drove with the door open, so I thought that perhaps I could try to sit there to both get some fresh air and have a place where I could empty my innards without bothering anyone else. I explained the situation to them and I was able to sit at the top of the stairs, though one of the attendants stayed on the bottom step, half hanging out the door as we drove. I would have preferred to be at the bottom and have one less person in between myself and the open air, but it was still an improvement. In reality it was probably pretty dangerous to not sit in a seat and have to consciously hang on to the stair railing in order to prevent myself from falling out and breaking several bones. However, I just thought to myself “only in Honduras…” and continued to hang on.

The road we were traveling was absolutely not the type of terrain that the school bus engineers had envisioned when developing their product. It’s actually quite impressive to see what those bad boys are capable of. The roads are narrow and often should only be considered one-way, and they wind at sharp angles and at times go up very steep inclines. I began to wonder if we were going to be able to make it all the way up a few times, especially with the roads being a little wet and the bus filled past capacity. My doubts were shattered thankfully as the machine managed to continue crawling at a snail’s pace.

After about an hour or so the bus started emptying of passengers here and there, and another twenty minutes later I was able to have a seat all to myself. Sitting down with my head by the window helped me to feel a lot better, and eventually my nausea dissipated entirely. There were several close calls, but in the end I felt proud that I was able to avoid losing my lunch.

Reitoca

Finally, after two hours we made it to his site. We stopped by Pat’s house first, which was a pretty cozy little place. It wasn’t heavily furnished, because apparently there aren’t boatloads of funds for buying furniture. He definitely had almost everything he needed, including a nice hammock in his main room. As cool as it was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to have a place of my own as a result of a new Peace Corps rule. Only time will tell if this will work out for better or for worse.

After a bit we all walked to my hotel to get me checked in. The room was cozy but overall pretty nice. I had my own bathroom, but the running water only worked sporadically. The sink didn’t work at all, and the toilet and shower only worked at certain times of the day. I turned on the shower to see what I had to look forward to in the morning. I was a little let down but not all that surprised when I discovered the water pretty much just dripped down slowly, straight down from the faucet. And of course, the water wasn’t remotely warm.

 

Once I got all of my things in my room, we went to get something to eat. Apparently Pat never cooks for himself, as he can just go to various locations in town and have another family cook for him. While it is more expensive for him to ‘eat out’, it requires a lot less work. Beans in and of themselves can take hours to prepare, thus to me it seems worth it to eat with other families as he does. The pulperia we went to seems to almost be like another home for him in the community. It was fun eating there, and I got in some good practice with my Spanish talking with the family.

Since it had been a long day for all of us, by the time we were done eating all of us were ready to sleep. I went back to my hotel, while Pat and his friend Kristine went back to his place. Thankfully my room had a fan, as Reitoca is much hotter than Las Cañadas. I spent some time sitting in the breeze of the fan and trying to get my internet to work. After a half hour I gave up home that my modem would get a signal and went to sleep at the ripe hour of 7:30PM.

Pollitos!

I know I’ve been slacking on my blog lately, and I’m sorry to say that I don’t have too much to post. One interesting (somewhat) story I have is that my family bought some baby chicks (pollitos) that were injected with various colors. Here are a couple of pictures:

They make/made good pets. I say ‘made’ because we started with 5, and are now down to 2. I’m not sure what happened to the others, but the popular guess is that they were eaten by local dogs (with no trace left behind). They would roam freely around the yard, and in actuality they were fairly low-maintenance.

I asked my host family how long their feathers would maintain the color, as well what would happen to them when they’re older. The response was that they will eventually lose their coloring as they get older. As for what would else would happen to them as they age, the response was that if they are female they would lay eggs; and if they were male, we would eat them. Que barbaridad.

The other day while I was walking back from my neighbor’s house, I noticed Gloria’s brother (who is our neighbor) had stopped what he was doing to watch the baby chicks playing in the yard. The look on his face struck me in a peculiar way; here was a man who had endured many harsh years in his life, yet still found it in himself to smile in an innocent manner at the baby birds.

This small moment inspired me to write a poem. I don’t really know anything about poetry, but I like what I wrote so I’m going to share it here:

Pollito Amarillo

Who knows what evils this man has seen;

Yet the sight of the baby pollito still brings a peaceful smile to his face.

He stops in his tracks from his daily toil

To silently observe with contentment the actions of this tiny bird.

All the pain and hardship he has ever endured

Is forgotten in an instant.

And  It can only be speculated that this sight brings about memories of simpler times,

When as a child he was free from the concerns of this world,

And could focus on the beautiful things that pleased him,

And made him feel safe.

Let me know what you think.

What else?

I’m going to visit another volunteer in his site next week, which should be interesting. I’m meeting him at the airport in Teguz on Sunday (where we are picking up a female 'friend' of his, vamos a ver), and from there we will take a bus to his placement in Reitoca. I won’t return to Las Cañadas until Thursday. It should be a lot of fun, and it should also give me a lot of insight as to what volunteer life will be like in the future. I should have plenty of material for a new blog post a week from now.

Until then... Hasta luego.

Valle De Angeles

About three miles from our homes in Las Cañadas lies a tourist-friendly town known as Valle de Angeles. The downtown area of Valle is fairly small (only a couple square miles or so), but it is very beautiful and has some decent stores and restaurants, and has become a favorite ‘hang-out’ location for the volunteers. We don’t go every day, perhaps just a few times a week at the most.

Getting to and from Valle is pretty fun in and of itself. I meet up with whoever is accompanying me right up the hill from my house, which is in intersection where mototaxis drive by frequently. These are essentially covered motorcycles with a passenger section in the back (which from what I have discerned, are apparently made in Asia and have become popular in parts of Central America). As with much of the things that happen on the roads in Honduras, mototaxis would definitely not be legal in the States. They don’t really have doors, and of course there are no seatbelts. If it came down to a collision between a bus and a mototaxi, the taxi wouldn’t fare much better than a squirrel getting run over by a pickup truck.

Needless to say mototaxis are a lot of fun. I really enjoy the open air, and the drivers often take some interesting and adventurous routes to the destination. I felt like it was all part of the adventure once when we turned a corner in a narrow road only to realize we were face-to-face with a bus. Guess which vehicle had to turn around when there wasn’t room for both? Also, can you guess which vehicle doesn’t drive in reverse? I derived a strange amount of pleasure out of the situation when I had to stick my leg out of the cab and help to push the taxi backwards.

Anyways, most of the restaurants in Valle are pretty good, and the extra security in the town makes the whole area more tourist friendly than other places in Honduras. Also, beer is cheap at any of the restaurants. It’s nice to take a little trip to Valle after a long day of classes, having a couple drinks at about $1 or $2 each. However, as cheap as things are, sometimes we have a hard time keeping in mind that we only get paid $3 a day from Peace Corps.

As for the stores, there are plenty of useless souvenirs to buy, though I am quite proud of the Honduran soccer jersey I now own. It was selling for what equates to about $7, but I was able to barter the cost down to $6. It wasn’t much, but I felt pretty accomplished when I finally got the store owner to concede to my offer (as she was really putting up a fight, and my Spanish was still quite limited). The shirt is pretty high-quality, and it would easily sell for about $30 in the states. Though I look like even more of a tourist sporting my Honduran colors, I wear the jersey with pride.

The one catch about Valle is that even though it is so close, it’s definitely not safe to make the three-mile trek homewards in the dark. Additionally, the mototaxis stop running around 7:30 at night at the latest. Thus, we can only really visit during the day, and afternoon visits are very condensed. On one of the nights a couple of my friends and I had trouble finding a taxi after hanging out in Valle for a couple hour. The driver that brought us there earlier had told us there would definitely be a taxi waiting for us, but this was not the case. We walked the street where the taxis usually drive by, but to no avail. It was surprisingly dark for 7:45PM and the streetlights were going out one by one. Creepy drunk people started coming out of the woodwork as we made our way to the entrance of town, where luckily we were able to find one last mototaxi filling up at the gas station. Though I’m sure things would have turned out fine either way, I’d rather not think about what might have happened if we didn’t find that taxi.