One Year in Honduras

Back to the Easy Life

2009-01-04T07:34:00.000-08:00

I just got out of bed after an amazing night's sleep. I got back into Honduras yesterday after leaving LAX at 12:50 a.m. (the early morning seems to be the only time flights are allowed into Honduras), napping in Houston for a couple of hours, catching a three-hour flight from there to Tegucigalpa, and then enjoying the ride home to Zamorano with Sarah, Naomi, Yaqui, and Mike. I love the ride back to Zamorano, and I love the people I live with. For all our little annoyances (and I'm more than sure that I carry my weight in this area), we really are a great group of people.

Mike came up last night after we got home (he had also been traveling for a few days, with a stop off in San Pedro Sula to see a few friends of his) to eat one of Sarah's nacatamales (Honduran tamales) since he (and I, for that matter) was starving. We were talking about a bunch of things--sports (and my inability to EVER pick a winning team--Ef Utah, by the way), books, where we'll be next year, our vacations--all kinds of stuff. At one point, he mentioned how slow Zamorano is, and how much he likes that. And he's right. I love Zamorano because life here IS slow; it's peaceful, easy.

I just got out of bed and made my traditional weekend pot of morning coffee. I'm reading my friends' blogs and the news, and in a few minutes I'll probably read a little of David Sedaras' Me Talk Pretty One Day (which is as good as Ty said). Later on I'll probably walk down to the school to get a little bit of work done and then pass by the puesto to get some food. I might spend the afternoon reading or playing the guitar (the word "playing" is used very liberally here), or maybe watching the Kentucky game at the big house. It is a peaceful life, and I really do enjoy it.
On a bad note, my Zamorano morning hair is back, and that's not good for anyone involved. Oh well, I guess everything can't be peaceful.

The Fish Market

2008-12-23T23:54:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I went to my favorite place in Seoul yet, the fish market (Noryangjin Shijang). This place was freaking amazing, and if I didn't feel so awkward not being able to answer anyone who speaks to me in Korean, I would totally have spent hours upon hours there just people (and fish) watching. The market itself is housed in a huge warehouse, maybe the size of an American football field, with hundreds and hundreds of individual stalls lined up in four aisles. I saw a live octopus in a bucket breathing through an air tube; many, many dead octopuses (octopi?) for sale; hundreds of types of fish; big squid and little squid, live squid and dead squid; the various animals that live inside sea shells (my vocabulary fails me); huge crabs attempting to escape their buckets and small dead crabs waiting to be made into dinner; fifty-five gallon drums filled with various types of crab meat; sting rays (or maybe some other type of ray--I'm not to hip on the ocean animal lingo) that looked like they had eyes and mouths; and many other things I'm at a loss to identify. I saw a man grab a live fish from a tank, throw him (or her?) on a scale, and then toss him back into the tank. I watched a woman hack up a fish is a few quick strokes on a bloody, wooden chopping board. I watched as another woman threw live squid into a bag, tied it up, and sent them on their way. It was brilliant.

The subway ride home was also quite enjoyable. Not only did I figure out that the circles on the subway map indicate a right exit and the squares indicate a left exit (something the Rainman part of me is very proud of), but I got in a lot of good people watching. After being tipped off by Ty, I paid special attention to the older, married Korean ladies (there's a special word for these women) whose age can be determined, almost without fail, through a simple analysis of the length of their hair (the older, the shorter) and the kinkiness of their perm (the older, the more kinky). Considering the short perm is not really a good look on Asian women (or really any woman, for that matter), I was shocked at how prevalent it was. I was also shocked by how aggressive these women are; they will take someone out for a seat on the subway.

The highlight of my ride, however, was the little, rosy-cheeked girl who spoke to me between Nowon and Sanggye stations. She got on at Nowon and almost immediately yelled hello in very good English. (Most people get off at Nowon, so the car was fairly empty.) She then told me her name (which I don't remember), so I asked her her age and she answered by holding up six fingers. When we both got off at the next stop, she yelled bye several times before running off with her grandmother. She made my night, especially since all my previous attempts to flirt with small Korean children (especially the little babies that look so much like baby Jairo; I love little baby Jairo, little eight pound, six ounce, newborn baby Jairo) had proven fruitless. So I got off the train smiling and proceeded to walk the wrong way home before I saw the Baskin Robins (God bless Baskin Robins) and my amazing sense of direction (the same amazing sense of direction that tells me the road outside of Lago de Yojoa runs in the same direction as the road leading to D & D Brewery) sent me back home once again. :)

Palaces, Street Markets, and Snow

2008-12-22T17:30:00.000-08:00

We did, in fact, go to see the Gyeongbokgung Palace on Sunday. (I have pictures but can't put them on the blog until I get back to Honduras and get my camera connector thingy, so if you'd like to see some now, you'll have to refer to Ty's blog, www.seoulsuckingjerk.com). It was very much what you'd expect an Asian palace to look like, very pagoda-like and colorful, and sprawling. There were several different palace structures inside the whole compound, but since we elected to not go on the tour, we didn't really ever figure out which palaces were for which people (concubines, wives, etc.), except for the wooden-colored palace that was built by an angry son in the late 1800s. (From what I could tell, this was the prettiest palace, although we couldn't actually see it because it was inexplicably closed.)

After the palace adventure, we took a stroll around the Namdaemun Market, which is apparently the largest traditional market in the country, dating back to 1414. It runs twenty-four hours, and even Sunday night there were a shitton of stalls and shoppers. I bought a bag of dried fruit for 5,000 won before we went to dinner and then walked down to Cheonggyecheon, a river turned laser light festival in the Manhattan of Seoul. It was quite the scene. After wandering there for awhile (and taking a picture of electric snowflakes for my mom), we headed back to Mr. Park's for a couple of beers before calling it a night.

Yesterday (Monday), I spent pretty much the whole day reading (first finishing I Know This Much is True--not sure I feel as enthusiastic about it as Allie, and then beginning Into the Wild--not sure how I feel about this McCandless dude, although I am thinking of beginning to write about myself in the third person).

Anyway, Ty got home from job #1 in the afternoon and we headed over to job #2 where we took his 7 19-year-old students on a "field trip" to eat dinner at a local restaurant. The conversation was quite entertaining. As Ty elaborated upon later, Koreans learning ESL tend to possess a unique English vocabulary derived from old movies and electronic translators, I'd suppose. At one point during dinner, one of Ty's students asked me if Ty was a playboy in college. Nice. The girls later invited me out to see Seoul, so we're meeting this Friday at 10 am.

After dinner we went back to Mr. Park's for some beer--I have a feeling this is going to be a common occurrence for the next week--before I was forced to walk home and listen to Ty babble on and on about the freaking snow. I swear, for someone as unemotional as Ty, he sure is moved by this whole snow thing. (If you don't believe me, feel free to read his flowery ode-to-snow blogs on his site; I agree with several of the comments his friends have made--I'm sure you'll figure out which ones.)

Anyway, that's about all for now. A Korean Jehovah's witness just came to the door and robbed me of my train of thought. I guess some things are universal.

Korea, Part I

2008-12-20T18:51:00.000-08:00

So I'm finally in Korea. Well actually, I've been here for about a day and a half now, although I slept through all of yesterday, so it doesn't feel like I've really been here that long.

It's Sunday morning here, 11:52 to be exact. I just ventured out to the corner liquor store and got a coffee, orange juice, and string cheese. I actually got two coffees; when I went to pay, the lady at the register went to get another one and added it to my pile of goods. At first I thought she just needed one that scanned better than the one I had selected, but then she bagged both of them for me. Since I know absolutely no Korean, I just took both coffees. Maybe it was a buy one get one free special? Or maybe she just figured I wouldn't know how to argue so she just started putting random shit on my bill; who knows?

Anyway, Ty's still sleeping, but I expect he'll be up soon since we're supposed to be meeting his friend Jordan at the subway station at 12:30. We're going to see some palace, which should be grand, I suppose. So far I haven't done much in the way of seeing Korea. My first night here we went to Ty's company dinner, which was nice. We all sat cross-legged on pillows on the floor around two long tables. (My feet were asleep instantly.) Ty and most of the other people ate this thick bacon-like meat that you cook on a grill in the middle of your table. It looked kinda nasty before it was cooked, but I can't say it looked too bad after it had been grilled. I didn't eat any regardless; Violet, one of the Koreans Ty works with, is a vegetarian and had brought a couple of tomato and basil pizzas, so I ate those. I did have my first kimchi (which turns out is the best-tasting cabbage I've ever had) and a full bowl of this Korean bean sprout soup, which was amazing. I also had some salad with a spicy chile dressing. All of it was good, really spicy, and I have a feeling I'm really gonna like Korean food. After dinner, we went to Mr. Park's place to have a couple of beers and then went home to have more beers which led to several drunk phone calls via Skype and, unfortunately, a headache which kept me in bed all day Saturday.

Last night we were supposed to go to Mr. Kim's for dinner, but I stayed in bed while Ty went with Jordan. When he got back (after ten), Mr. Park called and Ty told him we'd be there in 20 minutes. So off we were to Mr. Park's where Ty had beer (he apparently believes in that whole hair-of-the-dog thing) and I had Coke (which apparently is more expensive than beer). We stayed for awhile before coming back home and eventually going to sleep (after 2:00, I believe) with the intention of getting up early. The plan worked for me; not so much for Ty. Maybe I should go wake him up and see if we're still doing this whole palace thing.

Pictures to come.

Polo

2008-10-19T08:28:00.000-07:00

Ty is always posting about the nice people in Korea and how he's always amazed at how welcoming everyone has been.

So this morning, I was kinda feeling down, trying to decide whether I should spend the day lying in bed or whether I should get up and go do something. So I decided to walk down to the school where I have internet access (our home internet has been out for a few days now) and easy access to good coffee (there's a new Espresso Americano right next to the school) and visual reminders of all the work I have to do. So I stopped by the big house and got my bag (with my iPod and book of the week) and started to head down the hill. Now perhaps I should take a moment to describe the state of this hill. It has been raining lately here more that it ever has since I first arrived last May, and the road is a seemingly endless path of slimy, pasty, wet mud. Worse yet, the moto drivers seem to LOVE To splash walkers with mud and water, and they seem especially intent on hitting the gringos. Now, I am not the most coordinated person in the world, and I have trouble walking down this hill when it's dry, so walking down in it's current state always proves to be quite a challenge for me. I do it every morning, though (laughing and talking to myself every time I almost fall on my ass, or worse, off the bridge and into the creek) so I can listen to my iPod before school.

So anyway, I'm on my way down the hill this morning, slipping and sliding over the pasty bridge section, when a moto driver stops to offer me a jalon (a free ride). This has never happened. So I accepted, confident that if I didn't, today would be the day I ended up on my ass.

Anyway, the moto driver's name was Polo--I think he said it was short for Hipolito, or something like that; my Spanish has gotten horribly worse--and he dropped me off at the bottom of the hill, wished me a nice day, and sent me on my way. And now I'm in a good mood and happy I decided to get out of bed in the first place.

So, the moral of the story: Nice people are everywhere, and sometimes the little nice things people do can make a big difference. Wow, I sound cheesy. Oh well. Asi es la vida.

For the record...

2008-09-29T21:25:00.001-07:00

Fella is no longer my hero.

Word.

The Abyss of A-holeness

2008-09-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

So I haven't posted in quite a long time and I probably wouldn't even be posting now if I wasn't a competitive person being shown up by all my blogging friends. A-holes.

But on the real tip, I'm not sure what the heck is going on with me lately. Perhaps I need medication. I've found myself wanting to cook and bake until I have way more food than I can possibly eat, I've gone through moments and hours and days where I insanely miss my friends (to the point of almost borrowing friend's credit cards to pay for plane tickets home), I've gone through moments where I feel happier here than I've ever been, I've thought about staying forever, I've thought about leaving tomorrow, sometimes I want to go home at Christmas, sometimes I have absolutely no desire to do so, sometimes I cry for no reason, and sometimes I laugh hysterically at, well, pretty much nothing. Apparently I'm just a big loser.

So today I pretty much spent the whole day worried about insignificant stuff I have to do for school and complaining about pretty much everything (I know, something new and different for me) while there's way more important things going on. And no, I'm not (as you may think) referring to all the madness wrought upon the world by capitalism (although, for the record, I'm not happy about being a JP Morgan Chase and not a Wamu customer), but to all the worries and problems that other people are dealing with. While I'm busy perfecting the art of complaining, I've done nothing to help or be there for my friends who really need me. And "friends" is plural for a reason. Basically, I'm an ass.

But alas, life works in mysterious ways, and as I was busy procrastinating (something I do almost as well as complaining), I came across two things that helped me put everything into perspective. First, I read a message my cousin Mitch had posted on Myspace: The Sunscreen Song. You may think that I'm lame and cheesey, and that Honduran water has officially killed any brain cells I may have had upon arriving here, but the Sunscreen Song dude makes some valid points. And then I read a prayer that Fella had forwarded to, like, a zillion people because that's what Fella does. And I read it, which is not usually what I do. But it was good. And it made sense, especially today. So thank you Fella and Mitch. You're my heroes (well, for right now, anyway).

So as I finish this post and go off to bed so I can get up early and do all the work I did not do tonight (translation: go to bed and sleep in until the last possible minute), I'd like to apologize to anyone reading this whose needs have been sucked into the abyss of my a-holeness. I do love you guys, and I do think about you guys more than you know. And I miss you and think about you a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot. As Ty said yesterday, "This is the most girly you've ever been." (And then he said a bunch of dumb shit that I won't repeat here, but if you feel like you need a little Ty, check out http://www.seoulsuckingjerk.com/.) Whatever it is, I'm a weirdo. And while I can't promise that I'll be less of a weirdo tomorrow (we don't want to get carried away), I'll try to be a little less self-centered and a little more appreciative of all the wonderful people I have in my life. And you are wonderful.

Love and miss you guys!

Julie

Stuck

2008-02-01T10:59:00.000-08:00

I'm not happy with the job I'm doing as a teacher. I feel like, in a traditional sense, I'm doing a good job. My kids are learning to read with more fluency and write with voice and structure; my 6th graders can skillfully comment on dialect, rhyme, rhythm, figurative language, and voice in a discussion of poetry; and my 5th graders can discuss the elements of fiction with the ease of a high school student. But what about the things that really matter?

Most of my students (all but four in the 5th grade and all but two in the 6th grade) come from very affluent families. Although most of them live lives not too different from average middle class residents of the US, in Honduras, that lifestyle puts them in the upper, upper strata of society.

Allow me to illustrate. Nearly all of my students have cell phones. Now, they don't have cheap cell phones (which cost about 300 lempiras, or 15 dollars), they have the cell phones that are popular in the states, which run between 3000 and 5000 lempiras (or 150 and 250 dollars) here in Honduras. Now, this may not sound like much, but these ten- and eleven-year-olds have these phones in a country where the monthly minimum wage, for working adults, is 2800 lempiras (or 140 dollars) and the average annual income hovers around 22,000 lempiras (or 1,100 dollars). So, when you imagine that the average Honduran adult would have to work for over a month AND spend every centavo they earned to purchase a cell phone similar to the ones these kids have, you realize how privileged they are.

Here's the sad part: These kids don't recognize their privilege. In an attempt to get my 6th graders to identify with the poverty that many people, especially here in Honduras, struggle to cope with, I attempted to present the explanation above. My students immediately chimed in with comments like, "But I worked for my cell phone. I saved money so that I could buy it." As the discussion continued, I prompted them with question like, "How did you earn the money? Who gave you the money you saved? Do all kids have parents who can pay them to clean their rooms and do chores around the house? What about kids without parents?" In the end, the whole conversation just functioned to illustrate how much people everywhere, even in Honduras, have internalized the myth that success and wealth come from hard work; these kids honestly believe that the things they have are a result of their work, of their effort, AND that other kids can get the same things if they just work for them!

Now let me be clear, I don't want them to feel bad about what they have--they have about as much control over that as the hundreds of thousands of children who call Honduran streets their home--but I want them to at least recognize their privilege and, hopefully, try to fight for a system where everyone can be offered the same opportunities they've received.

I also don't want to make my students sound like evil, spoiled kids, because most of them are not. In fact, most of them show a lot of compassion towards those who have been cast aside by society. They often comment on how people should be nice to homeless kids and how their parents often give money to beggars, and many of them volunteer to go to the local orphanage and play with the residents every Wednesday afternoon. Unfortunately (or fortunately for those who like the system the way it is), all of this compassion fits very neatly into what's come to be the dominant liberal ideology, an ideology which can be summed up as, "Society is unjust. There's racism and sexism and poverty and all kinds of things that are not fair. Our job is to help those who are the victims of this injustice." Sounds nice, right? Everyone can feel good about themselves and nobody needs to look at how their advantage fits into the overall structure that disadvantages so many people.

But what about the system that perpetually replenishes these disadvantaged classes that need our compassion? Why are we spending so much time throwing fish back into the sea, when the untamed sea will just continue to throw them back at us? Wouldn't it make more sense to tame the sea so that there are no more fish being flung ashore?

Now, we all know that it feels really good to throw the fish back, and we all love to feel good about ourselves. Anyone who knows me is fully aware of how great it made me feel to watch my AVID seniors graduate and head off to college. But wouldn't it be better if the inequality and injustice that necessitate a program like AVID could be mitigated, even if it meant that the AVID program itself would be eliminated? Can we, as human beings, be selfless enough to confront the system that creates the problems we spend our lives and our hearts and our energies trying to fix, even if that means we’ll no longer have those feel-good quests to keep us going?

I think we can—I hope we can—and I know my students have the potential within them to lead the way. History shows us that the relatively privileged (Che Guevara, Fidel Castro, and Salvador Allende, to name a few) can move beyond liberal compassion to challenge the system from which they themselves have received nothing but benefits. But how do I, as an educator, spark this same flame within my students? How do I spark the flame that led these men to risk their lives in the quest to annihilate such a formidable and pernicious obstacle?

This is where I'm stuck.

There is some good news, however. After an excruciatingly long discussion on Langston Hughes and Tupac Shakur, during which my 6th graders repeatedly voiced the overly simplistic opinions that poverty is a result of laziness and drug use is the result of moral weakness, I remembered what one of the fifth graders, Ivan, had written in his reading journal:

Pore [Poor] boys

The pore people I think that they don’t have the falt [fault]. Because some people don’t like to give work to pore people. I think that there ignorantes because they want money to buy food and eat. And the pore people use drugs because they don’t have food. If I were big and had a negocio [business] I would contratar [hire] them to have food and house. And don’t smell drugs because drugs are bad to our body.

While this isn't the most articulate thing I've ever read, Ivan definitely offers more complex ideas than I've seen from the vast majority of my students. And he wants to be a leader; he has the qualities of a leader. So where do I fit in? How do I foster his growth?

This, again, is where I am stuck.

One last picture....

2007-11-21T15:28:00.000-08:00

This is from my roommate's birthday celebration last night. I like it. It's artsy.

Speaking of my amazing students....

2007-11-21T15:00:00.000-08:00

Here are some of my fifth graders dancing a traditional Honduran dance at our school's International Fair:

And here are my students in class today:

Two Years in Honduras?

2007-11-21T14:38:00.000-08:00

Those of you who read my posts regularly have probably noticed that I changed my blog's title from Honduras Guera to One Year in Honduras. I may need to change it again.

I have no idea what I'm going to do next year. At one point I was thinking about getting my Ph.D. in Urban Education at UCLA (or at least trying), but the deadline for that program is in, like, a week, and I've done nothing. (And even if I had done something, I'm not really sure that a Ph.D. is really what I want to do with my life.) I was also thinking about other MA programs (most notably Latin American History), but I'm thinking that I need to get off the MA bandwagon for a while. I've also given some thought to community college teaching, but despite my 1.5 MAs, it doesn't seem like I'm really qualified for any of the positions I want (tenure-track Sociology or History). So what the heck am I supposed to do with my life? And shouldn't I have this figured out by now? I'm freaking 30 years old!

So maybe I should just stay in Honduras for another year. I make good money here, it's a nice environment, and I really do have amazing students. There's nothing really keeping me here, but there's nothing really drawing me back to the states, either. I mean, I would like to see my friends and family more, but how much do I really see them when I am in the states? And if I were here next year, I'd have more money to fly home more often and visit. AND, if I did go back to the states, I'd have to get a job--most likely a teaching job--and I'm just as ambivalent about teaching in the states as I am about everything else in my life right now.

So I think I'll be in Honduras for at least another year. Comments...?

My Racism

2007-11-19T09:16:00.000-08:00

I'd like to start by saying that I am in no way proud of what I'm about to tell you. I was embarassed when it happened and I'm embarassed now. I guess I just hope that, by sharing the experience with as many people as possible, I can in some way make myself more aware of my horrible, horrible potential.

On Saturday afternoon after our conference ended, my friend Naomi and I decided to go to Pizza Hut for lunch with her Honduran friend/boyfriend and his friend. We ate, and when the check came, I took out 150 lempiras to pay for my part. Naomi's friend/boyfriend's friend told me to put my money away because he was going to pay. Now, if you know me, you know that this doesn't fly with me, especially when I've just met someone. After a little bit of (friendly) argument, I said (much more loudly than I indended), "No soy latina," which translates, quite literally as, "I'm not Latina." Immediately, all the horrible and ugly and biased implications of what I'd said flooded into my head, and I (as well as the two latinas at the table next to me) turned bright red--me from embarassment and them from anger; and they had every right to be angry with me.

To make matters worse, I chose to handle the situation by leaving as soon as possible--a quick fix for my embarrassment--without appologizing to the two latinas or to anyone else that may have heard me. The consequences? These two young ladies, who more likely than not have very little contact with white people, now have the impression that white people think latinas are free-loaders or poor or cheap or unable or unwilling to pay for their own food for whatever reason. Why? Because this is what I implied. And we all know that negative impressions last a lot longer than positive ones, a fact that is not making me feel any better about myself at the moment.

Ami, my Eliminating White Racism professor, returns to my thoughts in these moments. She taught us that we all have prejudices within us, and that it's essential to always be aware of our biases. Ami is one of the most aware persons I have ever met, and I've always admired her not only for her own personal awareness, but for her willingness to share her thoughts and experiences with others. Usually, I think of myself as a pretty aware person. Obviously I need to step back a little bit.

I'm not happy with what happened on Saturday, but I am happy that it's given me the opportunity to reflect upon the implications of what I said and discuss these implications with some of the people in my life who always tell me how it is regardless of how much it hurts. Thanks to them, and thanks to you guys (my loyal readers) for listening.

By the way...

2007-11-15T08:28:00.000-08:00

Today is "Dress Like Your Favorite Character From a Book Day," and I am the tree from The Giving Tree. I look hot, all leafy and green. Oh yeah. Elementary school is wonderful.

Honduran Gyno

2007-11-15T08:08:00.000-08:00

So, apparently my roommate has been having some weird symptoms, you know, down there. This information had not been shared with me, but yesterday morning she lost it. She was crying and couldn't hold herself together, which is understandable considering she is in Honduras, far, far way from her doctor, and experiencing symptoms that no woman ever wants to experience, especially in a third world country.

So she talks to our boss who talks to one of the Honduran teachers who happens to be good friends with a gynocologist who agrees to see her. So we're on our way to Tegus. Now, I say "we" because I have been elected to accompany her because 1. I'm a woman, 2. I speak Spanish, and 3. I can drive the truck (which has a manual transmission). Now, my roommate and I are friends, but we're not super close, and we've never had conversations about, well, down there. So on the way we discuss her symptoms and what it may be and talk about friends who've had similar experiences and stuff like that. We become closer than we've been before because, well, she knows what the gyno is going to ask her and she knows that I have to translate.

Fortunately we arrive at the hospital (which was quite a surprise given the directions that John and Walter tried to give me), and we made it on time (always a surprise in Honduras). We make our way up to the fourth floor (by the stairs--we both have a fear of elevators, especially in Honduras), and we find the office. Room 420. We're not sure what to do, so we ask a lady at a nearby desk and she tells us to knock. No answer. So we wait and take in our surroundings. Now, Hospital Viera, we've been told, is the oldest hospital in Tegucigalpa, a distinction that is clearly represented in the furniture. It's older than me, and seems to have been purchased during a very unfashionable period in the 70s (my roommate says 50s). Not too comforting. The nurses (or the women we think are nurses) are wearing jeans and tee shirts and heels. Also not comforting. Fortunately for us, the doctor arrives and she is very nice and very professional looking and we both feel much better. That is until she has to actually examine my roommate.

So, I ask, what IS the protocol when you're in the room with your not-too-close friend who is getting a vaginal exam behind a bookshelf four feet away from you? Do you talk? Do you not talk? Do you crack a joke? I read a book. Then I got hungry, though, so I started to take my Chex Mix out of my purse. Probably not the best idea. Then I hear the doctor ask, "Duele?" and I wonder why my roommate isn't answering. Ah, she doesn't speak Spanish! So I translate, "Does it hurt?" "Yes." "Si," I respond quickly, trying to jump back into my translator role.

So anyway, to make a long story even longer, my roommate only had a urinary tract infection, which made everyone feel better. But we are much, much closer now. Oh, and if you're ever in the same situation, leave the Chex Mix at home.... Less temptation.

Just Another Day

2007-11-12T18:36:00.000-08:00

Another Monday. Acto Civico at 7:30--the students singing their way-too-long national anthem ("Tu bandera, tu banDERa, la la la la la la la...."), me not being allowed to drink my (black) coffee (out of respect for su bandera), the ceremonial marching, unfolding, and refolding of the flag. Lots of pomp and circumstance (whatever that is). 5th graders in the morning, 6th graders in the afternoon.

Wonderful 6th graders. My only 6th grade boy approached me after our mini-lesson on introductory paragraphs and asked if I could explain something he had heard on TV. "Sure." "What does 'sock my dick' mean?" Hmmmm.... "Nope, can't explain that one! Mr. Jim!"

Uneventful evening. Made spicy avocado salsa. Talked to Ty on the phone. Talked to Nicole. About to call her back. Maybe I'll fall asleep early....

The Fans are Back! Yessssssssss!

2007-11-10T07:05:00.000-08:00

I am so excited that people are actually reading my blog again! Yippie! Perhaps it will inspire me to keep posting. (I know, those of you who know me well are probably not convinced.)

But really, I miss all of you SO much. It seems like no matter what new people I meet, they're never as good as old friends. Well, I guess that's not so true, given how much I LOVE all the people I met in Montana last year (with the exception of several members of my Sociology and Social Work classes--Yikes!). But honestly, there's really something to say about having friends that know you so well they can read the inflections in your type and connect your new adventures to things that even YOU don't remember. (Good call on the helicopter-whale story, Jenn. Lol. I didn't even remember that. Uh, and I'm not sure I do now even though I have this vague picture of a large whale suspended from a small helicopter. Lol.)

So I was thinking about moving closer to my friends and family next year, but then I realized that you losers live all over the place. Seriously. Virginia, California, Arizona, Texas, Montana, Illinois, Costa Rica, Peru, New Mexico, and freaking Oklahoma! (No chance in HELL I'm going to Oklahoma. Perhaps for a visit, IF a lot of alcohol is involved. Lol.) Anyway, I'd just like to tell you all how much I appreciate you and how much I really, really miss you. I know that I'll never meet people as special as you again. (I'm convinced Montana was a rare cosmic event that happens only once every couple hundred years. Seriously, how did so many cool people end up in Montana?!--Sorry Anna; I actually LOVE Montana and it's way higher on my list than, say, Oklahoma.)

Anyway, now that I've got that off my chest I'm going back to my black coffee. (I AM three months older than you, Jenn. Perhaps your black coffee time is coming. Lol.) I hope life is treating everyone beautifully!

You are all the Dukes of my heart! Lol.

Julie

The Great Homopotamus

2007-11-08T07:33:00.000-08:00

Sometimes my fifth graders make me miss MoVal; sometimes they make me want to never go back.

Yesterday we were learning about homonyms. Since we've been learning about prefixes as well, I began by asking my students what they think the prefix homo- means. They had no idea. So, in an attempt to get their minds going, I asked for any other words they knew that began with homo-. Mauricio, raising his hand exuberantly, shouted, "Homopotamus!"

Needless to say, I nearly pissed myself laughing.

Ah yes, fifth graders are precious.

Black Coffee

2007-11-08T04:54:00.000-08:00

I'm old. Old, old, old. The evidence? I now drink black coffee--no sugar, no cream, no creamer--every morning. This is not what young people do. When I was young, I drank a blended cafe mocha from It's a Grind. Chocolate with a little coffee. That's what young people do. Pretty soon, I'll be ordering coffee at the end of all my meals and calling everyone "Duke." Wonderful.

The Biggest (aka Only) Tarantula I've Seen in My Life!

2007-10-08T16:06:00.000-07:00

Okay. So today was a pretty normal day.

My 5th graders were amazing, as usual. I tried a new vocabulary strategy (word mapping) and it worked out wonderfully. Then we played kickball (in place of PE since the PE teacher was away at a PE teacher conference), and Ivan almost took my head off while Carlos ran through the mud, all of which made me laugh so hard that I almost peed myself.

Lunch was uneventful considering I ate my lunch for breakfast since I was late this morning and didn't have time to eat breakfast. (This is becoming a habit, by the way, that needs to stop.)

My 6th graders (whom I have after lunch on Mondays and Tuesdays) were their typical mouthy selves, which usually doesn't bother me. Today, however, I let it irritate me, and my lesson didn't turn out quite as well as I would have hoped. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Now after school, I was walking to the office for something (which I probably forgot en route--a habit I am apparently very fond of) when I saw a huge group of students crowded around the outside wall of the 1st grade classroom. Upon further investigation, I discovered that they were looking at a HUGE FREAKIN' TARANTULA. Listen people, I don't know how many of you have actually seen a wild tarantula before, but they are sick little beings. They are fat and hairy and just ugly. I still get the chills just thinking of my near-death experience with this vicious monster.

So I run to get my boss, John, and he tells me that Marcio (our maintenance guy) already knows about it and that his little PRE-KINDER son is playing with it! What the heck is going on here?! (At this point I realized that I had my camera, so I got my roommate to take a picture of the beast. See below.) Eventually Marcio decided to move the demon to the flower pot right outside Weezie's window (a decision she was clearly not in agreement with), and all immediate disasters were avoided. However, I did learn something very important: I FREAKING HATE TARANTULAS.

Julie

Note: I took the second picture myself. Yay Julie!

Why I Should NOT Be Your Translator

2007-10-07T07:48:00.000-07:00

So I just thought of a funny story that I should have told you about when it happened, which was last week. The title of this story, if you haven't already caught on, is "Why I Should NOT Be Your Translator."

So, as I was driving several of my innocent little 5th grade students home from the orphanage last Wednesday, we started discussing their recent in-class work habits, which had been a little on the lazy side. Recalling the Spanish slang I had learned in California, I called them all huevonas, which I could have SWORN was a non-offensive way to call someone lazy. (I mean, Jairo called me a huevona all the time, so it had to have a nice, loving connotation, right?) Well, my delusion that this was a nice word was lost when all of my students gasped, covered their mouths, and then started giggling. Holy shit.

So I called Jairo to ask him WHY he had told me it was a nice word when it was in fact a very, very bad word that was potentially going to get me in a lot of trouble. After laughing at me for quite a while, he reminded me that he had, in fact, taught me that it was a bad word; I had just forgotten. (He also reminded me that I tend to forget things a lot, which is true. For this I thank my mother.) Anyway, he also refreshed me memory as to where the term came from. Huevos, the word for eggs, is also used for balls, and heuvon refers to someone with big balls. So, if you call someone a huevon (or heuvona for a girl), you are essentially saying that they have such big balls that they are unable to more or work, and are thus lazy. Moral of the story: Huevon should NEVER be used in reference to a 5th grader, especially in their presence.

So, I go back to school the next day, and am having quite a nice time, when my boss comes in and tells me that the word puchica does NOT mean shit. Hmmmmm, I think to myself, why would my boss be sharing this information with me in such a random way? Well, as it turns out, I had told my roommate that puchica meant shit the night before. (Olvin had told me that you say it when you drop something or forget something; you know, like "Shit! I forgot to shut the garage door!") Anyway, a kid had said puchica that morning in my roommate's class, and she apparently had quickly and efficiently escorted him to the office for punishment. To my surprise (as well as to the surprise of my roommate), puchica does not mean shit--in fact, it is not even as strong as damn--even though it's used in the same context as shit or damn. So alas, my mistranslations led to the traumatization of yet another young, innocent Honduran child.

Spanish is such an expressive language. :)

I Am a Loser Blogger

2007-10-07T07:07:00.000-07:00

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right? So here I admit to all my friends and family that I, in fact, do have a problem maintaining my blog. Not only am I a loser scanner (as Clayton always reminds me), but I am a loser blogger as well, especially compared to Ari, Krista, and Melissa (who, if you are not aware, continue to make me look bad by maintaining wonderfully well-written blogs from places as far away as Peru, Thailand, and the Alaskan outback--I don't think it's called the outback, but you get the picture).

So here I am, THREE whole months since my last blog. Yikes. What can I say?

I am now living in Zamorano, the town where my school (and the agricultural university is), and I LOVE my life. Zamorano is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been AND they make amazing cheese. (For those of you who know me well, this is an important facet of my happiness.) I have two roommates, Weezie and Burns, who I love. They are very health-conscious, which has been rubbing off on me slowly but surely.

I also LOVE my job. My students are amazing. Since I have both 5th and 6th grade, I get to enjoy two extremely different groups of kids each day. While the 5th graders are still very young and playful and immature, the 6th graders have entered junior high mode and spend most of their days working on appearing more responsible and older than the younger kids. I love it. AND I've already reached the stage where I can tease my students relentlessly and they tease me back just as much. On Friday I tried to convince them to write their figurative language poems about me (because, as you already must know, I am the most beautiful and intelligent and simply amazing thing in their lives), and let me tell you, those kids came up with some wonderful responses. "Ms. Julie has the figure of a water bottle...." Let me tell you, nothing gets past these kids. Lol.

Also, my wonderful boss, Barbara, has set me up with a million opportunities to work with different groups in Honduras. (I know I exaggerate, mom.) Two weeks ago, I went on a visit to Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos, a huge (500+ kids) orphanage in Olancho where I will be working with the Education Director to help enhance the schools they have there on site. I will also be working with another local orphanage that serves children with HIV/AIDS, and I have been given the opportunity to help train single mothers who raise street children in homes provided by a very progressive foster-care organization. On top of all that, I will be presenting at several education conferences here in Honduras, and will be working with local public school teachers on a number of issues. All that being said, my favorite thing so far is our weekly visits to the local orphanage, Jovenes en Camino (mistranslated on their entry sign as Youth in the Way), where I get to spend a leisurely afternoon with a group of wonderful young people.

I guess that about covers everything. I will try to post more frequently with more interesting and detailed accounts of my exciting life here in Honduras. If I don't, just keep harassing me, I'll come around eventually.

Julie

For the record, I have also been a loser picture taker here in Honduras. (Clayton, add that to the list. Lol.) But I do have a picture of my wonderful 5th graders on Independence Day. Notice that they are all dressed up for the event; NONE of the 6th graders would be seen dead in traditional costume--they are already WAY too cool for that.

Where To Go From Here....

2007-07-04T17:50:00.000-07:00

So I just realized that I haven't posted a blog in quite a while which means that those of you who actually check for updates are probably getting a little frustrated. So lets see, what is new...?

Well, everyday here is pretty much the same. We get up around 9, get ready, and head off to the Internet where we work until 8 pm. These past few days Olvin has been sick, so I've been here by myself. It's not a bad deal, though, since I'm usually able to talk to my friends online, research random topics on the web, or continue reading the many, many books I'm in the middle of. Today one of our regular customers, Marlene, went and got my lunch for me (since I had other clients and couldn't leave) and then came back later to bring me some WONDERFUL homemade bread. (I've already eaten half of it, and I don't want to take the rest home because Olvin is going to make fun of me for being such a pig. Lol.) Marlene has an entrance exam for a language school on Sunday, and if she tests as well as she bakes, I'm sure she'll get in.

In other news, Moreno Valley Unified made me resign a few days ago, so I officially don't have a job when I go back. At first I was kinda shocked, and a little hurt (since somebody must have wanted me out if the district lied about the leave of absence policy, which they did), but I've come to realize that everything happens for a reason, and something good will come out of this. I've been thinking a lot these past few days, and I can't decide if I want to a) pursue another MA, this one in Latin American Studies at the University of New Mexico, b) pursue a Ph.D. in Urban Education at UCLA, c) attempt to get hired at a California community college, or d) go back to teaching high school, somewhere. The more I think about it, the more I realize that my personality and educational philosophy don't fit well with North American public schooling, so I'm not sure if I'll be happy going back to teach high school. However, the benefit of high school is that you have contact with all sorts of kids, not just those who go on to community college. That being said, the community college environment offers more opportunity for critical engagement and analysis, and I'll have MUCH more freedom to actually get people thinking than I would in a public school. So I guess it's a trade-off; if I go for the academic freedom, I lose some of the audience, and if I go for the audience, I lose the freedom.

Meanwhile, I'm still a nerd and I still want to study. Just today I read an article by Peter McLaren, the professor I would LOVE to study under at UCLA. (If anyone is interested in his awesome website, you can see it at http://www.gseis.ucla.edu/faculty/pages/mclaren/.) However, as much as I'd love to study with Peter McLaren (among other brilliant faculty at UCLA), I'm not convinced I want a Ph.D., especially since it will lead me either to administration (which I definitely don't want to do) or to a professorship at a university (which I'm also not to keen on, considering that, the higher you climb the educational ladder, the fewer low-income and students of color you come into contact with). So that makes me want to pursue another MA--one that would be more useful in helping me get a junior college faculty position. However, I'll already have two MAs when I apply for the third, and maybe I'm being a little ridiculous. Who knows?

Anyway, the moral of the story is that everything, at least for now, is wide open--which is scary and fun at the same time. Who knows where I'll end up. I guess I'll just have to make a decision and then follow through no matter what, like I always to. It definitely worked with Montana--I couldn't have asked for a better experience (except for multicultural counseling, lol), and so far it's working with Honduras. However, any input any of you would like to offer is always greatly appreciated.

You're always in my thoughts!

Julie

Oh yeah, I forget to tell you about the rat that I found in the toilet this morning. How gross is that?! I went into the bathroom to brush my hair and he (or she--how do you tell the sex of a wet rat?) was just looking up at me from inside the toilet. It was cold and shivering, like it had be trying to get out and was exhausted. I went and woke Olvin up, and he just told me to close the lid and he would take care of it later. I told him that the rat was cold and shivering, but he said that he can't mess with a live rat. So I left it there in the toilet, and now I feel bad. But Olvin has a big heart, so hopefully he saved it.

I've Got a Job!

2007-06-10T10:36:00.000-07:00

So I got hired at the Alison Bixby Bilingual School at Zamorano University, and I start teaching 5th and 6th graders reading and writing on August 5th. The couple who run the school, Barbara and John, seem amazing, and all of the teachers I've met have been really nice. In fact, one of them (who's actually moving to teach at the Discovery School in Tegus next year) invited me to dinner and a party on Friday night. Unfortunately they wanted to meet at the Multiplaza Mall, and neither Olvin nor I (surprisingly) knew how to get there so I ended up paying a cab driver so I could follow him in the truck to the mall. This is not an easy thing to do in Tegucigalpa, but I eventually made it and was pleased to finally find a place that reminded me somewhat of home. (Is that bad that I'm already wanting to not feel like I'm in Honduras?) I parked outside of TGI Friday's (yeah, just like the one in the states--crazy, huh?) and made my way to the food court where, fortunately for me, Karen, Karen, and Julie were all still waiting for me.

Now the Karen that invited me to go eat is the one that is leaving the Alison school and going to the Discovery school next year. Apparently the Discovery school is a really prestigious K-12 school in Tegus where all of the rich Hondurans send their kids. Karen #2 was the second grade teacher at the Alison school this year, but is moving (next week, I think) to Nicaragua where she's going to live on the beach, drink beer, and finish her MA online. (Why didn't WE do our MAs this way, people?) She's invited Olvin and I to come visit, and you can bet that we are going to make a vacation of it one of these weekends. Julie works at the Alison school but not as a teacher; I guess she taught 2nd grade before and didn't really like it much, so now she subs and helps out with fundraising. She was a Peace Corps volunteer in Honduras and lives here now with her Honduran boyfriend who sounds like someone I'd really get along with.

So anyway, enough about the people. After leaving the mall, we went to the house that Karen #1 is going to be staying at next year, and I got to meet several of the other American teachers (who I believe work at either the Discovery school or the American school) but I don't remember any of their names. (I'm so bad at that.) One of the guys, though, is a retired teacher from Washington who came down here to finish up the semester for one of his son's friends. He's going to be celebrating his 40th wedding anniversary this weekend with his wife who's flying down to meet him for two weeks before he goes back to the states to actually retire. I had a nice conversation with him later at the party, and I was happy to hear about a lot of beautiful places (that are, not surprisingly, outside of Tegus) that I can visit.

On to one of the better parts of the evening: Karen, Karen, and Julie took me to the Gourmet Grill, a restuarant that serves REALLY good, clean, very-close-to-authentic food. I freaked out when my bill came to 180 lempiras (which is pretty close to what I've spent per week here in Honduras), but then I realized that it was only 10 bucks and the food and company were good, so it was worth it.

After the restaurant we went to the party, and I could not BELIEVE how many gringos were there. There had to be at least 40 along with dozens of Hondurans and two live bands. I called Olvin (who was home from work by now), and he caught a taxi and met us at the party. Even though we didn't really know anyone, it was fun hanging out, and it was really nice to finally see Olvin enjoying himself for a change.

Oh yeah! I forgot to tell about the gas station. When the girls and I stopped to get beer, there were several homeless kids outside asking for money, so I gave one of them my change (which really wasn't very much--maybe, like, 3 cents or something), and while I was getting my beer, he came into the gas station and gave it back to some lady, telling her to give it to me because he couldn't buy anything with it. But that's not the crazy part. The crazy part is that, when we were going to our truck, he followed us and then stood in my door so I couldn't close it. I asked him to leave but he wouldn't, so I finally had to physically push him out and pull the door shut. It was such a weird experience that I didn't really know what to think about it. I felt really bad about his situation, and even more bad about pushing him, but at the same time, his aggressiveness was kinda offensive. And, I really didn't want to give him money after he wouldn't move out of the way. I still don't really know how I feel about the whole thing, other than that I don't want it to happen again. Maybe I just want to be insulated. I don't know, but it was difficult none-the-less.

So that was our day. I got a job, met some new friends, went to a party, and got to eat some good food; and Olvin finally got to go out. Overall, it was a good day. Oh yeah, AND I found out that my school pays for one round-trip ticket to the US every year so the teachers can go visit their family. Yippie!

I guess that's it for now. Everythings been down-hill since Friday's excitment. I'm about to finish Hatchet, which is one of the books I can teach the 5th graders next year, and will probably start Harry Potter today. Oh the joys of 5th and 6th grade novels!

Until next time!

One more thing, here's the website for the Alison School if anyone's interested: http://www.zamorano.edu/abss/.

An Interview

2007-06-06T14:38:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I have an interview with the Alison Bixby School which operates out of Zamorano University here in Honduras. It's a bilingual school in which all subjects (except for Spanish and Spanish Social Studies) are taught in English. They have a partnership with Purdue University, and only hire credentialed local or US teachers.

The upside of working for this school is the pay. According to an ad on Idealist.org, the salary varies from $13,000 to $17,000 a year, which is a TON of money in a country where the average citizen earns only $1,100 yearly. It is so much, in fact, that it would cover all of our bills (the house, the Internet, everything), and we'd most likely have a little left over to go out to KFC.

However, the Idealist.org ad also says that they require a two-year contract. TWO YEARS! That's a really, really long time, and I'm not sure I'm able to commit to that, especially since Olvin says he doesn't even want to be here even a year longer.

So I'm freaking out.

Do I want to be in Honduras for two more years? (And that two years may not even start until the school year starts.) Do I want to pass up this job when the only other viable options I've seen pay about $400 a month (which is still almost four times what a local worker makes)? And, I haven't even interviewed for a job since I got hired at MoVal over six years ago! What do they even ask in interviews these days?

I don't know. This is all madness, and I'm totally stressing out.

Send chocolate and beer.

Julie

Highlights from My Most Recent Trip to Los Llanitos

2007-06-05T18:17:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday, after a long day of work, Olvin, Deborah, Douglas, Gaby, Baby Anthony, and I piled into the truck to make the 4-hour trip to Los Llanitos. Now I really didn't want to go this time. As you may remember from my last post, I've been a little sick to my stomach lately, and 4 hours in a truck (the last hour being on a 'road' that I would hesitate to label as such) was not at all appealing. However, Olvin really wanted me to go, so I sucked it up and got in the truck.

The ride there was pretty uneventful, and Olvin and I played driving games to make sure he stayed awake. At a couple of points the fog was so thick (and our headlights so bad) that I really thought we should've turned around, but we didn't, and we ended up arriving at Gladys´ house at about one in the morning. I immediately went to bed since, after after Deborah bouncing on my stomach for the previous hour, I wasn't feel all that great.

So, some highlights from the weekend:

On Sunday, almost all the people from ten nearby pueblos (including Los Llanitos) came for the opening day of soccer season. They came on foot, on horse, and in two large truck-loads to be at the opening ceremonies and to watch the first two games. As we were waiting for the festivities to start, a run-away cow was being chased across the field by the participants, and a few uninvolved farmers were trying to move their pigs and horses from one place to another (the pueblo's main 'street' runs through the middle of the field). Olvin was DJing the event, which should have earned him enough money to pay our gas up there, but didn't since the power source we were using was insufficient and kept causing the equipment to turn off. The games were exciting, however, as were the half-times, when many of the people from the other pueblos couldn't help but staring at the gringa on the sidelines.
Later that night, Olvin hosted a party at the town's school. I was feeling sick again, however, so I didn't go. Imagine, if you can, a classroom with steel grates covering windows that run along two sides of the room with a chalkboard along the third side and a large, impressive DJ stand along the fourth. Then imagine it being 100 degrees with nearly 100% humidity, with 50 people dancing and drinking beer under DJ lights until 4 in the morning. That was the fiesta. I was at home asleep.
I was awoken, however, by a chicken that had decided to jump on my head. Now this is an unlikely event in the United States. In Los Llanitos, however, house doors are almost never closed, and animals (mainly the family dog and chickens) roam as freely as the children. Now, as many of you may not know, dogs like to chase chickens, especially, it seems, those that are about to lay eggs. So as I was sleeping on Monday morning, the family dog (known as 'doggy') decided to chase one of the many chickens through the house, and the chicken apparently decided that the best hiding place was on top of my sleeping head. Fortunately, Gladys was right behind the dog and took the chicken into the neighboring room where it promptly laid an egg
After the chicken incident, I decided that I needed a shower (primarily because Deborah had peed the bed during the night and, as usual in Los Llanitos, she had been sleeping with me). So I took my first outdoor shower. Now, other that being outdoors, and other than the fact that the walls aren't quite high enough to protect my upper body from onlooking neighbors, it was the best shower I've taken since being in Honduras. The water wasn't as cold as it is in Tegucigalpa, and it comes out so much more forcefully. (It almost knocked my contact out when I turned it on.)
After the shower, I woke Olvin up so we could head back to Tegus. (We were supposed to work on Monday, after all.) He drove the first part of the trip--the part they call a road--and I drove the last three hours while he slept. Right before we got to Tegus, I was pulled over the the police. Now, getting pulled over here is a little different than it is in the States. Here, the police just have checkpoints indicated by cones in the middle of the road where drivers slow down and most are allowed to pass. Well, I didn't notice this particular checkpoint coming and was going a little too fast, so they stopped me. They took my license and asked when I had arrived in the country (you're only allowed to drive on a foreign license for 90 days) and then chastised me for not having my passport to prove my date of entry. Then they asked Olvin to get out of the car and follow them into the police building next to the road. Interesting, eh? Not so much. You see, in Honduras, the police (like almost any other government entity, I'm discovering) are pretty corrupt. So what they do is tell you all these bad things that are going to happen if they give you a ticket, then they offer you another option--in this case, the opportunity to pay 200 lempiras (about 10 dollars) for them to buy grape soda. So we paid the 200 lempiras and were on our way, home in 20 minutes.

Just another day in Honduras....

At Jennifer's Request....

2007-05-30T18:19:00.000-07:00

So I have my first bad news from Honduras. All last night, and all day today, I've had horrible stomach cramps and all the things that go with them. I guess I shouldn't use the word horrible, because they're not debilitating, but they do suck.

Last night, everytime I rolled over, it felt like acid was churning in my stomach, and several times I thought I might throw up. But I didn't, so that's good. On a related note, my stomach cramps were accompanied by a weird but vivid dream that I was pregnant and about to give birth, and Olvin was driving me--in the middle of the night--to the US border which, in my dream, was between the US and Honduras. At first I was thinking that my stomach cramps were due to my recent arrival in Honduras, but was pleased (not quite the right word) to discover that Olvin is suffering from the same thing and even had the weird dreams, too.

So anyway, you would think that the bad part of the stomach cramps is the fact that my stomach tries to eat itself every 30 minutes, but alas, it gets worse. Because, you see, today Olvin had to run a zillion errands so he left me at the internet cafe by myself. Doesn't sound too bad does it? Especially when you know that the internet cafe has a bathroom. However, the bathroom only opens from the outside, so I can only use it when no one is here (or when Olvin can open it when I knock--which is not the best plan because he has already forgotten me in there). So this morning there was this guy here FOREVER, and I had to use the bathroom so bad that I started to think I was going to die. I tried to amuse myself by talking about my problems on the instant messanger with Jairo and Roxana, but they just laughed at me. (I guess I would laugh at me, too.) Eventually (after 2 hours and 15 minutes) that guy left and I was able to use the bathroom. (I'll spare you the details because I'm sure you can imagine.)

So you think that would be the worst of it, right? Nope. Just now, I was using the bathroom (my favorite hobby nowadays) when a whole family came in to the cafe and picked one of the computers closest to the door. Fortunately I was finished when they got here, but I was still filling the tank with water (because we don't have running water after 4 or 5), and when I came out, I'm sure they were wondering about the weird white lady. Oh well.... I'm sure that won't be the last time someone thinks I'm weird, as I'm sure you all can attest to.

Only 23 more minutes of work and Olvin and I are off to the house for a nice, home-cooked, Honduran meal. I'm not sure if I should eat, though, because I'm still not exactly sure what's causing the cramps, but I'll probably eat a little bit anyway.

Until next time....

Julie

Ya Estoy en Honduras!

2007-05-27T11:56:00.000-07:00

So I'm finally here in Honduras. I arrived last Thursday at 8:00 am after a four-and-a-half-hour flight from LAX to Guatemala and an hour-and-a-half flight from Guatemala City to Tegucigalpa. The second flight was a little scary, especially since the plane was so small (the propeller was right outside my window) and we were flying at 17,000 feet. (For those of you who know me well, I'm VERY afraid of heights.) But eventually I got here and Olvin was waiting and all turned out well. Well, all turned out well after the airport security amused themselves by laughing at me trying to carry my luggage. :)

Olvin took me to the house where I was able to take a shower and a nap before we made the three hour drive to Los Llanitos--the pueblo where Olvin and Jairo's mom was born and where the boys lived when their mom first came to the United States. I'll try to describe how beautiful the pueblo was, but I'm not sure I have the words to do so. First of all, it is located high in the southern mountains at the end of a chain of dirt roads that takes almost an hour to traverse. Everything is green, and the air is heavy. Almost all of Maria's family is there--her three sisters, two of her three brothers, her step-father, and what seemed like hundreds of kids. They were all waiting for us when we arrived, and they looked at me like I was an alien--an experience I'm sure I'll have again.

That first night they had camarones a la diabla (spicy shrimp) waiting for us--a specialty of Maria since I've been told that Hondureños don't particularly care for spicy food--and it was wonderful, especially since it was served with fresh, hand-made tortillas, rice, and salsa. After we ate, Maria walked me from house to house, introducing me to all of her family. Several kids followed us as if they thought I was a ghost that would disappear if they took their eyes off me. At the edge of the town, we stopped at the local pulperia (convenience store?) run out of someone's house where we found Maria's husband enjoying beer and conversation with some of the locals. Eventually we returned to Maria's sister's house where Olvin had set up his DJ system on the front porch and was blaring music of a type and volume that didn't quite fit the surroundings; his family was enchanted.

The following day the entire pueblo (except Olvin and I) awoke early and the women cooking and doing laundry. Olvin and I (once awake) helped out by taking some of the corn to the pulperia where they ground it into masa for the tortillas. We then toured the house that Maria and her husband are building--the house in which Olvin, Deborah, and I will stay on the weekends once it is completed. Before we left for our return trip to Tegucigalpa, we all ate homemade sopes and said our goodbyes.

Before we left, however, I managed to unintentionally make several children cry when I gave my small box of Jelly Bellies to one of the girls (I still have no idea which sister or brother she belongs to). She did share her candy with the children around her, but apparently several children were sad that they didn't receive their own box. Hopefully next time I will be able to bring enough for everyone, especially Gladys' little son, who was apparently inconsolable after he realized that he had not received any of the candy. :(

Overall I really enjoyed my short time in Los Llanitos. It is by far one of the most beautiful and pure places I've ever been, a sharp contrast to Tegucigalpa. Now I'm back in Tegucigalpa working at the internet cafe with Olvin, a job that gives me a lot of free time. I did hear back from one of the teaching jobs I inquired about, and Itold them I'm still interested; hopefully, I'll hear from them again tomorrow.

The house in which we stay is nice, and is located in one of the better areas of Tegucigalpa--which is good since it's a dangerous city. It has four bedrooms--one for Olvin, one for me, one for Deborah, and one for Olvin's aunt, uncle, and baby son. (Olvin just looked over my shoulder and told me we actually have five rooms, although I've yet to see the fifth.) Olvin's uncle is here looking for work (a difficult task in a county with a 30% unemployment rate) and his wife is taking care of the house while we work. She is an amazing cook; this morning she made homemade flour tortillas which we ate with beans and cream and salsa. I thought I would lose weight while I was here, but I'm not sure that's going to happen with Gaby cooking for us.

This morning Gaby showed me how to wash my clothes, and everyone got a good laugh after it took me 30 minutes to do what she could have done in five, and after I came back into the house sweating and soaking wet. I guess it was almost as funny as when I fell trying to help Olvin and his uncle push-start the truck outside of Choluteca. What can I say? I guess I'm just an entertaining person. :)

I think that's all I have for now. There is so much more to say, but I feel like I've been writing forever.

Until next time,

Julie

Una Guera en Montana

2007-05-16T10:29:00.000-07:00

I've never actually had a blog before, so I'm not sure exactly how to start. I guess I should clarify a bit, though. I'm not actually in Honduras, yet; so I guess right now my blog should really be titled "La Guera en Montana." Although "La" is a little misleading, since there are hundreds and hundreds of thousands of gueras in Montana. But I'll only be here two more days, so I'll just leave it how it is.

I've been in Montana (Missoula, Montana, to be more accurate) since last August--one full school year. I've made amazing friends and had wonderful professors that have impacted my life more than they'll ever know. I've been through one of the hardest times in my life, and I've watched one of the people most special to me grow into the man I always knew he'd become. I know I'm a different person; I can only hope I'm a better one.

On Friday I'll leave Montana headed to Vegas followed by California followed, eventually, by Honduras. My mom will marry on Saturday, and I'll be her maid of honor. On Sunday I'll head back to Southern California for three days of goodbyes before hopping the midnight flight to Tegucigalpa by way of Guatemala City. Olvin will pick me up from the airport (one of the most dangerous in the world, I'm told) and take me back to our house in Tegucigalpa where his mother, stepfather, and daughter (my Goddaughter) will be waiting. I assume the next few days, before his mother and stepfather leave, will involve Maria excitedly showing me everything beautiful about her country--something she's been waiting to do since I met her. I'll take lots of pictures, say the wrong things in Spanish, and, I hope, make a lot of people laugh.

And then Maria and Francisco will leave, and it'll just be Olvin, Deborah, and me. And I'll look for a job, and hopefully, we'll be able to make a life there. I just hope I'm strong enough to stay as long as Olvin needs, and I truly hope I can help him come to enjoy his new, unchosen life. I know I will miss my family and my friends, and I know I'll miss my Jairo conversations, but deep down, I'm glad I'm going.

I should probably stop writing now. I've got EVERYTHING to pack up, an apartment to clean, a handbook to rewrite, a website to expand, a car to wash, oil to be changed, a dress to get ironed, and people to miss.

But I'll keep you posted....