me and esau in my hammock....no, i did not pick the colors. damn it.
Ana looking good (but not nearly as good as me) in my Adventure Hat at our hotel in el salvador.
salvadorean sunrise....feliz ano nuevo, chochachos.
Esau and Nuria, two of my favorite little kids....both play on my baseball team and their folks are my landlords. here they are in my Hammock of Love.
a bow-tie? its not even 7:00 yet! Oh, Igor, don't be so ostentatious.
oh yes you ARE the best puppy ever. oh yes you are.
Oh, Igor. You sassy man.17 January 2009
Happy New Year, chochachos! Once again I have failed to upload a blog for a bit. But I’ve been just busy as the dickens eating sandwiches in the ocean and caring for my new baby (yes it’s true, I’m a new mommy). Now, I’m sure you’re all very confused. “Doesn’t Peace Corps kick you out if you get knocked up??” Yes. Yes they do. But I have “cersumvented” (anyone? Is it still cool to make Arrested Development references?) that problem by adopting, not a baby but a very fuzzy little sassy-pants puppy, whom I’ve named Igor. He’s about 10 weeks old and fat as hell (maybe because the skeletal street dogs make me sad, I can’t seem to stop feeding him). He has cinnamon colored legs and his body is a nice dark gray. He’s got little perky ears that flop down, and, like I said, is extremely fluffy. His tail is kind of short, too. His birth mother (who has visitation rights whenever she wants) is a huge, ugly-ass yellow mutt named Princesa, who managed to birth nine puppies in November (the 5th, specifically). I’ve had my eye on him (being the fluffiest of them all) since then, and the other day my neighbor Gila called me up and told me to come get my dog. Unlike the other pups, Igor is really chill and hardly ever barks. He’s also a genius, according to my dad, because he’s naturally potty-trained…he just goes outside to pee or poop and so far has yet to soil the house, even though he sleeps indoors. His favorite activities involve sleeping, eating, and chasing around jicara, which are these round goard things that fall from trees, about the size of baseballs. The first night I got him, he just cried and screamed all night long. The next night, he slept until about 3:30am, then proceeded to scream until 7:000am. Since then, however, he tucks in at the same time I do (about lame o’clock) and wakes up at about 5:30, quietly chewing all my clothes to pieces until I get up and let him out to pee. It’s crazy how much we’ve bonded in the past week…I’ve totally fallen in love. It’s like having a really, really easy baby. He follows me everywhere (he even waits patiently by the door while I read Harry Potter in Spanish while in my latrine) and comes when he’s called. He goes everywhere with me. Now, when the neighborhood kids see me coming, instead of screaming HEELIE they belt out IGGOOOORRR!!!! It’s great because his littler-mate, Kaiser, lives across the road with my awesome neighbors Neli and Tina (and Alison, Douglas, Noel, Alex, and Ruben) so they happily take care of my baby when I go to baseball or on trips.
So obviously I’m finally in my own place (adopting a dog with a host family would probably be hella rude). Igor and I love the Tarantula Oven, in all of its steamy glory. The house is small, divided in half by a wall with a little doorway. The first room is where I spent most of my time if I’m in the house, as it serves as playroom for the neighborhood kids that are always around, a kitchen (I’ve got a mini-fridge on the floor, and a little one-burner electric stove that sits on a table, plus a bookcase which holds my dishes, rice, and beans), and a living room (I’ve got a huge woven hammock hanging from the rafters). It’s got two windows, which helps with the heat. In the other room, I’ve got my bed (complete with diarrhea-green Vietnam-era mosquito net the Peace Corps graciously gave me), a wobbly table a neighbor lent me, and another bookcase, this time filled with my clothes, books, and many bottles of sunscreen and bug spray. To be honest, the name isn’t really all that accurate—despite the fact it will be an oven come the hot-as-balls months (March-June), due to the low, tin roofing and lack of air flow, it’s not too bad at the moment. And I have to see ANY tarantulas, at all, in Honduras. But they exist! And I’m ready! (My neighbor Tina, like most Hondurans I’ve met, is petrified of toads. So we’ve struck a deal in which she will remove any tarantulas from my home and I will de-toad her place.)
The best part about my house, though, is the yard. It’s nice and big, with lots of fruit trees (lemon, orange, cherry, plum, etc). Though I should clarify that Honduran cherries are terrible little balls of mealy semi-sweet white pulp and “plums” are hard little green things that taste like butts. Either way, it’s awesome. Out behind the house, up a tiny incline, is my pila, shower/barrel, and latrine. My landlords put a nice chain-link fence with a locking gate around the whole place, so I’m hells of secure. There is a handsome white horse who lives next door on one side, and a bunch of kids on the other. Today, we hauled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow filled with dirt, cow manure, ashes, and leaves into the backyard…that’s right, I’m totally making a sweet compost pile. In a couple of months, when my compost is hella composty, I’m gonna plant vegetables and stuff. And then I’m gonna eat em. And totally not get bean-scurvy.
It’s nice being back after my week vacation in El Salvador…I’m working on a workshop I’ll give to all the preschool teachers in our area (33 in total), I’m giving computer classes to the employees at the NGO where I work, I’m doing baseball, my pregnant women’s club, and soon I’ll be started a weekly story-and-art hour at the library, as well as a program that teaches teachers how to teach English to their students. HELLS OF BUSY. But El Salvador was so freaking INCREDIBLE, if I get stressed I just put on some sweet dub reggae and bask in my memories.
I hooked up in Choluteca with four gringo friends, Ana, Gabe, Emilie, and Justin, and together we boarded a bus to the border. Crossing was ridiculously easy, all we did was saunter across and the inspector-lady glanced at our residency cards and waved us on. Then we caught a bus to large city called San Miguel, then another one straight down the coast, to a beach town called Cuco. The sun was hanging low in the sky when we got there, and we basically ran to the first hotel we saw, right on the water. In a record amount of time we had changed into swimsuits and I stumbled into the Pacific just as the sun was smearing red and orange all over the dang place. It was HEAVEN. The water down there is warm as bath water…you can stay in for house and never get even a little cold. After swimming we had dinner and some cold beers and hit the hay. Once in bed, I managed to lacerate my cornea with a grain of sand, and, in route to the bathroom mirror while screaming like a nancy, I stepped on a belt buckle and shanked the hell out of sole of my foot. I awoke the next day with my eye nearly swollen shut and my foot equally stabby in pain. An auspicious beginning. Throwing caution to the wind (aka I’m a dumbass) I went swimming all day anyway, while debated over the grilled shrimp and cold beers whether or not I should seek medical help for my eye. Later that day we wandered down the beach until we found some cheap cinderblock-and-hammock hostel built right onto the sand that rented rooms for like $7, on a sweet, unpopulated beach called Playa las Flores. The folks there were super nice, and one the surfer dudes who worked there took me out on his 8.5-foot longboard, and before I knew it, I was hangin’ ten, hella gnarly bro, etc. (This later proved to be my most successful surfing endeavor of the entire trip, which I attribute to the non-insane waves, the handsome surfer dude, and his monstrously large board.) That night we got a jalon into town in the back of a truck and ate papusas until our stomachs neared explosion of cheesy-beany goodness.
The next morning we decided to go for one last swim before heading up the coast to meet up with our friends, which was great until the riptide subtly pulled Ana and I out to sea. We started to swim back, but, still caught in the current, we got tired quickly and Ana started to panic. I got scared to and started to call for help. Emilie and Justin came out, and Emilie basically saved Ana, who couldn’t swim anymore, and helped her get in. I’m still not sure how exactly I made it in. Anyway, we won. Suck it, Ocean.
After an extremely long and sweaty day of traveling north-west on chicken buses, involving many detours, undesirable urinating locations (such as ditches, and for one of my companeros who shall remain names, on the floor of the actual bus), and more than one drunken mariachi, we arrived in La Libertad, a allegedly shady coastal city. We caught a jalon in a nice man’s pick-up to the beach community of El Zonte, where our friends were waiting. At about 9:00pm, after a delightful ride along the coast under the moon, with the warm wind in our hair, we stumbled into Olas Permanentes, aka the best hotel in the world. I’m not sure how our friends found it, but it was incredible. Right on a beautiful black-sand beach, we found ourselves in a friendly little surfer hotel with cheap rooms, comfy hammocks under palm fronds looking out at the water, tasty toasted sandwiches (you guys know how I feel about that) and sweet island dub reggae playing softly out of speakers woven into the many dangly drift-wood art creations that smattered the cabanas. It was so wonderful we immediately ditched any plans to continue north (as we’d originally wanted to do) and spent too many days to count waking up, surfing, boogie boarding, eating sandwiches, and making friends with the delightful folks who called this awesome place home. At night we went to beach parties, or dragged lawn chairs into the surf to sip a beer and contemplate the stars. We spent New Years Eve chilling at a couple different shin-digs on the sand, finally making it back to our hotel by about 3:00am. Then me and a couple buddies decided to wait up and welcome in the new year, and spent the next couple hours splashing around in the warm waves and waiting for the sun to rise. By the time we finally left, it felt like leaving home. I can’t wait to go back.
Only three more days until Obama swears in! I don’t have a TV in the T.O., but I’m sure they’ve been going on and on about it and I’m gonna try to find a neighbor who will let me watch history unfold.
Paz,
Hayley (and Igor, who is currently chewing on my big toe)
Happy New Year, chochachos! Once again I have failed to upload a blog for a bit. But I’ve been just busy as the dickens eating sandwiches in the ocean and caring for my new baby (yes it’s true, I’m a new mommy). Now, I’m sure you’re all very confused. “Doesn’t Peace Corps kick you out if you get knocked up??” Yes. Yes they do. But I have “cersumvented” (anyone? Is it still cool to make Arrested Development references?) that problem by adopting, not a baby but a very fuzzy little sassy-pants puppy, whom I’ve named Igor. He’s about 10 weeks old and fat as hell (maybe because the skeletal street dogs make me sad, I can’t seem to stop feeding him). He has cinnamon colored legs and his body is a nice dark gray. He’s got little perky ears that flop down, and, like I said, is extremely fluffy. His tail is kind of short, too. His birth mother (who has visitation rights whenever she wants) is a huge, ugly-ass yellow mutt named Princesa, who managed to birth nine puppies in November (the 5th, specifically). I’ve had my eye on him (being the fluffiest of them all) since then, and the other day my neighbor Gila called me up and told me to come get my dog. Unlike the other pups, Igor is really chill and hardly ever barks. He’s also a genius, according to my dad, because he’s naturally potty-trained…he just goes outside to pee or poop and so far has yet to soil the house, even though he sleeps indoors. His favorite activities involve sleeping, eating, and chasing around jicara, which are these round goard things that fall from trees, about the size of baseballs. The first night I got him, he just cried and screamed all night long. The next night, he slept until about 3:30am, then proceeded to scream until 7:000am. Since then, however, he tucks in at the same time I do (about lame o’clock) and wakes up at about 5:30, quietly chewing all my clothes to pieces until I get up and let him out to pee. It’s crazy how much we’ve bonded in the past week…I’ve totally fallen in love. It’s like having a really, really easy baby. He follows me everywhere (he even waits patiently by the door while I read Harry Potter in Spanish while in my latrine) and comes when he’s called. He goes everywhere with me. Now, when the neighborhood kids see me coming, instead of screaming HEELIE they belt out IGGOOOORRR!!!! It’s great because his littler-mate, Kaiser, lives across the road with my awesome neighbors Neli and Tina (and Alison, Douglas, Noel, Alex, and Ruben) so they happily take care of my baby when I go to baseball or on trips.
So obviously I’m finally in my own place (adopting a dog with a host family would probably be hella rude). Igor and I love the Tarantula Oven, in all of its steamy glory. The house is small, divided in half by a wall with a little doorway. The first room is where I spent most of my time if I’m in the house, as it serves as playroom for the neighborhood kids that are always around, a kitchen (I’ve got a mini-fridge on the floor, and a little one-burner electric stove that sits on a table, plus a bookcase which holds my dishes, rice, and beans), and a living room (I’ve got a huge woven hammock hanging from the rafters). It’s got two windows, which helps with the heat. In the other room, I’ve got my bed (complete with diarrhea-green Vietnam-era mosquito net the Peace Corps graciously gave me), a wobbly table a neighbor lent me, and another bookcase, this time filled with my clothes, books, and many bottles of sunscreen and bug spray. To be honest, the name isn’t really all that accurate—despite the fact it will be an oven come the hot-as-balls months (March-June), due to the low, tin roofing and lack of air flow, it’s not too bad at the moment. And I have to see ANY tarantulas, at all, in Honduras. But they exist! And I’m ready! (My neighbor Tina, like most Hondurans I’ve met, is petrified of toads. So we’ve struck a deal in which she will remove any tarantulas from my home and I will de-toad her place.)
The best part about my house, though, is the yard. It’s nice and big, with lots of fruit trees (lemon, orange, cherry, plum, etc). Though I should clarify that Honduran cherries are terrible little balls of mealy semi-sweet white pulp and “plums” are hard little green things that taste like butts. Either way, it’s awesome. Out behind the house, up a tiny incline, is my pila, shower/barrel, and latrine. My landlords put a nice chain-link fence with a locking gate around the whole place, so I’m hells of secure. There is a handsome white horse who lives next door on one side, and a bunch of kids on the other. Today, we hauled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow filled with dirt, cow manure, ashes, and leaves into the backyard…that’s right, I’m totally making a sweet compost pile. In a couple of months, when my compost is hella composty, I’m gonna plant vegetables and stuff. And then I’m gonna eat em. And totally not get bean-scurvy.
It’s nice being back after my week vacation in El Salvador…I’m working on a workshop I’ll give to all the preschool teachers in our area (33 in total), I’m giving computer classes to the employees at the NGO where I work, I’m doing baseball, my pregnant women’s club, and soon I’ll be started a weekly story-and-art hour at the library, as well as a program that teaches teachers how to teach English to their students. HELLS OF BUSY. But El Salvador was so freaking INCREDIBLE, if I get stressed I just put on some sweet dub reggae and bask in my memories.
I hooked up in Choluteca with four gringo friends, Ana, Gabe, Emilie, and Justin, and together we boarded a bus to the border. Crossing was ridiculously easy, all we did was saunter across and the inspector-lady glanced at our residency cards and waved us on. Then we caught a bus to large city called San Miguel, then another one straight down the coast, to a beach town called Cuco. The sun was hanging low in the sky when we got there, and we basically ran to the first hotel we saw, right on the water. In a record amount of time we had changed into swimsuits and I stumbled into the Pacific just as the sun was smearing red and orange all over the dang place. It was HEAVEN. The water down there is warm as bath water…you can stay in for house and never get even a little cold. After swimming we had dinner and some cold beers and hit the hay. Once in bed, I managed to lacerate my cornea with a grain of sand, and, in route to the bathroom mirror while screaming like a nancy, I stepped on a belt buckle and shanked the hell out of sole of my foot. I awoke the next day with my eye nearly swollen shut and my foot equally stabby in pain. An auspicious beginning. Throwing caution to the wind (aka I’m a dumbass) I went swimming all day anyway, while debated over the grilled shrimp and cold beers whether or not I should seek medical help for my eye. Later that day we wandered down the beach until we found some cheap cinderblock-and-hammock hostel built right onto the sand that rented rooms for like $7, on a sweet, unpopulated beach called Playa las Flores. The folks there were super nice, and one the surfer dudes who worked there took me out on his 8.5-foot longboard, and before I knew it, I was hangin’ ten, hella gnarly bro, etc. (This later proved to be my most successful surfing endeavor of the entire trip, which I attribute to the non-insane waves, the handsome surfer dude, and his monstrously large board.) That night we got a jalon into town in the back of a truck and ate papusas until our stomachs neared explosion of cheesy-beany goodness.
The next morning we decided to go for one last swim before heading up the coast to meet up with our friends, which was great until the riptide subtly pulled Ana and I out to sea. We started to swim back, but, still caught in the current, we got tired quickly and Ana started to panic. I got scared to and started to call for help. Emilie and Justin came out, and Emilie basically saved Ana, who couldn’t swim anymore, and helped her get in. I’m still not sure how exactly I made it in. Anyway, we won. Suck it, Ocean.
After an extremely long and sweaty day of traveling north-west on chicken buses, involving many detours, undesirable urinating locations (such as ditches, and for one of my companeros who shall remain names, on the floor of the actual bus), and more than one drunken mariachi, we arrived in La Libertad, a allegedly shady coastal city. We caught a jalon in a nice man’s pick-up to the beach community of El Zonte, where our friends were waiting. At about 9:00pm, after a delightful ride along the coast under the moon, with the warm wind in our hair, we stumbled into Olas Permanentes, aka the best hotel in the world. I’m not sure how our friends found it, but it was incredible. Right on a beautiful black-sand beach, we found ourselves in a friendly little surfer hotel with cheap rooms, comfy hammocks under palm fronds looking out at the water, tasty toasted sandwiches (you guys know how I feel about that) and sweet island dub reggae playing softly out of speakers woven into the many dangly drift-wood art creations that smattered the cabanas. It was so wonderful we immediately ditched any plans to continue north (as we’d originally wanted to do) and spent too many days to count waking up, surfing, boogie boarding, eating sandwiches, and making friends with the delightful folks who called this awesome place home. At night we went to beach parties, or dragged lawn chairs into the surf to sip a beer and contemplate the stars. We spent New Years Eve chilling at a couple different shin-digs on the sand, finally making it back to our hotel by about 3:00am. Then me and a couple buddies decided to wait up and welcome in the new year, and spent the next couple hours splashing around in the warm waves and waiting for the sun to rise. By the time we finally left, it felt like leaving home. I can’t wait to go back.
Only three more days until Obama swears in! I don’t have a TV in the T.O., but I’m sure they’ve been going on and on about it and I’m gonna try to find a neighbor who will let me watch history unfold.
Paz,
Hayley (and Igor, who is currently chewing on my big toe)
2 comments:
AMOR!!
Ooh, your vacation sounded awesome!! Very nice. I just got back from my January vacation in London, which sounds exactly like YOUR vacation, except with no surfing, bathing suits, South American food, beer, warm breezes, or eyeball emergencies. It DID include a ton of theater, museums, and parka-wearing, and a trip in to Wales on an extraordinarily geeky science fiction television show pilgrimage (Doctor Who, have my babies!).
Other than that, I've finished my residency interviews, and am now just waiting to hear if anyone wants to hire me... I don't hear until the beginning of March. I hate waiting. But in the meantime I get to study for Boards Part 2! Yelch.
Say hi to Igor for me! Love you lots, Hayley!!!
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