locals paddling about in their wooden canoes. probably either fishing, or thinking about fishing.
look at how delighted we are!
manatees live here! ALLEGEDLY.
riverfront of where we stayed. the guy in the picture is the portuguese butthead.
path winding through the forest toward my treehouse.
sprinkle sprakle raindrops! that there's a cabin.
chops descending our awesome staircase.
dusk.
approaching dusk? everything is green.
just around the river bend (come on lets not pretend we havent all seen Pocahontas)
chops, t-bag, and our extremely sassy boat driver lady. note the cut-offs.
our jungle guide and me after the hike.
from inside the CAVE of TIGERS!
secret jungle island.
glowy leaves!!!!
amazing twisty vine. they call it the monkey ladder. it should be called the twisted glaze.
moss!!! which flakes off onto your skin in a delightful way when hugged.
chops eatin' breakfast at the beach.7 September 2009
Hey, chochachos!
So one of the excellent things about Life here is the fact that people are constantly wandering around selling stuff, thereby often eliminating the need to actually enter a store to buy Items. Ride the bus, and more likely than not you will be able to purchase tomatoes, squirt guns, toothbrushes, bars of soap all taped together just the way you like ‘em, crappy flashlights, seasonal fruit, bags ‘o water, hot meals, belts, scrunchies, pills, God, and boiled corn—all before you even reach your destination. It is, like I mentioned earlier, Excellent—especially if you don’t particularly enjoy shopping, which I particularly do not. This type of business transaction is not only confined to the buses, either—the case in point being that about three minutes ago, some kids came to my door like they do every day at about 4:00pm selling fried doughnuts covered in sugar for two lempiras each (about a dime…I think). They are so tasty, a dog barks. How many of you guys get doughnut vendors selling hot fresh-baked items for a dime apiece a-comin’ to your door every dang ol day? JUST ME I WIN. Suckers!
Sorry, I ain’t tryin to be a jerk sandwich. I take it back. No one is sucker. No one with door-to-door doughnut service, that is.
I spent the day today scrubbing out a bunch of extremely nasty clothes in the pila and performing similar acts of “just got home from vacation, time to get hygienic again” activities. THAT’S RIGHT. I TOTALLY WENT ON A VACATION. AND IT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME. While I’ve had many an Adventure in the year I’ve been working here in Alubarén, I haven’t really taken a bigger trip since last New Years, when I went to El Salvador. So when my buddy from home, Chops, decided he wanted to come visit me in H-Town, I was like “hells yes dude lets do this thing,” which we subsequently did [do this thing]. We were GONNA go on said adventure back in June, but then Honduras got all wonky on me politically and we had to postpone. But no matter, because reschedule we did, and have spent the past bunch of days just runnin’ all over central America and havin’ 7 kinds of fun. We spent a day together in my site, wandering up and down our one road, sittin’ on my Sitting Hill, relaxing near but not in my Swimmin’ Hole (it was hosting the annual Algae and Gunk Convention of 2009), and otherwise enjoying the fruits that Alubarén has to offer. My house was a little crazy because Nely and the family were crashing there, their house in the midst of a desperately-needed re-roofing, but it was fine if not a cozy and chill way for Chops to get to know some local folks. Nely and I (mostly Nely) cooked up some beans and rice and fried bananas, bought a 3-liter bottle of Coke for the occasion, and had us a big ol’ Honduran meal. We chilled in plastic lawn chairs under my flowering cherry tree (crappy Honduran ones, not to be confused with what the rest of the world knows as cherries) and watched lightning flicker in the distance. Early the next morning, after a breakfast of eggs and leftover bananas, I handed the keys over to Nely (“stay as long as necessary but please don’t let the kids piss in my bed”), hugged Igor, and Chops and I tramped off into the rising sun (don’t worry I had a hat on).
The jalón (free ride) gods were smilin’ on us, because not five minutes into our trek to where the buses pass, a nice pick-up truck rolled by and offered us a lift all the way to the “desvio pavementado,” AKA where the dirt road meets the paved freeway. This journey is usually a two-hour bus ride, but in a jalon it is a delightful hour-ish ride, rollin’ up and down the green hills and carefully avoiding cows, chickens, and school children. Once we got to the freeway we grabbed a bus headed south and crossed the border into El Salvador. We spent a couple days at the same surfer lodge I’d stayed at in January, “Olas Permanentes,” not because I am afraid of change but because I was so enamored with its tasty sandwiches and awesome waves and beautiful beach and cheap rooms and plentiful hammocks I just couldn’t imagine staying anywhere else. The first thing I did upon arrival was run up the retaining wall/patio of the hotel to check out the beach, and was shocked and severely pissed to discover that the Ocean is a fickle mistress and had totally gotten a botched boob job in my 8 months of absence, which is to say that the open, wide stretches of black sand beach had been replaced by boulders and rocks and the beach was basically only existent during low tide—otherwise the water was violently bashing itself against the wall. Apparently the wet season = stronger waves, and the current is so strong it carries away much of the sand, thus exposing all those ugly rocks. It was still delightful, and swim/surf/boogie board we did, but only during low tide, and with much caution. On our last night, we were the ONLY guests in the joint, and a storm hit that was so forceful we hid in our bunk-beds and recorded a 2-minute electronic missive on my camera, bidding farewell to our respective families. It was pretty good…I might go ahead and save it in case I am ever in any sort of hostage situation and don’t have a pen handy.
Our thirst for the beach quenched like a gringo with a mouthful of dry sand, we headed north-west and spent the last leg of our adventure fulfilling my personal life-long dream, which as many of you may know is “live in a tree house in the jungle.” Technically, TECHNICALLY, it wasn’t actually a tree house, but it was a small, rickety, thatch-roofed structure that had to be entered via a psychedelic twirly-whirly staircase, and it was engulfed in trees and vines and all sorts of drippy verdant vegetation, so I am willing to make a small fib when I tell people about it (feel free to do the same). And it was most certainly and delightfully a rain-foresty jungle, all filled with jaguars and monkeys and crocodiles and birds and spiders bigger than my freaking face (though the latter was the only creature I actually saw). Chops and I only planned to stay a night, but due to the extreme Awesomeness of the whole ensemble, we ended up staying for three. This little hideaway lodge was tucked into the jungle along a wide, warm river, and on the boat ride over we met two delightful Aussie brothers, AJ and Tristan, who were on an adventure of their own. They decided to come with us, and two became four for the next couple days. I dare say Chops and I could not have asked for better companions, and I was rather sad to leave ‘em behind when the time came for us to go home. Sometimes I just feel so happy that the world is constantly producing wonderful people for me to befriend. Thanks, world.
The lodge was powered by solar energy, and the folks that run it were extremely laid-back and friendly (except for the douchey Portuguese guy, who I invite to sit on a tarantula and SPIN). Every night everyone eats dinner all together, inhaling fresh pita bread and tasty green garlic goo and carrot/squash soups and fish casseroles. When not eating, Chops, Tristan, AJ and I passed the time by going on Adventures all day. We kayaked to a biotope a couple of hours down the river and hiked around in the Protected Zone one day, which was beautiful jungle with equally beautifully-maintained trails. It was interesting because many of the locals filled us in on the current struggle going on between the people who live on the protected area and the conservationists who are trying to maintain it as such. Land must be protected, but when it comes at the cost of seizing the land from the locals who live on it, things get as hairy as the eight-legged, many-eyed fellas who inhabit the bathrooms at night (I spent a lot of time peeing in the bushes…but that’s unrelated to anything except my metaphor). Eco-tourism is obviously a great way for the locals to earn money and protect their land at the same time, but unfortunately the common pattern is that all the eco-lodges and such are owned by foreigners. A nice NGO/volunteer-based scaffolding support-system would be a good start, but I didn’t see much of that in this particular area.
Our final kayak destination was a rather elusive restaurant tucked into a small cove, which was ironically not serving food on that particular day, because everyone had gone to town. The four of us pleaded the two women who had stayed behind with hungry eyes (I dramatically wiped rivulets of saliva from my chin with a shaky hand; Chops quietly chewed coca leaves to stave his hunger), and finally one of the ladies made us four mediocre papaya smoothies served in impressive glass margarita goblets. Off we kayaked back down the river, only to be caught—no, wrong word—only to be delightfully involved in a sudden late-afternoon down-pour. We alternated between gliding through the sheets of water and floating with arms outstretched, letting the warm drops slide down our faces like a bunch of joyous eight-year-olds, lubed up with Banana Boat, sliding belly-down on a hosed-off plastic tarp. Seriously, that is exactly the way in which the water ran down my face. I even heard tiny little voices screaming “yaaaay!”, but that might have been my imagination or perhaps a hunger-induced hallucination. After whooping and grinning through the storm, we paddled past a rainbow and arrived a couple hours later at a small river-side restaurant and hot springs. We relaxed in the steamy, farty-smelling water while this delightfully functioning restaurant fried us up a mess o’ fish and fries. We ate dinner as the sun set, and paddled the last half an hour to our lodge as dusk made itself at home on the glassy water.
The next day, we hired a local guide to take us on a sweet hike through the jungle, which was totally worth it—he took us to a delightfully cold swimming hole and a muggy cave and pointed out the local plants and bugs, and also brought us through a couple small villages, which were beautiful. It was sweaty as the dang Dickens but I’ve never hiked through such eyeball-explodin’ awesomeness before (sorry, Erika—too soon?). That evening was our last, and we risked the crocodiles by goin’ off the rope swing into the river after dinner. Sing-alongs were had with an Israeli guy and his guitar and egg-shakers, cold beers were consumed and many a special moment was passed listening to the frogs holler at each other. I peed under a tree next the bathroom-turned-tarantula-hotel one last time, clamored up the wooden staircase like an albino spider monkey, crawled into my squishy, mosquito-netted bunk, and fell asleep listening to the sprinkle-sprankle of jungle night-life one last time. The next morning, after breakfast, Chops and I hugged our buddies goodbye and headed home.
Brief summary for those of you who only have time for the Cliff Notes edition: Chops and I had a blasty-blast in various bodies of water and/or trees. We made lots of rad friends and it was the best time ever and that is what I did on my summer vacation the END.
Love,
Hayley
Hey, chochachos!
So one of the excellent things about Life here is the fact that people are constantly wandering around selling stuff, thereby often eliminating the need to actually enter a store to buy Items. Ride the bus, and more likely than not you will be able to purchase tomatoes, squirt guns, toothbrushes, bars of soap all taped together just the way you like ‘em, crappy flashlights, seasonal fruit, bags ‘o water, hot meals, belts, scrunchies, pills, God, and boiled corn—all before you even reach your destination. It is, like I mentioned earlier, Excellent—especially if you don’t particularly enjoy shopping, which I particularly do not. This type of business transaction is not only confined to the buses, either—the case in point being that about three minutes ago, some kids came to my door like they do every day at about 4:00pm selling fried doughnuts covered in sugar for two lempiras each (about a dime…I think). They are so tasty, a dog barks. How many of you guys get doughnut vendors selling hot fresh-baked items for a dime apiece a-comin’ to your door every dang ol day? JUST ME I WIN. Suckers!
Sorry, I ain’t tryin to be a jerk sandwich. I take it back. No one is sucker. No one with door-to-door doughnut service, that is.
I spent the day today scrubbing out a bunch of extremely nasty clothes in the pila and performing similar acts of “just got home from vacation, time to get hygienic again” activities. THAT’S RIGHT. I TOTALLY WENT ON A VACATION. AND IT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME. While I’ve had many an Adventure in the year I’ve been working here in Alubarén, I haven’t really taken a bigger trip since last New Years, when I went to El Salvador. So when my buddy from home, Chops, decided he wanted to come visit me in H-Town, I was like “hells yes dude lets do this thing,” which we subsequently did [do this thing]. We were GONNA go on said adventure back in June, but then Honduras got all wonky on me politically and we had to postpone. But no matter, because reschedule we did, and have spent the past bunch of days just runnin’ all over central America and havin’ 7 kinds of fun. We spent a day together in my site, wandering up and down our one road, sittin’ on my Sitting Hill, relaxing near but not in my Swimmin’ Hole (it was hosting the annual Algae and Gunk Convention of 2009), and otherwise enjoying the fruits that Alubarén has to offer. My house was a little crazy because Nely and the family were crashing there, their house in the midst of a desperately-needed re-roofing, but it was fine if not a cozy and chill way for Chops to get to know some local folks. Nely and I (mostly Nely) cooked up some beans and rice and fried bananas, bought a 3-liter bottle of Coke for the occasion, and had us a big ol’ Honduran meal. We chilled in plastic lawn chairs under my flowering cherry tree (crappy Honduran ones, not to be confused with what the rest of the world knows as cherries) and watched lightning flicker in the distance. Early the next morning, after a breakfast of eggs and leftover bananas, I handed the keys over to Nely (“stay as long as necessary but please don’t let the kids piss in my bed”), hugged Igor, and Chops and I tramped off into the rising sun (don’t worry I had a hat on).
The jalón (free ride) gods were smilin’ on us, because not five minutes into our trek to where the buses pass, a nice pick-up truck rolled by and offered us a lift all the way to the “desvio pavementado,” AKA where the dirt road meets the paved freeway. This journey is usually a two-hour bus ride, but in a jalon it is a delightful hour-ish ride, rollin’ up and down the green hills and carefully avoiding cows, chickens, and school children. Once we got to the freeway we grabbed a bus headed south and crossed the border into El Salvador. We spent a couple days at the same surfer lodge I’d stayed at in January, “Olas Permanentes,” not because I am afraid of change but because I was so enamored with its tasty sandwiches and awesome waves and beautiful beach and cheap rooms and plentiful hammocks I just couldn’t imagine staying anywhere else. The first thing I did upon arrival was run up the retaining wall/patio of the hotel to check out the beach, and was shocked and severely pissed to discover that the Ocean is a fickle mistress and had totally gotten a botched boob job in my 8 months of absence, which is to say that the open, wide stretches of black sand beach had been replaced by boulders and rocks and the beach was basically only existent during low tide—otherwise the water was violently bashing itself against the wall. Apparently the wet season = stronger waves, and the current is so strong it carries away much of the sand, thus exposing all those ugly rocks. It was still delightful, and swim/surf/boogie board we did, but only during low tide, and with much caution. On our last night, we were the ONLY guests in the joint, and a storm hit that was so forceful we hid in our bunk-beds and recorded a 2-minute electronic missive on my camera, bidding farewell to our respective families. It was pretty good…I might go ahead and save it in case I am ever in any sort of hostage situation and don’t have a pen handy.
Our thirst for the beach quenched like a gringo with a mouthful of dry sand, we headed north-west and spent the last leg of our adventure fulfilling my personal life-long dream, which as many of you may know is “live in a tree house in the jungle.” Technically, TECHNICALLY, it wasn’t actually a tree house, but it was a small, rickety, thatch-roofed structure that had to be entered via a psychedelic twirly-whirly staircase, and it was engulfed in trees and vines and all sorts of drippy verdant vegetation, so I am willing to make a small fib when I tell people about it (feel free to do the same). And it was most certainly and delightfully a rain-foresty jungle, all filled with jaguars and monkeys and crocodiles and birds and spiders bigger than my freaking face (though the latter was the only creature I actually saw). Chops and I only planned to stay a night, but due to the extreme Awesomeness of the whole ensemble, we ended up staying for three. This little hideaway lodge was tucked into the jungle along a wide, warm river, and on the boat ride over we met two delightful Aussie brothers, AJ and Tristan, who were on an adventure of their own. They decided to come with us, and two became four for the next couple days. I dare say Chops and I could not have asked for better companions, and I was rather sad to leave ‘em behind when the time came for us to go home. Sometimes I just feel so happy that the world is constantly producing wonderful people for me to befriend. Thanks, world.
The lodge was powered by solar energy, and the folks that run it were extremely laid-back and friendly (except for the douchey Portuguese guy, who I invite to sit on a tarantula and SPIN). Every night everyone eats dinner all together, inhaling fresh pita bread and tasty green garlic goo and carrot/squash soups and fish casseroles. When not eating, Chops, Tristan, AJ and I passed the time by going on Adventures all day. We kayaked to a biotope a couple of hours down the river and hiked around in the Protected Zone one day, which was beautiful jungle with equally beautifully-maintained trails. It was interesting because many of the locals filled us in on the current struggle going on between the people who live on the protected area and the conservationists who are trying to maintain it as such. Land must be protected, but when it comes at the cost of seizing the land from the locals who live on it, things get as hairy as the eight-legged, many-eyed fellas who inhabit the bathrooms at night (I spent a lot of time peeing in the bushes…but that’s unrelated to anything except my metaphor). Eco-tourism is obviously a great way for the locals to earn money and protect their land at the same time, but unfortunately the common pattern is that all the eco-lodges and such are owned by foreigners. A nice NGO/volunteer-based scaffolding support-system would be a good start, but I didn’t see much of that in this particular area.
Our final kayak destination was a rather elusive restaurant tucked into a small cove, which was ironically not serving food on that particular day, because everyone had gone to town. The four of us pleaded the two women who had stayed behind with hungry eyes (I dramatically wiped rivulets of saliva from my chin with a shaky hand; Chops quietly chewed coca leaves to stave his hunger), and finally one of the ladies made us four mediocre papaya smoothies served in impressive glass margarita goblets. Off we kayaked back down the river, only to be caught—no, wrong word—only to be delightfully involved in a sudden late-afternoon down-pour. We alternated between gliding through the sheets of water and floating with arms outstretched, letting the warm drops slide down our faces like a bunch of joyous eight-year-olds, lubed up with Banana Boat, sliding belly-down on a hosed-off plastic tarp. Seriously, that is exactly the way in which the water ran down my face. I even heard tiny little voices screaming “yaaaay!”, but that might have been my imagination or perhaps a hunger-induced hallucination. After whooping and grinning through the storm, we paddled past a rainbow and arrived a couple hours later at a small river-side restaurant and hot springs. We relaxed in the steamy, farty-smelling water while this delightfully functioning restaurant fried us up a mess o’ fish and fries. We ate dinner as the sun set, and paddled the last half an hour to our lodge as dusk made itself at home on the glassy water.
The next day, we hired a local guide to take us on a sweet hike through the jungle, which was totally worth it—he took us to a delightfully cold swimming hole and a muggy cave and pointed out the local plants and bugs, and also brought us through a couple small villages, which were beautiful. It was sweaty as the dang Dickens but I’ve never hiked through such eyeball-explodin’ awesomeness before (sorry, Erika—too soon?). That evening was our last, and we risked the crocodiles by goin’ off the rope swing into the river after dinner. Sing-alongs were had with an Israeli guy and his guitar and egg-shakers, cold beers were consumed and many a special moment was passed listening to the frogs holler at each other. I peed under a tree next the bathroom-turned-tarantula-hotel one last time, clamored up the wooden staircase like an albino spider monkey, crawled into my squishy, mosquito-netted bunk, and fell asleep listening to the sprinkle-sprankle of jungle night-life one last time. The next morning, after breakfast, Chops and I hugged our buddies goodbye and headed home.
Brief summary for those of you who only have time for the Cliff Notes edition: Chops and I had a blasty-blast in various bodies of water and/or trees. We made lots of rad friends and it was the best time ever and that is what I did on my summer vacation the END.
Love,
Hayley
1 comment:
How many of you guys get doughnut vendors selling hot fresh-baked items for a dime apiece a-comin’ to your door every dang ol day? JUST ME I WIN. Suckers!
Hahaha LMAO. You are funny! I will start reading your blog regularly! You could write standup =)
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