sittin' on our sittin' hill
lookin down toward Alubaren from my Secret Area
igor pretending he is a greyhound
oh man this is so Purina
for those of you familiar with the Sexy Bear Pose, this is the Sexy Igor Pose.
hunting moths.
me and the fam
oh, just indians and i (anner and eliezer)
goofy Lempiras
you can't shoot me with an arrow! barack obama will bring the pain.
sassy indian maidens.
waiting for the parade AKA lap around the park.
this little guy won the boys' fashion show. because of his excessive soot, i believe. some of my little buddies marching around, pretending to be indians.
9 August 2009
Hey, chochachos!
So I am extremely pissed at Igor, because I just spent like 20 minutes looking for my camera, which I was sure I’d left sitting in its little case on the plastic lawn chair I have for such purposes (storing items/bottoms). After searching all two rooms in my house extensively, I glanced outside and saw the telltale silver glint, nestled gently in a heap of dried grass and burned garbage that Igor likes to nap in. Two feet away was the black carrying case, neatly shredded—Igor made sure to ruin all the zippers so it no longer closes. Even though I know you’re not supposed to punish the dog unless you catch him in the act, I still spanked Igor like three times with a flip-flop, which is our usual method of behavior control. Fortunately, the camera seems to work just fine…otherwise I probably would still be spanking Igor. IGOR. HOW DARE YOU TOUCH THINGS ON MY SPECIAL LAWN CHAIR.
I forgive him, though, because he is but a nine-month-old puppy face and doesn’t know about things such as “electronics” and “warranty” and “respecting Hayley’s property.” He’s much more hyper now than he used to be (maybe because we finally nicked that blood parasite) and also more mischievous…he has yet to ruin anything valuable of mine but he loves to take things outside and leap around with them in his mouth, most especially brooms and plastic soda bottles. Oh, how Igor loves brooms. He grabs them right in the middle of the broomstick and then prances all over the yard like a tightrope freak. One time he was galloping around with his favorite broom and tried to race into the doorway. Totally t-boned himself. It was extremely hilarious. Yesterday was a lazy Saturday afternoon, so I decided to take Igor on one of our late-afternoon Adventures. We had just had a 20 minute thunderstorm so everything was nice and drippy and there was great cloud cover, which means one can traipse about in the out-of-doors and not risk bring fried to death. We head out behind my house, cross a little creek, scramble up a steep slope for like 15 minutes, and then it’s a sweet hike through scrubby bushes and moss-covered rocks to my favorite sitting place, which is a great open hill. I can sit there and look down at the whole little valley, look at my pueblo and listen to everything around me. Sitting up above a town means that if you listen carefully enough you can hear hells of different layers of noises and sounds. And since the hill is surrounded by mango groves and a heavily-forested river gully, there is a whole other dimension of natural noises. So Igor sprints around and flattens himself in the grass and explodes out like a lion and does other puppy things while I sit on the very highest point of the hill and chill out under the warm drippy clouds and listen. Whinnying horses, grunting pigs, crowing roosters, thumping soccer balls, pulsing reggaeton, roaring motorcycles, chirping and singing birds, barking dogs, shrieking or crying or shouting kids, and nagging mothers…plus all the buzzing and humming bugs that live in the grass. This is probably the closest to meditating I will ever get. I like to practice what I call “light yoga,” which basically involves me sitting down and occasionally sipping from a can of guava juice I’d brought.
After our adventure, Igor and I hiked back home and headed to the plaza, because Alubarén is currently in feria, which is a tradition every municipality of moderate girth practices. Think of the summertime country fairs of America, and remove everything except mobile vendors offering crappy food and plastic jewelry, and you’ve basically got a Honduran feria. Of course, bigger and richer communities often have really awesome ferias, but Alubarén’s is completely lame (and I say that with love). Basically it’s just a yearly opportunity for all the drunks to go on a four-day bender and for people to sell fried tacos and grilled meat. But they have little activities every day, like folk dancing and live music (I got to lay in bed and listen to a Garifuna punta band cover Mexican mariachi artist Vicente Fernandez songs until 2:00am last night), and other typical Honduran feria events, such as “catch the greased-up pig” (the prize is the pig), “climb the greased-up pole” (the prize is being totally greasy afterwards), and my favorite, “El Toro Fuego,” which involves no grease and lots of pyrotechnics. Basically a dude puts a giant metal cage on his head designed to look like a bull’s head, and packs it with fireworks and shooting sparks and then chases the village children around while exploding all over the place. Totally insanely dangerous. I love it. Last time I saw a Toro Fuego was in Reitoca’s feria, and I totally punched a dude in the face during the panic. This time, I was in the park with Nely and the kids when the Toro Fuego guy burst out of no where. Everyone took off screaming and I tripped on and nearly trampled to death an 8-year-old boy. Whoopsies! That was last night, and tonight they’re going to have another favorite of mine, El Rifeo, in which all the men in town cross-dress and strut around in borrowed skirts and tube tops with socks stuffed into the bras. I’m as shocked as you are that this type of gender-bending occurs in Machismo-Land, but apparently it’s a big deal and the sexist man gets a prize. For the rest of the feria, they have a bunch of activities lifted from any American high school’s social calander, such as a night of karaoke, a dance off, several modeling competitions for both genders, and the selection and crowning of the Queen of the Feria.
So basically, I have not been wanting for entertainment these days. A couple weeks ago Honduras celebrated National Indian Day, in which they commemorate their tribal roots by forcing all the kids to come to school half-naked and march around town while doing the stereotypical Indian war-whoop, which is exactly the same in America (you know, the woo-woo-woo thing with the open hand and the mouth). I say forced, but the kids under 10 really do love it. The all come in skimpy little outfits made of grasses, corn husks, banana leaves, or, in the cases of more technologically-advanced Indians, cardboard and plastic. Chicken feathers are stuck in braids or headbands, and the girls often carry little baskets of squash or corn. The boys totally lucked out on accessories, because they get to carry sweet bows and arrows, many of which actually work. Also, soot is a very popular cosmetic—most of the boys have sooty moustaches or beards, as well as a liberal application all over the body (thus teaching the young folks that Indians are filthy and maybe slept in ovens). I was wandering around the school taking pictures when the principal saw me and asked me if I’d like to be a judge in the post-parade fashion show (the best Indian got like 100 lempiras as a prize), which I most certainly DID. It was adorable, though some of the little kids were too scared to model their outfits (one unfortunate first grader’s mom had made her a mermaid-esque bra thing with round gourds covered in chicken feathers, and the boys kept shouting TITTIES! at her until she ran home crying). For my judging services, they paid me in an ice-cold coke, which was extremely tasty. Oh, how I love soda.
This past week was also special because John, The Prince of Alubarén, aka the volunteer who lived here before me, came back for a brief two-day visit. Even a year after his departure I still hear stories and affectionate reflection about him almost every day. I can honestly say I don’t think there is a person who lives here who doesn’t consider him a good friend…he is so LOVED. It’s beautiful. So it was rad to see him back in town, interacting with all his old friends and neighbors. It was also really fun getting to know him, because I’d only really met him once and he’s maybe the nicest dude in the world. He and his college buddy Brice had been backpacking around Central America for a couple weeks and Alubarén was one of their last stops…so they tramped around the town saying hello-and-goodbye to everyone, while I went about my merry ways of stopping teen pregnancy and teaching English. They bought me dinner at all three of the little eateries in town and we spent our two nights chilling in my hammocks, drinking illegally purchased beer, and playing Fart Tennis (they mopped the floor with my ass). It makes me excited for when I come back to visit in a couple years. I hope the volunteer here when I return has ample hammock space and a talent for pedos.
In case anyone is wondering what exactly is happening with our whole military coup/political crisis thing, my advice is to check google, ‘cause I got no idea. After several weeks of relative chill-ness, things have started to heat up again—this week, some pro-Mel demonstrators burned a public city bus and a huge Popeye’s restaurant (yes, the fried chicken chain). A couple weeks ago, Zelaya tried to enter the country through a Nicaraguan border and failed, and then camped out there for several days, hollering at his supporters through a bullhorn. Micheletti is still in power and Zelaya still wants to come back, but they’ve resolved nothing. They’re still involved in peace talks with the Costa Rican President Arias as a mediator, but it doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere, especially since word on the street is that Arias now has the pig flu (excuse me I mean H1N1). Honestly, the general elections for the new president are in three months…at this point the easiest solution would be to let Micheletti stay in power until then. But I guess that ain’t exactly fair or legal…maybe they should make a chart and take turns. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Micheletti gets to be prez, and Tuesday, Thursday, and the weekend, Zelaya is in charge. I will email this idea to the Government.
And finally, in the Bowels News of the day, I recently went to Tegus following a nasty three-week bout of POMP and was given serious antibiotics for the intestinal infection I had acquired. I am now healthy for what seems like the first time in hella days, and I must say, this whole “being hungry” and “being able to eat food without immediately expelling it into my latrine with the force and cadence of a trumpet corp” is a pretty sweet deal. Hooray and hot damn for health.
Well my my will you look at that, it is 12:30pm AKA TIME FOR SOME TORTILLAS AND BEANS AND CHEESE!
Loooooove,
Hayley
Hey, chochachos!
So I am extremely pissed at Igor, because I just spent like 20 minutes looking for my camera, which I was sure I’d left sitting in its little case on the plastic lawn chair I have for such purposes (storing items/bottoms). After searching all two rooms in my house extensively, I glanced outside and saw the telltale silver glint, nestled gently in a heap of dried grass and burned garbage that Igor likes to nap in. Two feet away was the black carrying case, neatly shredded—Igor made sure to ruin all the zippers so it no longer closes. Even though I know you’re not supposed to punish the dog unless you catch him in the act, I still spanked Igor like three times with a flip-flop, which is our usual method of behavior control. Fortunately, the camera seems to work just fine…otherwise I probably would still be spanking Igor. IGOR. HOW DARE YOU TOUCH THINGS ON MY SPECIAL LAWN CHAIR.
I forgive him, though, because he is but a nine-month-old puppy face and doesn’t know about things such as “electronics” and “warranty” and “respecting Hayley’s property.” He’s much more hyper now than he used to be (maybe because we finally nicked that blood parasite) and also more mischievous…he has yet to ruin anything valuable of mine but he loves to take things outside and leap around with them in his mouth, most especially brooms and plastic soda bottles. Oh, how Igor loves brooms. He grabs them right in the middle of the broomstick and then prances all over the yard like a tightrope freak. One time he was galloping around with his favorite broom and tried to race into the doorway. Totally t-boned himself. It was extremely hilarious. Yesterday was a lazy Saturday afternoon, so I decided to take Igor on one of our late-afternoon Adventures. We had just had a 20 minute thunderstorm so everything was nice and drippy and there was great cloud cover, which means one can traipse about in the out-of-doors and not risk bring fried to death. We head out behind my house, cross a little creek, scramble up a steep slope for like 15 minutes, and then it’s a sweet hike through scrubby bushes and moss-covered rocks to my favorite sitting place, which is a great open hill. I can sit there and look down at the whole little valley, look at my pueblo and listen to everything around me. Sitting up above a town means that if you listen carefully enough you can hear hells of different layers of noises and sounds. And since the hill is surrounded by mango groves and a heavily-forested river gully, there is a whole other dimension of natural noises. So Igor sprints around and flattens himself in the grass and explodes out like a lion and does other puppy things while I sit on the very highest point of the hill and chill out under the warm drippy clouds and listen. Whinnying horses, grunting pigs, crowing roosters, thumping soccer balls, pulsing reggaeton, roaring motorcycles, chirping and singing birds, barking dogs, shrieking or crying or shouting kids, and nagging mothers…plus all the buzzing and humming bugs that live in the grass. This is probably the closest to meditating I will ever get. I like to practice what I call “light yoga,” which basically involves me sitting down and occasionally sipping from a can of guava juice I’d brought.
After our adventure, Igor and I hiked back home and headed to the plaza, because Alubarén is currently in feria, which is a tradition every municipality of moderate girth practices. Think of the summertime country fairs of America, and remove everything except mobile vendors offering crappy food and plastic jewelry, and you’ve basically got a Honduran feria. Of course, bigger and richer communities often have really awesome ferias, but Alubarén’s is completely lame (and I say that with love). Basically it’s just a yearly opportunity for all the drunks to go on a four-day bender and for people to sell fried tacos and grilled meat. But they have little activities every day, like folk dancing and live music (I got to lay in bed and listen to a Garifuna punta band cover Mexican mariachi artist Vicente Fernandez songs until 2:00am last night), and other typical Honduran feria events, such as “catch the greased-up pig” (the prize is the pig), “climb the greased-up pole” (the prize is being totally greasy afterwards), and my favorite, “El Toro Fuego,” which involves no grease and lots of pyrotechnics. Basically a dude puts a giant metal cage on his head designed to look like a bull’s head, and packs it with fireworks and shooting sparks and then chases the village children around while exploding all over the place. Totally insanely dangerous. I love it. Last time I saw a Toro Fuego was in Reitoca’s feria, and I totally punched a dude in the face during the panic. This time, I was in the park with Nely and the kids when the Toro Fuego guy burst out of no where. Everyone took off screaming and I tripped on and nearly trampled to death an 8-year-old boy. Whoopsies! That was last night, and tonight they’re going to have another favorite of mine, El Rifeo, in which all the men in town cross-dress and strut around in borrowed skirts and tube tops with socks stuffed into the bras. I’m as shocked as you are that this type of gender-bending occurs in Machismo-Land, but apparently it’s a big deal and the sexist man gets a prize. For the rest of the feria, they have a bunch of activities lifted from any American high school’s social calander, such as a night of karaoke, a dance off, several modeling competitions for both genders, and the selection and crowning of the Queen of the Feria.
So basically, I have not been wanting for entertainment these days. A couple weeks ago Honduras celebrated National Indian Day, in which they commemorate their tribal roots by forcing all the kids to come to school half-naked and march around town while doing the stereotypical Indian war-whoop, which is exactly the same in America (you know, the woo-woo-woo thing with the open hand and the mouth). I say forced, but the kids under 10 really do love it. The all come in skimpy little outfits made of grasses, corn husks, banana leaves, or, in the cases of more technologically-advanced Indians, cardboard and plastic. Chicken feathers are stuck in braids or headbands, and the girls often carry little baskets of squash or corn. The boys totally lucked out on accessories, because they get to carry sweet bows and arrows, many of which actually work. Also, soot is a very popular cosmetic—most of the boys have sooty moustaches or beards, as well as a liberal application all over the body (thus teaching the young folks that Indians are filthy and maybe slept in ovens). I was wandering around the school taking pictures when the principal saw me and asked me if I’d like to be a judge in the post-parade fashion show (the best Indian got like 100 lempiras as a prize), which I most certainly DID. It was adorable, though some of the little kids were too scared to model their outfits (one unfortunate first grader’s mom had made her a mermaid-esque bra thing with round gourds covered in chicken feathers, and the boys kept shouting TITTIES! at her until she ran home crying). For my judging services, they paid me in an ice-cold coke, which was extremely tasty. Oh, how I love soda.
This past week was also special because John, The Prince of Alubarén, aka the volunteer who lived here before me, came back for a brief two-day visit. Even a year after his departure I still hear stories and affectionate reflection about him almost every day. I can honestly say I don’t think there is a person who lives here who doesn’t consider him a good friend…he is so LOVED. It’s beautiful. So it was rad to see him back in town, interacting with all his old friends and neighbors. It was also really fun getting to know him, because I’d only really met him once and he’s maybe the nicest dude in the world. He and his college buddy Brice had been backpacking around Central America for a couple weeks and Alubarén was one of their last stops…so they tramped around the town saying hello-and-goodbye to everyone, while I went about my merry ways of stopping teen pregnancy and teaching English. They bought me dinner at all three of the little eateries in town and we spent our two nights chilling in my hammocks, drinking illegally purchased beer, and playing Fart Tennis (they mopped the floor with my ass). It makes me excited for when I come back to visit in a couple years. I hope the volunteer here when I return has ample hammock space and a talent for pedos.
In case anyone is wondering what exactly is happening with our whole military coup/political crisis thing, my advice is to check google, ‘cause I got no idea. After several weeks of relative chill-ness, things have started to heat up again—this week, some pro-Mel demonstrators burned a public city bus and a huge Popeye’s restaurant (yes, the fried chicken chain). A couple weeks ago, Zelaya tried to enter the country through a Nicaraguan border and failed, and then camped out there for several days, hollering at his supporters through a bullhorn. Micheletti is still in power and Zelaya still wants to come back, but they’ve resolved nothing. They’re still involved in peace talks with the Costa Rican President Arias as a mediator, but it doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere, especially since word on the street is that Arias now has the pig flu (excuse me I mean H1N1). Honestly, the general elections for the new president are in three months…at this point the easiest solution would be to let Micheletti stay in power until then. But I guess that ain’t exactly fair or legal…maybe they should make a chart and take turns. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Micheletti gets to be prez, and Tuesday, Thursday, and the weekend, Zelaya is in charge. I will email this idea to the Government.
And finally, in the Bowels News of the day, I recently went to Tegus following a nasty three-week bout of POMP and was given serious antibiotics for the intestinal infection I had acquired. I am now healthy for what seems like the first time in hella days, and I must say, this whole “being hungry” and “being able to eat food without immediately expelling it into my latrine with the force and cadence of a trumpet corp” is a pretty sweet deal. Hooray and hot damn for health.
Well my my will you look at that, it is 12:30pm AKA TIME FOR SOME TORTILLAS AND BEANS AND CHEESE!
Loooooove,
Hayley
