tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67592946342019665402024-03-13T06:56:41.361-07:00Hayley in HondurasHey, chochachos! The time has come for me to head on down to Honduras for a couple years, lend a hand and spread some love. And scabies...oh, the scabies I shall spread. Also, in case anyone was curious, The Contents Of This Website Are Mine Personally and Do Not Reflect Any Position of the US Government or the Peace Corps.Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-48382250501826699552010-10-28T08:36:00.001-07:002010-10-28T08:49:16.285-07:00slumber party with credit cards<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmaFvLU7hI/AAAAAAAAA3A/QhAdAyAyMjU/s1600/IMG_7664.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533123040555363858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmaFvLU7hI/AAAAAAAAA3A/QhAdAyAyMjU/s320/IMG_7664.JPG" border="0" /></a> Kayleigh, Hayley, Igor, and Andri...posing in front of my house at the end of the adventure.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmaE4Jg-WI/AAAAAAAAA24/iRARRS0Gyog/s1600/IMG_7633.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533123025783814498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmaE4Jg-WI/AAAAAAAAA24/iRARRS0Gyog/s320/IMG_7633.JPG" border="0" /></a> man she got pollen all OVA her face.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmaEDCQ14I/AAAAAAAAA2w/-zxDMiuzgTA/s1600/IMG_7628.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533123011526317954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmaEDCQ14I/AAAAAAAAA2w/-zxDMiuzgTA/s320/IMG_7628.JPG" border="0" /></a> Lago Atitlan.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ1pdR0OI/AAAAAAAAA2o/FJGqt7IOgC0/s1600/IMG_7626.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533122764142137570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ1pdR0OI/AAAAAAAAA2o/FJGqt7IOgC0/s320/IMG_7626.JPG" border="0" /></a> flowers will you make me an honest woman.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ1T3o8jI/AAAAAAAAA2g/Tg_6Rzh2M-4/s1600/IMG_7603.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533122758347125298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ1T3o8jI/AAAAAAAAA2g/Tg_6Rzh2M-4/s320/IMG_7603.JPG" border="0" /></a> kayleigh, posing above the lovliest swimmin' hole ever.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ1GWOpTI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/ZjhQ4cwmHyU/s1600/IMG_7587.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533122754717328690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ1GWOpTI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/ZjhQ4cwmHyU/s320/IMG_7587.JPG" border="0" /></a> more semuc champey!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ05Bf1hI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/60A3AHr0FZ8/s1600/IMG_7571.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533122751140714002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ05Bf1hI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/60A3AHr0FZ8/s320/IMG_7571.JPG" border="0" /></a> oh. my. heaaaaaaaveeennnssssss.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ0p4y5iI/AAAAAAAAA2I/B5Zxs56eKoA/s1600/IMG_7546.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533122747077682722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmZ0p4y5iI/AAAAAAAAA2I/B5Zxs56eKoA/s320/IMG_7546.JPG" border="0" /></a> petrified by heighs after a staggering ascent.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY7w4hPPI/AAAAAAAAA2A/FSP82lH4pkI/s1600/IMG_7494.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533121769703030002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY7w4hPPI/AAAAAAAAA2A/FSP82lH4pkI/s320/IMG_7494.JPG" border="0" /></a> here is kayleigh, dwarfed by stone.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY55KJ9qI/AAAAAAAAA14/-UCX_t_pR4Q/s1600/IMG_7463.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533121737564747426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY55KJ9qI/AAAAAAAAA14/-UCX_t_pR4Q/s320/IMG_7463.JPG" border="0" /></a> doin' handstands on the rio dulce.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY4Id_EuI/AAAAAAAAA1w/Dz_dzO3Z-90/s1600/IMG_7456.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533121707314713314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY4Id_EuI/AAAAAAAAA1w/Dz_dzO3Z-90/s320/IMG_7456.JPG" border="0" /></a> en la selva.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY3sk0O0I/AAAAAAAAA1o/rFYEPVrkxFw/s1600/IMG_7426.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533121699827170114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY3sk0O0I/AAAAAAAAA1o/rFYEPVrkxFw/s320/IMG_7426.JPG" border="0" /></a> gabe, heide, and kayleigh during our many kayaking adventures.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY1t_lhYI/AAAAAAAAA1g/5OD40j1U3uE/s1600/IMG_7390.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533121665848149378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TMmY1t_lhYI/AAAAAAAAA1g/5OD40j1U3uE/s320/IMG_7390.JPG" border="0" /></a> crazy eerie mangrove channels. LOOKIT THE REFLECTIONZ.<br /><br /><div><strong>27 October 2010<br /></strong>Hey, chochachos! Heaven knows what you people have been doing to entertain your minds during my long blog hiatus, but I can only hope it’s been productive and enlightening. You’ve all probably been brain-storming about your respective Halloween costumes, buyin’ the fabric store out of fake bear fur and googly eyes…time to get SEXY! Am I right, or am I right? As I shall be spending my third consecutive Halloween here in Honduras, where there is no real candy to be found and no one dresses up, I’ll probably spend the night weeping alone in my hammock and sucking down pineapple juice, pausing occasionally to stagger outside and contemplate the spooky, scary moon while Igor tries in vain to wiggle out of the adorable rotten pumpkin costume I will make him out of a garbage bag. </div><div> </div><div><br />In the past one and a half months, I have leapt over the chasm of uncertainty and fully transitioned from a humble volunteer to just another unemployed twenty-something in need of a haircut. During the first couple weeks in September, I finished up all my projects and then headed to Tegucigalpa for the week, for our “Closing of Service” examinations and final interviews. I turned in many a report to the Peace Corps, who responded by giving my tender areas a cursory prodding (all healthy, yippee) and tossing my residency card into the incinerator. “Peace out, loser,” said Uncle Sam, and suddenly I found myself just another tourist in the donut-hole of Central America. I spent a week moseying around, saying adios to various old host families from training and visiting a few pals. Then I headed back to the Lubey Lubes on October 1 for a surprise attack on Douglas’ third birthday, arriving in style in the back of a dump truck (no buses due to rain) with a cake, piñata and crappy plastic tricycle balanced on my knees. The kids were delighted and much merriment was exchanged. I hung around for a few more days, being a creepy doppelganger on poor Margaret, the new volunteer, and enjoying the novelty of lying in my hammock all morning and not feeling guilty about it. Then I carefully rolled my shorts, undies and t-shirts into little burritos and inserted them into my backpack, tossed my house keys to Nely and the kids, and strolled out of town to go north and meet the one and only Kayleigh Gamble, my partner in crime from the ‘ol college days. </div><div> </div><div><br />Ah, to be free! No more reporting vacation days and telling the Peace Corps where I am (or rather, explicitly not doing that and hoping they won’t find out), no more cramming two weeks of adventures into five days because I have to get back to site…let me tell you what, people, ain’t nothin’ like traveling around as an unemployed person. (Money concerns not being an issue because when you use a credit card, it’s like the ATM is giving you money for free…hell yes, Science.) Fortunately, Kayleigh is also wallowing happily in the mucky-muck of semi-employment, and was able to obtain three whole weeks from her employer. The dame stepped off the airplane with a saucy little travel pack and a duffle sagging with forty pounds of SNACKS. Freakin’ chex mix…reeses peanut butter cups…trail mix…pretzels….dried fruit…for she is a lady of my own heart. Of course, adventuring around with Kayleigh would have been just as awesome without the duffle ‘o snacks. First of all, she is a smoky burrito of kindness, excellent humor, insatiable spunk for adventure, and silliness, with a mixture of shredded intelligence and wit melted on top. Mmm. Second of all, our names rhyme. This was an issue we addressed when we lived together in The Tit by creating nicknames, which were Turbo (me) and Nitro (her). However, these don’t translate as well in Spanish, or to the international backpacker community (which is made up mostly of 20-year-old Israeli dudes with pierced nipples and bulging muscles, we found), so we soon developed a great comedic timing when people inevitably asked our names. “I’m Hayley,” I would respond, looking to Kayleigh mischievously. “And I’m Kayleigh,” she would say with a sigh, rolling her eyes, both of us obviously so over the fact that we had rhyming names and were traveling together. Man, we had fun. </div><div> </div><div><br />Snacks in tow, we headed to the Honduran coastal town of Omoa, where, according to Kayleigh, we spent the afternoon riding beach cruisers around in the surrounding villages “just like Korean business men” (in that we were incongruous to the environment and the people, obviously). I love riding bikes. We spent the night at a little backpacker’s hostel called Roli’s Place, which had beautiful green lawns, mossy mango trees and at least four different bunnies hopping around. However, they go on my Screw That Noise List because when the lady discovered that Kayleigh and I had climbed a tree to eat some snacks and contemplate the late afternoon, she screamed at us for like four minutes, some nonsense about “you are not children” and “I can’t believe you would smash an orchid like that.” Alright YES WE SMASHED AN ORCHID AND I AM VERY SORRY, <em>but</em> it was already half dead, <em>and</em> there were like 5,000 other orchids all over the place. And it wasn’t even flowering. We felt ashamed but later just pity, because she thinks climbing trees is an activity restricted only to children and will never know the magic of eye-level epiphytes at sunset. In retaliation, Kayleigh snapped off a piece of the water faucet in the bathroom (she claims it was “accidental,” but I saw right through that little facade). The next day, we scurried away under the lady’s reproachful glare and swung across the border into the little Guatemalan Caribbean town of Puerto Barrios, where we ate some beans and then took a boat up the Rio Dulce. We then alighted at my favorite little lodge, the Finca Tatin, which is a bunch of awesome tree-house bungalows in the dang jungle, right on the edge of the deliciously green river, which flows lazily to the sea. We’d been there not an hour when, low and below, who steps onto the dock but none other than MY FAVORITE PEACE CORPS BUDDY GABE!!! And his lady Heide!!! I almost peed myself with surprise and delight (actually, I might have let a couple drops escape…my bladder control ain’t what it used to be) and we celebrated this most unlikely coincidence by immediately hurling ourselves off the rope swing into the river. The four of us spent the next three days kayaking miles down-river and into eerie mangrove channels, hiking in the jungle, eating copious amounts of delicious food, sweating out toxins in the Mayan sauna, and then replacing the toxins by drinking cold beers in the hammocks. It was delicious.</div><div> </div><div><br />Our upper arm muscles bulging like the youth of Israel from all that kayakin’, Kaylz and Haylz then bussed it north many hours to the little town of El Remate, which is between Flores and the Mayan ruins of Tikal. We spent the night at an eco-lodge called “Mirador del Duende,” in a little open-air adobe hut, which the Flintstones might have enjoyed had they really wanted to contract scabies and sleep on filthy mattresses that smelled like a homeless grandma. The next day we wasted all kinds of time and hitch-hiked into the ruins by early afternoon, just in time for the crowds to dwindle, but far too late to miss the once-a-year opportunity of “Dia de la Raza” (sort of like cultural history day), in which all the important Mayan chiefs come and do hella important ceremonies with their villages. JAGUARS BE DAMNED. We totally missed all the dancing and everything…but at least we were able to waft some smoke from the smoldering ceremonial fires onto our t-shirts. The families walking around were dressed in beautiful typical Mayan dress, with loom-woven skirts and embroidered shirts. We scrambled all over the ruins, drinking bottled water and taking pictures, just as the Mayan gods would have wanted it. We saw the sunset atop the breathtakingly-high Temple IV, which towers above the jungle canopy and was maybe one of the most beautiful evenings I’ve ever experienced. The ruins are built within the dense jungle, connected by narrow paths and neat signs, and the forest is filled with all kinds of monkeys (we saw howlers and spider) and birds and crazy mammals. In the evening, everyone starts hollering and the noise is majestic. That night, we camped in the grounds just outside the entrance to the park, suffering terrible cold and what was perhaps the Nastiest Mattress In the World (we fools opted not to bring my tent and camping supplies, thus falling to the mercy of the Guatemalan parks service). We spread our raincoats on top and spooned. We awoke at 4:00am, hustled to the entrance and tried to bribe our way into the park two hours early to watch the sun rise from Temple IV, a common activity, but the guards had drank too much Asshole Power Shake that morning and spitefully refused us entry. When we finally were allowed in at 6:00am, when the park opens for realz, we’d missed the real sunrise and I was supremely pissed. Kayleigh calmed me while I spat angry bitter words at the selfish pricks, and we galloped off to the temple to see what was left of Father Sun stretching his melty fingers over the treetops.</div><div> </div><div><br />Our next stop was what is often toted as “the most beautiful place in Guatemala,” Semuc Champey. I didn’t really know what to expect, other than “a real pretty swimmin’ hole.” Oh my my, oh yes yes, it was. We drove for like seven hours south from Flores, through winding mountains and little villages, roaring past women and children walking along the road, dressed like cotton rainbows and carrying mysterious bundles of woven blankets on their backs by way of forehead strap. We finally arrived in the little town of Lanquin, which I can only imagine used to be a quiet little village until people discovered that tourists would pay money to go swim in their river. Now, it’s blossomed into a rather bustling little town full of hostels and places to eat. Kayleigh and I decided to feed the social monkey on our backs and stay at the “El Retiro Lodge,” which is nestled on a lovely rushing river and has over 100 beds, all filled with dirty backpackers (mostly Israelis). Clutching my dinner tray and staring at the buzzing open-air dining room, scanning the tables for a pair of seats near the cool kids…my god, it was like being back in middle school. Only with beer and less social anxiety…and my armpit glands produce far less sweat now than they did then. We did indeed make some friends, and it was a fun couple of nights, I must say. But the best part was the next day when they toted us all along the windy roads for half an hour to some awesome underground caves, filled with a rushing river which we have to navigate as we scrambled around, waving candles and gasping through waterfalls. After the cave adventure, we hiked a bit into the National Park and…my god. It was like something out of Fern Gully. Nestled in a towering mountain canyon of dangly jungle lies a series of deep limestone pools, all bright turquoise. The water is deliciously cool and so crystal clear you can see it when the fish poop. The water comes roaring down the mountain and grinds its way under a 20 meter natural bridge of rock, then suddenly calms and becomes....the most beautiful spot in Guatemala. We spent the afternoon diving around like awestruck mermaids and buying homemade chocolate from local kids. I’ll never look at the color blue the same way again.</div><div> </div><div><br />“Enough nature, let’s go buy textiles,” said we, and so it came to pass. Kayleigh and I bussed it to Guatemala City, and then on down to Lago Atitlan, an enormous clear lake in the south-west-ish part of the country, bordered by hells of volcanoes and beautiful little traditional villages (at this point, I might as well just admit that I always felt too embarrassed to aim my camera at unsuspecting village women, so I in fact have nary a picture of their traditional dress, which is shameful and sad. Whatever, though, you guys can just go to Wikipedia.). Kayleigh and I spent the next four nights delighting in the lake, trying to stop each other from buying 90 pounds of woven items and other artisania but ending up just enable one another in such binges (ah, textiles, the crack cocaine of the tasteful lady) and making more new friends. We stayed in the town of Santa Cruz, at this cool little hostel called La Iguana Perdida. The food was INCREDIBLE, the beds were clean and comfy (we stayed in another open-air room, but it was 7 kinds of delightful), and the people were lovely, too. We spent a day hiking for four hours through a literal orgy of wildflowers, and came home with so much pollen on our noses that our day-long binge of my second-favorite drug of choice (next to handmade crap) was obvious to everyone. Flowers I love you flowers! We went to the market one day and attended a cross-dressing bon-fire party one night, as well (not much of a stretch for certain individuals). After several nights on the lake, though, it was time to leave (Kayleigh was close to getting us kicked out for befriending the kitchen ladies and trying to help them chop vegetables, a noted no-no).</div><div> </div><div><br />We bussed it back up toward the city and parked ourselves in Antigua for the night, where we wandered for close to an hour before we found my most delightful Peace Corps friend’s grandmother’s house, a beautiful old home in the center of town. Despite our tardiness, Ana’s grandma Margarita and her mother, Sonia, who happened to be visiting from the states, greeted us in their time-worn nighties and presented us with bowls of beans, fancy French bread, and fistfuls of Milk Duds and Whoppers. We all giggled in Spanish late into the night before tucking in, lulled to sleep by the indignant commentary of Roberto, the pet parrot. I pretended Margarita was my Guatemalen grandmother and it was delightful. The next day, deliciously well-rested, Kayleigh and I headed to the capital and began the multi-bus adventure down into El Salvador and to the coast, where we crashed onto my most favorite beach just after sunset. I’ve had the good luck to visit Playa El Zonte about three times previous, and it was just as excellent as always…huge waves, black sparkly sand, toasty sandwiches and hunky dudes all over the place. Mmm, surfers. Kayleigh and I spent the next day riding waves and exploring tide pools, and had the great fortune to have arrived on the same night as a local “Gastronomical Fair.” We rode in the back of a truck bed with the rest of the hotel’s staff for half an hour in the warm, salty air under a perfect full moon, spotting owls and enjoying the way pine trees frame the Mama Moon. Then I ate so much awesome food I was farting out my ears and it was amazing. Tamales, soup, empanadas, cake, hot cocoa…my god. Once we got back, I played a late-night game of ping-pong with a goofy, tender-hearted local guy named Javier, which turned into an all-night series of conversations about everything and culminated in a beautiful sunrise. A few hours later, he cheerfully (albeit drowsily) drove Kayleigh and I into the capital, where we caught a series of buses all the way to the Honduran border and he hurried home to have his weekly fish lunch with his grandpa. Then, hip hooray, hot damn and hell yes, Honduras Honduras Honduras! After two weeks of amazing adventures, I couldn’t believe how happy I was to be home once again. We crashed at my Peace Corps friend Jessie’s home, and I bummed around the south for two days while Kayleigh rekindled friendships in several villages where she had volunteered a couple years ago. We met up two days later, bussed into Alubarén, and Kayleigh was given the whirl-wind tour, complete with swimmin’ hole cannon balls and meetin’ the baby possee. (The kids had made a surprise for me—a two-layer mud-cake with rose-petal décor, and the ladies made me another—six sheets embroidered with various sentences and images, including a huge one of Igor and his brother, Kaiser, facing one another, which were all layed out on my bed with a sign on top declaring everyone’s love for me.) My god but it’s good to be home. We spent the night in our final embrace of pretend sisterhood and the next day, our Slumber Party with Credit Cards was officially over, as Kayleigh headed out solo to catch her flight up in San Pedro Sula and I was left with nothing but salty tears, an over-squeezed heart, and way too many tiny woven coin purses. </div><div> </div><div><br />Dudes and ladies, I would like to reflect further on what it’s like to be in the final stretch of my Honduran life, as I leave in exactly 10 days for the United States of Deliciousness, but it is late and I am sleepy and I must awaken in the bowels of the night to take Igor on the 4am bus to Tegus so the vet can declare him healthy enough for you people. Therefore, please await Part II of the Final Blog in the coming weeks, in which I shall ruminate poetically about what it’s like to leave your second family behind in a cloud of jet exhaust. Until then…nighty night.</div><div> </div><div><br />Looooove,<br />Hayley </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-17244526012811800482010-09-10T12:28:00.000-07:002010-09-10T13:01:19.746-07:00i just made some delicious soup everybody<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqLiIwPsqI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/lntbh8pvXz8/s1600/IMG_7104.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515374112250245794" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqLiIwPsqI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/lntbh8pvXz8/s320/IMG_7104.JPG" /></a> chipilín. mmmmm tasty.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqLh_GlTKI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/UoCHHWB-x9Y/s1600/IMG_7103.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515374109659581602" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqLh_GlTKI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/UoCHHWB-x9Y/s320/IMG_7103.JPG" /></a><br />anona is a delicious fruit. it looks like an artichoke but it ain´t....it´s sweet and pulpy and has lots of black seeds.<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIflpljXI/AAAAAAAAA1I/q9V9Ky5ph4U/s1600/IMG_7092.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515370769932455282" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIflpljXI/AAAAAAAAA1I/q9V9Ky5ph4U/s320/IMG_7092.JPG" /></a> igor and kaiser love each other very much. that is true.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIfYO-xDI/AAAAAAAAA1A/b2nQvNtsUAI/s1600/IMG_7084.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515370766331200562" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIfYO-xDI/AAAAAAAAA1A/b2nQvNtsUAI/s320/IMG_7084.JPG" /></a> awesome dusk rainbow i saw the other day...NO BIG DEAL.<br /></div><div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIe0ud5eI/AAAAAAAAA04/sfxoz7_fbRc/s1600/IMG_7082.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515370756799587810" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIe0ud5eI/AAAAAAAAA04/sfxoz7_fbRc/s320/IMG_7082.JPG" /></a> two cipotes with igor, up at their school<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIeTJ7nvI/AAAAAAAAA0w/TmlZaGW5uF8/s1600/IMG_7079.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515370747787976434" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqIeTJ7nvI/AAAAAAAAA0w/TmlZaGW5uF8/s320/IMG_7079.JPG" /></a> kiddies in class...poor bastards.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqId0PU3hI/AAAAAAAAA0o/OtY00dEfnfs/s1600/IMG_7075.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515370739489103378" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TIqId0PU3hI/AAAAAAAAA0o/OtY00dEfnfs/s320/IMG_7075.JPG" /></a> poor little lisbeth, now one appendix less.<br /><br /><div><div class="Section1"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">1 September 2010</span></span></b></p></div><div class="Section2"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Hey, chochachos!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Want to know what is Hella Delicious? MINT TEA PLUS ALLSPICE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s like…10,000 hot ‘n slurpy candycanes all up in my mouthhole, dancin’ around to the Jingle-something-rock and then later making you have to go pee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Mmmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ain’t that what Christmas is all about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Dancing and then later, peeing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s true I have the Season of Sweaters on the brain…though it’s only September, I now have a PLANE TICKET HOME TO AMERICA WHERE THE PIES RUN FREE AND YOUR MOMMA MAKES YOU WAFFLES ON SUNDAYS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And since I am now wriggling with excitement at the thought of trampling the grass of my motherland, all I can think about is wearing long pants, socks, and hells of wool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As a dedicated, card-carrying Sweaty Individual, I do enjoy the hot ‘n balmy more than anything, but after nearly 2.5 years of that I am ready to binge on icy rain and other such delights found in Norcal in the wintertime. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Plus In ‘n Out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Everybody get ready to see some binging in that realm as well. Naum naum naum.</span></span></p></div><div class="Section4"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Anyways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Mark your agendas, folks and ladies, cause I am gonna drink my first soda-beverage sweetened with corn syrup in two years on November 6 (Hondurans do it with cane sugar).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For those of you currently regarding your Hayley Scrapbook with furrowed brows, you’re correct that as I began my service in September of 2008, oughn’t I be done in September 2010?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The answer is YEP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And done in September I shall be…the 24<sup>th</sup> to be precise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, I got some unfinished business in this here region, mainly involving tending to my illegal alpaca farm up in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Guatemala</st1:country-region></st1:place>, which I have been unable to see to as a Peace Corps volunteer (damn government passport!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My dear pal and darling Adventure Associate Kayleigh shall be joining me in early October, at which point we’ll get all UP in Guatemala’s face for three weeks, possibly giving a cursory head-nod to Belize, and of course our secret island (the one where the illegal alpaca farm is).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Should be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">las tetas, </i>if you receive my meaning….and I think that you do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After said darling bosom friend departs for the Land of the Free, I shall return to my site (SURPRISE!! Buahaha) and fetch my life partner, Igor, who shall be immediately whisked to the vet for a very official, multi-sealed (arr! arr! clapping of flippers!) Health Certificate that says he is healthy as a dog can be and thus fit for entry into the states (and if he aint, I’m prepared to do the ‘ol pretending-to-sneeze-but-instead-of-snot-i-secretly-throw-ten-dollars-over-the-counter maneuver).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then we’ll return to Alubarén, spend a few last days with my pueblo, celebrate Igor’s 2<sup>nd</sup> birthday on the 5<sup>th</sup>, and then, on NOVEMBER SIXTH…hooray and hot damn but if it ain’t ol Hayley, eatin’ our sandwiches and siphoning gas outta our cars!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Guys, she’s back!!</span></span></p></div><div class="Section6"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">If two months ahead of departure seem mildly premature for such giddy yakking, then you can just paint me purple and call me Little Miss Prema-Yak, cause I am delighted to be returning home to my warm, snuggly family and all them Tasty Situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I still am incredulous that departing a place I have lovingly lived in for two years has yet to incite great wracking sobs, or even muted sniffles disguised as a cold, but I reckon that as the real departure looms closer I shall begin to feel the grief and despair I search for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Until then, I’ma continue to loop the mental reel of the moment in which momma and poppa Kercher fetch me at the San Francisco airport, arms all wide and beckoning, eyes all misty, hands all full of In ‘n Out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Be careful! Do not drop my milkshake.</span></span></p></div><div class="Section8"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Work-wise, I am just wrapping everything up in a NEAT LITTLE PACK-AGE (to quote Homer).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My English/teaching methodology class, abstinence education and sex-ed class, pregnant women’s club, reading tutoring, dental hygiene classes, hypertension workshops…it’s all over, chochachos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now all I’ve got left are the obligatory “clausuras” (like a graduation ceremony) that are expected at the termination of any activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Cake and soda are shared, diplomas are handed out, photos are taken (Hondurans are particularly fond of the inspiring “let’s pose stiffly while you shake my hand with your left and hand me my diploma with your right, staring stonily at the camera”) and everyone races home to beat the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Hooray!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p></div><div class="Section10"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The folks here in Alubarén are all now aware that I’m on my way out, and I get asked “Ya se va?” about 40 times a day (“You leaving now?”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Yes. Ya me voy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The next question is inevitably, “Well, what tasty little morsel of gringa wealth are you going to leave me as a memento to our deep and lasting friendship?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>How bout that hammock?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You takin’ that mini-fridge back to the States with ya?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Can I have your pants?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Give me your pants.”<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></b>Etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have begun to slyly give away random articles of clothing (like my stack of Mysteriously Stained Underpants…mmm, funky) and such, but I’m still dreading the deluge of demands I know awaits me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But I do want to give away all my crap; I don’t need it and you should see the way folks’ faces light up at the presentation of gym shorts or plastic dishware.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But as an American, the whole “don’t ask for a present” dogma is so engraved in my mind that even though I am perfectly AWARE that asking for something you fancy is not rude in Honduran culture, I still can’t curb the reflexive desire to give things to those who do NOT ask, and stubbornly deny those who do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Screw YOU, impoverished elderly woman asking for a coffee cup!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Get the hell off my porch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p></div><div class="Section12"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Not everyone is reacting to my pending departure that way, though…my best friends, Nely and the kids (the country jam band) are simply doing the same thing I am, which is making a real effort to SUCK that juice outta every moment we have together…goin’ to the swimmin’ hole or river instead of spending the afternoon in the hammock, cooking dinner together instead of alone (tonight we made “chipilín,” which is a strangely delicious green leafy bush you first boil and then fry in lard and salt…who knew vegetation could be so slurpygood?), and making tenderhearted comments every other day about how much we adore one another (oodles).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Especially my little novio, Douglas…my god but do I love that kid. </span></span></p></div><div class="Section14"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">A quick summary of things that have happened since my last blog, for those of you are more action oriented and less concerned with lame-ass prattling:</span></span></p></div><div class="Section15"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">My delightful pal Eddie (of peace corps fame) came to visit for a weekend and we spent three days leaping into swimming holes (obviously), eating as much corn as my neighbors could shove at us, and playing with dolls. And Matchbox cars (thanks again, Leetha!).</span></span></p></div><div class="Section16"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I purchased a shiny, solid-gold kennel crate for my one and only love muffin, Igor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He is in love with the idea of having his own personal fort in which to sleep and fart (the apple doesn’t fall far) and I anticipate no problems in hauling him to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> in it, provided he likes hanging out in forts for 12 hours at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I plan on drugging him moderately for the voyage, which is how forts should be enjoyed anyway. </span></span></p></div><div class="Section17"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Alubarén celebrated her annual Feria (town fair), which was unremarkable, unless you think shooting off cannon-esque firecrackers for 15 straight minutes every night at 4:00am for 7 days is remarkable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Which I do not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also, there were the annual ‘catch that greasy pig’ and ‘sexiest 6-year-old in town’ competitions, which were adorable and repugnant, respectively.</span></span></p></div><div class="Section18"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">My dear little 9-year-old friend Lisbeth (she lives across the street with Nely, who is her aunt) very nearly died from a burst appendix, and has been in the hospital since August 10<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She is still there, but should be released any day now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Maybe the scariest episode of my life.</span></span></p></div><div class="Section19"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I contracted, suffered through, and recovered from the infamous mosquito-borne Dengue Fever…though I had no fever to speak of and participated in the annual Peace Corps Olympics with nary a hitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My only symptom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A freaky-ass rash all over my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Blotchy goodness.</span></span></p></div><div class="Section20"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Igor and his brother Kaiser both spent a week as very sick little dudes, puking out their ears (so to speak) and yelping in pain every time they tried to eat something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I think my neighbor poisoned them with bologna, which she has threatened to do twice in the past (though not specifically with bologna).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Too bad she and her tainted meats are no match for the strength of Honduran mutts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If she does it again, though, I will shank her in the goddamn kidneys until the Bad Blood comes and she Dies. </span></span></p></div><div class="Section21"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The wet season continues to shake its damp hide all over <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Honduras</st1:place></st1:country-region>, spraying the country with road-destroying droplets and that distinctive wet-dog smell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>People all over the country have been losing homes due to the incessant downpours (people are losing lives, too) and all kinds of roads are washed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The buses haven’t been able to leave Alubarén for a week now and the sky is sagging from all that heavy weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Time to get some rainbow suspenders from the Goodwill, sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The good side, though, is that all this rain makes the butterflies get ALL up in our faces, which makes strolling around outside just a delightful event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Seriously, there are so many bright and stripeity fellas flitting around you’d think it was Butterfly Pride Week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Flippy-flippy flutter-flutter! What ends with fly and starts with butter! We are citizens of the Meadow and we demand our Constitutional Rights!” Etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Plus, while the sky has yet to convert them into an elastic support system, we are averaging about 1.9 rainbows per week, which is just downright Special.</span></span></p></div><div class="Section22"><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore"></span></span> </p><p style="TEXT-INDENT: -18pt; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt 45pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 45.0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbolfont-family:Symbol;" lang="EN-US" ><span style="mso-list: Ignore">·<span style="FONT: 7pt 'Times New Roman'"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The new volunteer who shall replace me has been appointed by the Peace Corps Crew, and it is none other than the delightful Margaret, an ebullient dame who I met during a trainee event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She’s got sunshine leaking out of her eyeballs and I can’t think of a better match for this town…the kids are gonna adore her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Unfortunately, she IS a blonde bombshell, which only serves to perpetuate the widely-held misconception among Hondurans that all gringas are blonde, blue-eyed and giggly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I will pass down to her my ugliest man-shorts, though, which should help deter some of the more forward young men in this pueblo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p></div><div class="Section24"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Well, that about does it for today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We shall now begin the Final Countdown (do-do-dooo-do, do-do-dodo-dooooo, etc.) and please expect only one or two more blog-sandwiches before this remarkably-un-sundamaged lady ends the sweatiest, most far-out adventure of her tiny life to-date and heads home to the land of bacon and blueberry farms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Gonna be great.</span></span></p></div><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';" lang="EN-US" ><br style="PAGE-BREAK-BEFORE: auto; mso-break-type: section-break" clear="all"></span><div class="Section26"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Looooove,</span></span></p></div><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Times New Roman', 'serif'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';" lang="EN-US" >Hayley and Igor (who is in his fort right now, tuckered out from stone-cold murdering a tarantula for me with his bare (no, not bear, dog) paws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Talk about earning your keep.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-74271065602801154212010-08-13T11:54:00.000-07:002010-08-13T14:19:55.148-07:00Survey!!<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvlhiSTuI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/YDMFwQLsC4Q/s1600/IMG_7072.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504999178722496226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvlhiSTuI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/YDMFwQLsC4Q/s320/IMG_7072.JPG" border="0" /></a> Igor in the 2010 Regional Grand Opening of the Most Freaking Expensive Dog Kennel Ever<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvL2CikRI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/pfaQB877nII/s1600/IMG_7071.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504998737549889810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvL2CikRI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/pfaQB877nII/s320/IMG_7071.JPG" border="0" /></a> the awesome swimmin hole 3 hours away from our homes...went there hikin through the woods and crossing raging rivers with nely, the kids, her brothers, and my good buddy eddie<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvLrgfMTI/AAAAAAAAA0I/4JNh_o-MfPY/s1600/IMG_7069.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504998734722707762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvLrgfMTI/AAAAAAAAA0I/4JNh_o-MfPY/s320/IMG_7069.JPG" border="0" /></a> noel with his leaf boat<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvLLBaeLI/AAAAAAAAA0A/qT6rv1TwoMY/s1600/IMG_7067.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504998726002440370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvLLBaeLI/AAAAAAAAA0A/qT6rv1TwoMY/s320/IMG_7067.JPG" border="0" /></a> Igor, guarding the giant bucket of spaghetti and tortillas<br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504998721315440658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvK5j8iBI/AAAAAAAAAz4/tdP_9_E4X7Q/s320/IMG_7066.JPG" border="0" />lisbeth, alison, and noel making leaf boats<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvKfjMY2I/AAAAAAAAAzw/ghoGhzsWhXY/s1600/IMG_7065.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504998714332963682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWvKfjMY2I/AAAAAAAAAzw/ghoGhzsWhXY/s320/IMG_7065.JPG" border="0" /></a> eddie!<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuZS63o6I/AAAAAAAAAzo/z8Z0T_fT3zk/s1600/IMG_7056.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997869129016226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuZS63o6I/AAAAAAAAAzo/z8Z0T_fT3zk/s320/IMG_7056.JPG" border="0" /></a> water fallllll!!! don't ever climb under one of those things, though. you might drown.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuZDlORiI/AAAAAAAAAzg/f-TsH_6WNjE/s1600/IMG_7053.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997865011693090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuZDlORiI/AAAAAAAAAzg/f-TsH_6WNjE/s320/IMG_7053.JPG" border="0" /></a> douglas, nely and me.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuYinHirI/AAAAAAAAAzY/XaxsuDZr4kM/s1600/IMG_7050.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997856161270450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuYinHirI/AAAAAAAAAzY/XaxsuDZr4kM/s320/IMG_7050.JPG" border="0" /></a> alison pretending to be a campesino who has to do her washing in the river (seriously, that was the game)<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuYeJQ-BI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/-Y0mAOzFS3U/s1600/IMG_7047.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997854962317330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuYeJQ-BI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/-Y0mAOzFS3U/s320/IMG_7047.JPG" border="0" /></a> eddie? eddie!<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuXzw-q8I/AAAAAAAAAzI/2fy1F3QatZg/s1600/IMG_7046.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997843586165698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWuXzw-q8I/AAAAAAAAAzI/2fy1F3QatZg/s320/IMG_7046.JPG" border="0" /></a> <div>on the way to the swimmin hole.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWtt6PGyxI/AAAAAAAAAzA/DDZ7OwcAXjM/s1600/IMG_7045.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997123768634130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWtt6PGyxI/AAAAAAAAAzA/DDZ7OwcAXjM/s320/IMG_7045.JPG" border="0" /></a>wooosh there we go<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWttRQDfQI/AAAAAAAAAy4/LL8FcWWinK0/s1600/IMG_7042.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997112766758146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWttRQDfQI/AAAAAAAAAy4/LL8FcWWinK0/s320/IMG_7042.JPG" border="0" /></a> my little buddy douglas, who comes over every day and demands to bathe himself at the pila "yo solito" (all by myself)<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWttDmWziI/AAAAAAAAAyw/tlMcskyAQsI/s1600/IMG_7039.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997109102202402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWttDmWziI/AAAAAAAAAyw/tlMcskyAQsI/s320/IMG_7039.JPG" border="0" /></a> the kid won't stop!<br /><div></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWtsvhQ2aI/AAAAAAAAAyo/OSQFvLOkKes/s1600/IMG_7035.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997103712131490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWtsvhQ2aI/AAAAAAAAAyo/OSQFvLOkKes/s320/IMG_7035.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWtsJKNtUI/AAAAAAAAAyg/rjXL6L8f4ks/s1600/IMG_7030.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504997093414909250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TGWtsJKNtUI/AAAAAAAAAyg/rjXL6L8f4ks/s320/IMG_7030.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div>this is what i do to naughty little boys. INTO THE CAGE, BABY.</div><div></div><div><strong>13 August 2010</strong></div><div>Hey, chochachos!<br /><div><div>Instead of a normal bloggy blog, I have copied-n-pasted the infamous "Close-of-Service" Survey that all us "seniors" have to fill out...please enjoy.</div><br /><div><strong>Name:</strong> Hayley Kercher</div><br /><div><strong>Site:</strong> Alubarén, F.M., also known (by me) as The Lubes, or when I’m feeling playful, the Lubey Lubes.</div><br /><div><strong>Project:</strong> Youth Development</div><br /><div><strong>Nicknames:</strong> Most people in my site call me Heely (yes, just like those sweet sneakers), but that’s not so much a nickname as it is an adorable mispronunciation. </div><br /><div><strong>Biggest Accomplishment</strong>: Leading my baseball team in a consecutive series of wretched defeats, thus generously teaching the children the thrill of being good losers. You’re welcome, babies. </div><br /><div><strong>Biggest Disappointment:</strong> My god. The teachers here. One hundred times, one thousand times. You cradle the future in your pudgy little hands and you do NOTHING.</div><br /><div><strong>Biggest Regret</strong>: Not doing anything to curb the rampant rape-n-pillage of our madre tierra here, except for discreetly furrowing my eyebrows when people throw soda bottles out the bus window.</div><br /><div><strong>Things you will miss most</strong>: Little Douglas (my 2-year-old neighbor) yelling from across the street in his tiny voice “YA SE LEVANTO, HEELY?!” when I yank my creaky front-door open every morning. Sitting in their house in the afternoon and drinking coffee and eating corn and its by-products (or mangos if it aint corn season). Having my entire world revolve around a 1.5 mile radius. The love and joy I feel radiating into my soul from the big brown eyes of the kiddies in my town. Taking said kiddies on Adventures in the hills. Jesus. Everything. I love you Honduras.</div><br /><div><strong>Things you will miss least</strong>: Working with the teachers. And the fierce fiery inferno that is my house. And the tarantulas.</div><br /><div><strong>Worst Illness</strong>: Once a tórsano (bot-fly) laid an egg in my eyeball and then it turned into a larvae and it was hella gross. Then it got infected and they had to amputate my eye (rather like melon balling) and now I have a glass one. But please don’t ask me about it as I’m sensitive.</div><br /><div><strong>Biggest Freak-out</strong>: When I was taking a shower in Gabe’s house on top of his pretty green mountain during a thunderstorm and was briefly electrocuted by a rogue bolt of lightening that hit just outside the bathroom and traveled through the hose and into my body. I bellowed several short, hoarse screams (like a muppet, I’m told) and leapt out of the shower, dripping soapy water all over Gabe’s bathroom floor while I pranced around, flapping my hands and panicking in all my pasty naked glory. </div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Biggest fear during PC</strong>: That I would wake up one sweaty morning, smack my mouth, stretch my arms, rub my cute little eyes, and focus in on a giant tarantula, suspended above my face like a mid-air nightmare on my mosquito net. </div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Most useful thing I brought</strong>: Underpants.</div><br /><div><strong>Least useful thing I brought</strong>: Orthopedic inserts. I never did wear them. Also, a whole fistful of bobby-pins. Why?? </div><br /><div><strong>Favorite activity I did when bored</strong>: Go scrambling around in the hills behind my house with Igor and the kiddies, just stompin around lookin at all kinds of dragonflies and such, cannonballing into swimming holes.</div><div> </div><div><strong>Weirdest thing I did when bored</strong>: Sit with my feet touching sole-to-sole in my hammock and pretend that my big toes were giant worms (a la Tremors) and then make them fight to the death. Also, I like to close all the windows in my house and dress like a Cowboy and then do the Butt-Cheek Dance. </div><br /><div><strong>Greatest lie I told at my site</strong>: What? No, I don’t have to pay any extra to take Igor back to the states with me. Totally free. </div><br /><div><strong>Favorite Honduran Inquiry</strong>: Once, at the swimming hole, my neighbor timidly implored me to show her my nipple, because she was so curious about what a little gringa nipple might look like. </div><br /><div><strong>Best Honduran Gesture</strong>: Oh, but there are so many. But if I have to choose just one, I will have to go with my personal favorite, the lip-point. But runner-up for the nose-scrunchy “What?” thing and the belly ruuuuuuuub.</div><br /><div><strong>Favorite CD/Song during my service</strong>: Oh heavens, I cannot decide such a thing. Let’s just say I listen to hella jangly banjos. </div><br /><div><strong>Song I would be content never to hear again</strong>: Pretty much any Jesus-Love-Ballad featuring a dude that sounds like a weasel and his trusty A-tonal Casio keyboard, played on a bus. </div><br /><div><strong>Favorite books during service:</strong> Before Peace Corps, I had no idea who Tom Robbins was. Can you imagine?</div><br /><div><strong>Favorite Honduran fashion</strong>: The women’s soccer team in my town like to do their daily activities with stylish tops made of plastic garbage bags on under their bien socado polyester shirts, to help them “lost weight.” It’s a thing, seriously. </div><br /><div><strong>Best jalon</strong>: When my two buddies from home and I were camping on Punta Sal and had wandered 4 hours through the jungle to the other side of the peninsula to find a nice campsite, only to discover the destined beach was all kinds of buggy and actually sort of feo. We were starving and hot and tired and not at all looking forward to hiking another four hours back with all our shit, when all of a sudden, a shnazzy speed boat built for 20 zoomed into the remote cove, picked a group of day-tripping gringo missionaries who had been hiking and suddenly appeared out of nowhere from the trees, and offered us a ride back to the main beach where all the prettiness hangs out. We got to ride in the very front, and since it was a tour group, they stopped a couple times on the way back to the main beach to do awesome things like leap off the stern into secret Ocean Caves and such. Best of all, there were Snacks.</div><br /><div><strong>Worst jalon</strong>: ain’t no such thing. Jalons are Fun Things.</div><br /><div><strong>Best bus ride</strong>: I like riding the bus out of my site, at 5:30am, rolling up and down the hills and watchin the stars fade and morning sun do its thang all over the emerging horizon. All homes with tortilla smoke driftin out the roof and little kids herdin their cows with a stick. </div><div> </div><div><strong>Worst bus ride:</strong> That exact SAME bus, only entering the mountain from the freeway, all terrible and boiling hot at 2:00pm, dusty as shit and stinky, with all the pleasantries of the morning evaporated by the sun. </div><br /><div><strong>Favorite food</strong>: I really dig a nice bean and rice soup, all thick and savory and spliced with generous sprinkling of culantro, bien espeso. With like four hot, thick corn tortillas.</div><br /><div><strong>Worst thing I smelled</strong>: Having a wet dog sleep under my bed, immediately after rolling the hell out of a dead animal of some sort. </div><div> </div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Stupidest thing I did in the past 2 years</strong>: Once, while hiking up Volcan Maderas in Nicaragua, I drank a mud puddle. I’d forgotten to fill my Nalgene, and was halfway up the mountain before I discovered this. It was like little knives of thirst stabbing me in the tender under-belly that is my throat. Thus, in a swirly moment of dehydrated delirium did I thus fill my belly with an entire liter of chestnut-colored water. Later, Giardia called me and was like “Hey, Haylz, wanna hang?” and I was all “Not really, Giardia, I’m kinda busy at the moment,” and Giardia was all like “Too bad man, I’m already on my way! I hope you got good Netflix!” but I didn’t because that does not exist in Honduras. So then I peed out my butt (POMB) for several days. </div><br /><div><strong>Untrue fact told to you as an undeniable truth</strong>: jelly beans do not exist here (yes they DO, they’re called Perlas and it is awesome.) </div><br /><div><strong>You know you’ve been in Honduras too long when</strong>: your Honduran visa expires. </div><br /><div><strong>I never thought I would</strong>: learn to enjoy hangin out by myself, with myself, for such an extended period of time.</div><br /><div><strong>If I had to do it all over again I</strong>: would not….NOT do it again. (As in, double negative…as in, would.)</div><br /><div><strong>Favorite piropo</strong>: I always enjoy it when a dude abruptly leans into my face while walking by me on the street and blows me an obscenely loud smooch followed by an “mmm mi amor.” Lovely.</div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Favorite Ropa Americana t-shirt</strong>: my glow-in-the-dark dinosaur facts t-shirt. Sorry, but it’s just the best there is.</div><br /><div><strong>Favorite animal story:</strong> The first time the shroud of mystery surrounding bird sex was finally lifted. To this day, when a rooster walks by I slide up and surreptitiously shut and lock my doors, my heart a-poundin’ and palms sweating.. My god. </div><br /><div><strong>Best habit acquired</strong>: Learning to fork-lift my food from my crotch to my face while curled up in my hammock, plate balanced on my thighs, book in my hand and surprisingly little dinner on my shirt.</div><br /><div><strong>Worst habit acquired</strong>: Putting things off till tomorrow because that’s what everyone else does. Also, never picking up my dog’s turds.</div><br /><div><strong>Things you missed most from the U.S</strong>.: Toasty sandwiches with remarkable insides, tasty microbrewy beer, sumptuous cheeses, sushi, and the ability to decide I want any of the above in my mouf and making that happen, all in the same moment. Also, ridin’ around in my bike on nice smooth suburbian streets and such.</div><br /><div><strong>Things you missed least from the U.S</strong>.: Pesto. Because I ate a whole vat of it every single week. </div><br /><div><strong>Honduras Highlights:</strong> The time I went to the beach with my neighbors who’d never seen the ocean before. Everyone got sunburned as hell and all kinds of gritty sand up in their cracks and dehydrated as the dickens and it was GLORIOUS. Also, I sure have taken a particular delight in knowing and loving you all, my happy friends. Let’s stay up all night and eat candy! </div><div> </div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>Best advice for fellow PCVs:</strong> Hot damn and hells yes, this is the most glorious job in the world and don’t let the lack of sumptuous cheeses blind you to that fact. Livin’ in quaint little green pueblitos, savin’ the babies from all kinds of typhoid and rolling in the love of neighbors and such COME ON THIS IS THE SHIT AND YOU KNOW IT. </div><br /><div><strong>Most likely to (for yourself or for others):</strong> eat three bags of Perlitas before I finish fillin it out (me).</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-76369352049732660282010-07-20T09:21:00.000-07:002010-07-20T12:08:13.628-07:00and then we high-fived that manatee<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXwTA-yrKI/AAAAAAAAAyY/J6awziGcUIE/s1600/IMG_7022.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496063129747106978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXwTA-yrKI/AAAAAAAAAyY/J6awziGcUIE/s320/IMG_7022.JPG" border="0" /></a> I AM TOO SMALL TO DRESS AS AN INDIAN. AS SUCH, I SHALL SADLY EAT THIS CORN.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXwSpR8dII/AAAAAAAAAyQ/wIy-bpE4foQ/s1600/IMG_7021.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496063123384988802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXwSpR8dII/AAAAAAAAAyQ/wIy-bpE4foQ/s320/IMG_7021.JPG" border="0" /></a> I AM GONNA SHOOT THE HELL OUT OF THAT TARANTULA.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXwRzX787I/AAAAAAAAAyI/c2-y34IfNgU/s1600/IMG_7019.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496063108914607026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXwRzX787I/AAAAAAAAAyI/c2-y34IfNgU/s320/IMG_7019.JPG" border="0" /></a> LOOK, I HAVE THIS CORN.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv77dnfoI/AAAAAAAAAyA/3u9aOu5NNaE/s1600/IMG_7018.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062733128793730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv77dnfoI/AAAAAAAAAyA/3u9aOu5NNaE/s320/IMG_7018.JPG" border="0" /></a> LOOK! I ALSO HAVE THIS CORN!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv7c-gR-I/AAAAAAAAAx4/vZfm_GhM9I8/s1600/IMG_7006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062724945233890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv7c-gR-I/AAAAAAAAAx4/vZfm_GhM9I8/s320/IMG_7006.JPG" border="0" /></a> Alison, Noel, and Lisbeth. One little, two little, three little indians...jumping on the bed.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv6xtecvI/AAAAAAAAAxw/s1O-QvDzKFw/s1600/IMG_7001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062713331086066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv6xtecvI/AAAAAAAAAxw/s1O-QvDzKFw/s320/IMG_7001.JPG" border="0" /></a> dramatic photo shoot while Igor shows off his new Look.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv6OYpZtI/AAAAAAAAAxo/po7W9RbA05s/s1600/IMG_6998.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062703848482514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv6OYpZtI/AAAAAAAAAxo/po7W9RbA05s/s320/IMG_6998.JPG" border="0" /></a> naum naum naum i love me some corn.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv5mF5B2I/AAAAAAAAAxg/7MFsdUEE3Tk/s1600/IMG_6969.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062693032396642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXv5mF5B2I/AAAAAAAAAxg/7MFsdUEE3Tk/s320/IMG_6969.JPG" border="0" /></a> gabe, me, and phil, in our spelunking helmets they gave us to soar around the canopy in.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvcb4p2MI/AAAAAAAAAxY/TuqtPppuNrM/s1600/IMG_6935.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062192076314818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvcb4p2MI/AAAAAAAAAxY/TuqtPppuNrM/s320/IMG_6935.JPG" border="0" /></a> oh heeeeeeeeyyyyyyy<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvcFSExoI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/MsRDF8TSRGQ/s1600/IMG_6919.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062186008921730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvcFSExoI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/MsRDF8TSRGQ/s320/IMG_6919.JPG" border="0" /></a> Jungle River Lodge at Pico Bonito. hells yes.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvblcR02I/AAAAAAAAAxI/Vo_XSx7X4WM/s1600/IMG_6894.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062177461785442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvblcR02I/AAAAAAAAAxI/Vo_XSx7X4WM/s320/IMG_6894.JPG" border="0" /></a>The river at sunset.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvbHKqXOI/AAAAAAAAAxA/Ff_JsejHXZI/s1600/IMG_6888.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062169334832354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvbHKqXOI/AAAAAAAAAxA/Ff_JsejHXZI/s320/IMG_6888.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />view from the janky little train that took us to Refugio de Vida Silvestre Cuero y Salado (wildlife refuge)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvadhnqUI/AAAAAAAAAw4/qDF0zk1X3vM/s1600/IMG_6885.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496062158156835138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXvadhnqUI/AAAAAAAAAw4/qDF0zk1X3vM/s320/IMG_6885.JPG" border="0" /></a> there she is!! best train ever.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP5PJBdPI/AAAAAAAAAvg/1CuIeKmxgvo/s1600/IMG_6867.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496027502499427570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP5PJBdPI/AAAAAAAAAvg/1CuIeKmxgvo/s320/IMG_6867.JPG" border="0" /></a> here we are in our private swimming pool. the OCEAN. with DOLPHINS. (not shown.)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP4p6HLFI/AAAAAAAAAvY/cilDYtgnhXk/s1600/IMG_6864.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496027492504775762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP4p6HLFI/AAAAAAAAAvY/cilDYtgnhXk/s320/IMG_6864.JPG" border="0" /></a> commence the jigglin!<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP4IOic1I/AAAAAAAAAvQ/GSD38i_Cdk8/s1600/IMG_6835.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496027483463643986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP4IOic1I/AAAAAAAAAvQ/GSD38i_Cdk8/s320/IMG_6835.JPG" border="0" /></a> angry monkey above our tent in Punta Sal.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP3nQFTWI/AAAAAAAAAvI/OeCPtVK-CM8/s1600/IMG_6827.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496027474611752290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP3nQFTWI/AAAAAAAAAvI/OeCPtVK-CM8/s320/IMG_6827.JPG" border="0" /></a> a blue-assed baboon has infiltrated the sleeping quarters! QUICK SHOOT HIM. SHOOT HIM WITH A DART.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP3ODkqpI/AAAAAAAAAvA/YEvElfMTO-Q/s1600/IMG_6818.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496027467848395410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TEXP3ODkqpI/AAAAAAAAAvA/YEvElfMTO-Q/s320/IMG_6818.JPG" border="0" /></a> Another angry howler monkey, not pleased to have three smelly gringos bedding down in his lair.<br /><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>19 July 2010<br /></strong>Hey, chochachos! Apologies to all you folksies, I did not mean to let two months go by without a bloggy blog but HEY LOOKS LIKE THAT IS PRECISELY WHAT HAS HAPPENED. This entry, despite such an unfortunate hiatus, shall not be as delightful nor long as usual, because a) it is extremely late (9:15pm) and b) my keyboard is being just 7 kinds of DICK right now, aka my delete and enter keys no longer work, which is surprisingly crippling (every time I make a typo I have to highlight it and then hit cut…GOD it’s tedious, but the nerd inside me refuses to let them lay). Also, weirdly, every time I hit the P key, the cursor automatically goes back a space, so all my P words require further maintenance. I suppose it’s to be expected, though, considering good ‘ol Laptoppy has been with me for 7 years. All I ask is that she stay somewhat alive until my service here ends and I can finish all my Documents, then I shall retire her to the lush, green fields of The Edge of a Country Road Where I Shall Dump Her, every laptops’ dream. All with wild poppies growin’ up all around her, hella tiny adorable mice makin’ their tiny adorable homes in her rusty battery hutch…someone get Bob Ross on the phone, he’s gonna wanna come paint this one!<br /><br />In other news, hells of Items have transpired since my last e-missive. Lesse. My abstinence-Ed/sex-ed/female empowerment/life skills/planning for the future/please don’t get pregnant before you graduate workshops (also known as Yo Merezco, or “I Deserve”) have begun, one with the 6th grade boys and one with the girls. I tried to get a male counterpart to help me with the boys (no sixth grade kid <em>I</em> know wants to hear a sweaty gringa yammer on about wet dreams, boners and espermatozoides, whilst making little swimming motions with her hand to demonstrate the movement of a sperm), but the guy who was delighted to work with me was actually lying about his delight, and has yet to show up to a single workshop session (there are 11, and we’re halfway done by now) despite my constant needling. So, I’m doing it alone. And it’s actually fine…the girls are absolute ANGELS—every time we meet it feels like a support group for adolescent girls, which it should be, and the girls just adore it. They actually whine when it’s time to close the sessions up, which are always two hours long…unbelievable. And the boys, while slightly less mature and much more prone to rowdiness, still sit quietly while they are subjected to two hours of me bumbling around, saying the word “penetrar” while thrusting my index finger into my fist far too often.<br /><br />That’s pretty much the only new development work-wise…reading tutoring with the little guys twice a week is going swimmingly, and it’s enjoyable because the results are tangible and relatively quick…all the kids without legitimate learning disabilities are advancing quite nicely due to the one-on-one attention, and the small handful that aren’t are at least progressing somewhat, even if it is at a snail’s pace. Most of the kids actually LOVE it, and fight over who gets to go next…the Treasure Chest is a very handy tool, indeed. And it’s nice because since I do the program in the library, which is usually closed due to our terrifyingly awful excuse for a librarian, the kids get to come in during recess and read books at the tables, which they normally would not be able to do. Obviously my keeping it open isn’t very sustainable, but then again, not much of what I do actually is. But don’t tell Peace Corps that.<br /><br />The most exciting, delightful, adventurely, Blasty Blast event in the past two months, however, has not been helping my community. No, I have yet again taken advantage of my deliciously-flexible schedule and departed from Alubarén for a full two weeks to engage in jungly shenanigans with two of my dearest chums from the old college days (picture us wearing Letter jackets and hoisting steins of pissy beer), Gabe and Phil (yes, Gabe, the one in Northwestern’s Premier Drum and Dance Ensemble, Boomshaka…haven’t you heard? And Phil…of Wisconsin fame, the one who likes to fondle a sweater or two and isn’t afraid to crawl into bed with a clarinet when invited). The two arrived in San Pedro Sula one hot and balmy morning, and we thus departed eastly, cavorting wildly across Honduras’ North Coast, stopping to dip our toes in the warm, aqua water of the Caribbean and hurl our poo at howler monkeys (they started it!) along the way. It was AWESOME. First we spent a day or two in Tela, a cool little Caribbean town where another Peace Corps volunteer is fortunate enough to be located, hanging out, buying supplies, and watching one of the Honduras World Cup games on TV whilst stuffing our faces with tacos. Then, packs brimming with green plantains, rice, beans, tortillas, and smores fixin’s, we grabbed a bus to a little Garifuna town called Tornabe, where we spent a delightful night in a wooden cabin on the sand, and fell asleep listening to our stomachs digesting fried fish and the waves gently lapping at the shore. The next day, we got a ride in the back of a truck to a teeny Garifuna village called Miami, which is at the buffer zone of Punta Sal National Park (now actually called Jeannette Kawas National Park), which was our first destination. In Miami we paid entrance to the park, which is a long sexy peninsula covered by dense rainforest and edged in white sand beaches and clear, blue waters. It was incredibly beautiful. After paying our entrance, we paid a fisherman to take us across the bay in his little boat, thus cutting a 5-hour hike in the boiling sun to a delightful 15 minute jet across the water. Once on the peninsula (which really felt like an island), we tipped our hats to the lone ranger, Pedro, and set off in search of the perfect deserted beach to set up camp. After hiking the whole morning, however, we realized none of the other beaches were a good idea (either too rocky, too buggy, or too tiny), and grudgingly headed back to the beach where Pedro lived in a little hut, along with another family who sells over-priced meals to the tour groups that are dropped on the park for a couple of hours nearly every day. Still wanting to maintain our idealistic dream of camping alone on a deserted beach, we tramped about 6 minutes away along a shale-y path to a tiny little beachcito, and pitched the tent among the dried-out mangrove forest. PERFECT, we said. THIS WILL BE THE TITS. Famous last words. Don’t get me wrong, during the DAY it was awesome…hiking around the jungle, with troops of monkeys howling and swinging above our heads, huge butterflies shamelessly flaunting their weightless bodies, giant blue grabs edging around everywhere, snakes hiding on trunks and crazy jungle spiders stretching their webs between enormous mossy trees…it was indescribably gorgeous and wonderful. And of course, near-constant dips in our private little swimming hole, the Caribbean ocean (at one point, we even spotted a pod of dolphins leaping and swimming around, totally havin’ the best dolphin-time ever). But at night, our own personal Hell began. The tent transformed into a tiny little sauna, and the three of us lay sweating in each other’s armpits, too hot to sleep despite being exhausted. Then the tent began filling with chiggers, which are tiny enough to crawl through the tent mesh and perhaps the most infuriating thing in the world—meaning that not only were we sweating to death, we were also clawing the first layer of skin off our bodies. Then, the thunderstorms began, filling our crappy Honduran tent with water and making everything nice and stinky. The heat, however, did not decrease. Add all that, plus scary monkeys hooting above our heads and the vague warnings of hungry jaguars issued to us by Pedro, and I don’t think any of us slept a wink. We spent one more night on the island and then snagged a ride back to Tela with a tour group.<br /><br />From there, we headed further east to the city of La Ceiba, where we spent a delightful night comparing rashes, eating delicious food, and sleeping under a pile of blankets in our OWN beds with the AC on Arctic-Tundra. It was maybe the best night of my life. Then we took a chicken bus out into the country, to the village of La Union, where we boarded a tiny little “train” left over from the Banana Republic days of Honduras’ exporting heyday and chugged off through the green drippy farmlands, toward the sea, to spend a couple days in the Cuero y Salado Wildlife Refuge, which is essentially a giant tributary, where two rivers meet the ocean in a mess of beautiful mangrove madness, filled with manatees, crocodiles, alligators, birds, snakes, turtles, and other critters. We stayed in a cute little bunk house and set out at 5am the next day with out teenage guide Eric, who deftly guided us up the river in his heavy canoe and into the beautiful mangroves. It was a bummer, though, because it was right smack in the middle of Hurricane Alex (well, not smack in the middle, actually, more like, severely to the left of) and it was raining nonstop all day. But no matter! Eric made Phil and Gabe paddle and instructed me to sit in the middle, “like a Queen,” which I most certainly did (though I did help Gabe paddle a couple times, for gender-equality’s sake). We totally saw a manatee and gave him a high-five! (Maybe.) We also may have seen a crocodile, and definitely saw hells of birds.<br /><br />Then we headed back to Ceiba, spent another night in our delightfully icy hotel and had the most delicious food ever (I recommend Hotel La Italia for lodging and Mango Tango for dining, those of you who are taking notes….and Casa Jaguar for boozing.) The next day, we took a bus into the buffer zone of nearby National Park Pico Bonito, which is one of Honduras’ biggest (though most of it is off-limits). We spent three nights at the fantastically chill and beautiful Jungle River Lodge, balancing our time between leaping off giant boulders into the sweet clear swirling water below, rafting the Class I-V rapids, soaring through the treetops on zip lines, plugging our arteries with tasty German food from up the road (Omega Lodge), swirling around in the cool water under the full moon, reading paperbacks in hammocks, drinking icy Imperials, hiking two hours into the jungle to stand under 60m waterfalls, and chit-chatting with the other backpackers and local folks, while carefully avoiding the hugest Douche in the world, this guy from South Africa who, as previously mentioned, was a Huge Douche. Despite the douche, though, I think this last leg of the trip was our favorite, due to the unbeatable combination of natural beauty and the availability of cold beer. Also, no chiggers. Finally, the boys had to go back to the states amid tears and huggles and I had to go back to the Lubey Lubes, now fully vacationed and thus prepared to continue in my endeavors to develop the youth.<br /><br />In closing, and in other news simultaneously, the corn harvest is in full swing and I have been eating myself sick with corn in all of its tasty disguises. Also, tomorrow in Indian Day, in which all the kids dress up like they imagine Indians might and parade around town. It’s awesome. Alison, Noel, and Lisbeth weren’t going to participate because Nely has been in Tegus all last week visiting her sister, so I declared I would help and spent the past weekend sewing little burlap skirts and Tarzan shirts, while the kids glued beans and rice into designs and braided hemp headbands which we then glued parrot feathers to. We also spent nearly 48 hours painstakingly sewing green corn husks to aforementioned Tarzan shirts, which, if I do say so myself, look positively bitchin’. Hooray for Dia Del Indio!<br /><br />Dudes and ladies, I am wiped out and shall now retire to my mosquito-netted bed, thankfully so because due to the nonstop rain we’ve had since May, the mosquitoes are INSANE and you can’t breathe without inhaling 30 of them at once. Anyway. Igor and I send our love and shall report again soon. Until then, I love you guys.<br />Love, Hayley </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-17780197289006672010-06-04T08:17:00.000-07:002010-06-04T08:31:28.487-07:00ayyyy que lluvia<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkaB-n4lLI/AAAAAAAAAu4/1fsVsN-jgMU/s1600/IMG_6762.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478939042965394610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkaB-n4lLI/AAAAAAAAAu4/1fsVsN-jgMU/s320/IMG_6762.JPG" border="0" /></a> Yesica, my now 8-year-old neighbor, doing the obligatory "mordida" on her birthday cake.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkaBh8oLbI/AAAAAAAAAuw/Zgsl-cXjD08/s1600/IMG_6753.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478939035267771826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkaBh8oLbI/AAAAAAAAAuw/Zgsl-cXjD08/s320/IMG_6753.JPG" border="0" /></a> ana, my now 25-year-old special buddy, doin the obligatory crooked-honker-thing.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkaBGcaWjI/AAAAAAAAAuo/26P9-ZV1yQQ/s1600/IMG_6748.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478939027884890674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkaBGcaWjI/AAAAAAAAAuo/26P9-ZV1yQQ/s320/IMG_6748.JPG" border="0" /></a> Nely and her mom Tina on morther's day. She tried to hide douglas behind her because he wasn't supposed to be part of the mother-daughter photo, but he snuck in anyway. Tina dyed her hair black for the occasion.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkZ_drOZbI/AAAAAAAAAug/BeikIeGpx4Y/s1600/IMG_6746.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478938999761298866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkZ_drOZbI/AAAAAAAAAug/BeikIeGpx4Y/s320/IMG_6746.JPG" border="0" /></a> This kid can put away bonbones (suckers) like it's his well-paying but without-benefits JOB. Oh, douglitas. (p.s. mom and dad, do you recognize that shirt??)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkZ_LsZWEI/AAAAAAAAAuY/rCp8c_mDEx0/s1600/IMG_6745.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478938994934372418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/TAkZ_LsZWEI/AAAAAAAAAuY/rCp8c_mDEx0/s320/IMG_6745.JPG" border="0" /></a> tina, my boyfriend, and myself.<br /><br /><div><strong>27 May 2010</strong><br />Hey, chochachos! Guess what? IT’S REAL WINTER!!!! Hot damn and hooray, the rainy season is officially upon us and life is awesome. It’s been raining non-stop for nearly a week, and everything is a spongy, negative-moist Drippin’ Situation. It’s almost…too wet. The buses haven’t been able to get down the mountain for five days (if you’re reading this, it’s because I managed to get to Tegucigalpa today), everyone is a nice splattery-brown from the hips down and the roads are soupy, gooey disasters. However, everyone was thankful it finally began because after our little “fake winter” of a week of rain at the end of April, we had almost three full weeks without rain—which wouldn’t have been an issue if people had waited to plant their beans and corn like they were told to (on the news!!). But all that rain was just too beautiful to pass up and everyone decided that God had sent us an early Christmas present, and planted their crops. And then we had three weeks of bright blue skies and not a drop of rain, and everyone’s little three-inch-high green stalks wilted and threatened to suicide themselves. However, the “real” rains finally did descend upon Alubarén, not unlike the rivulets of back sweat that ran into my Nether Region and caused several unfortunate episodes of the ‘ol Swamp Ass. But (no pun intended), as previously mentioned, it’s Winter now and all can rejoice in the little mini rivers of cow crap and dead frog guts rushing through town down toward the river. Mmm. And let me tell you, NOTHING smells as delightful as the rotting corpse of a toad the size of a football, just outside the house but close enough to my neighbor Nelo’s property that it is officially his responsibility, not mine (nor anyone else’s, which I learned when I heard not one but several folks mention in passing, in the typical joking passive-aggressive manner of Hondurans, that Nelo and Nelo alone was responsible for disposing of the calf-sized amphibian stiff).<br /><br />The good news is that since rain is now old news, the sudden and extreme hatchings of crotch-diver beetles and their associates have tapered off and I share my hammock with perhaps five beetles per night, as opposed to the 5,000,000 I was picking out of my plate of beans a month ago (here I am referring to my dinner, not creating some sort of lewd new euphemism for private parts). However, the bad news is that the relentless rains have saturated the dirt around my house, and all the little critters that live in said dirt, namely snakes and tarantulas, come sputtering up to the surface, gasping for air, and when they finally catch their breath decide that they’ve had enough of the Swamp Ass and why not try that nice, dry den over yonder, the one that smells like wet dog and Swedish Fish (thanks Erika!)?? I’ve actually yet to have any wriggly snakes up in here, but I know it’s just a matter of time. However, several tarantulas have gone on evening strolls through my home, though you’d think they’d learn that that kind of recreation just leads to a slow and painful death. Just two nights ago, I was lying in my hammock, watching a movie on my laptop (some awesome documentary about wolves with a lot of Native American flute music in it), when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Creepy, scuttle-y movement. Movement that instills a sense of panic in the observer, causing one to leap out of the hammock and flap her hands around in a weird gringa-fied version of the finger-snap that Hondurans do to express surprise/humor/fright/exhaustion/many other things, and is really cool when they do it, but makes certain North American ladies look like they’re suffering from some kind of spastic mental problem because she doesn’t actually do the snappy thing but just shakes both hands as if flinging water droplets off….anyway. It was a big, black, furry spider, about the size of a grapefruit, with ambition the size of a soccer ball. I leapt out of my hammock and flapped my hands around for a bit, as previously mentioned, but was too scared to smash it with a broom because it was so freaking big and I knew it would get all splattery and such (for those of you who don’t know me, I am a huge arachnophobic. As in, I should be receiving government money to pay for my condition, it’s so debilitating.) Plus, my broom was outside by the pila. So I raced into my room and quickly found my can of cheap, Honduran-brand Raid (called Oko) and, trying not to pee my pants out of my butt, sprayed the bastard from an entirely useless distance of seven feet. He just kind of looked at me and chuckled, and kept on scuttling till he reaching the baseball duffle bags I have stacked up by the door, which he wisely hid behind. Too freaked out to dig him out and finish the job, I just slammed my laptop shut, hit the lights and leapt into bed, tucking and re-tucking my mosquito net around me like a kid with OCD. Trembling, I lay awake until about 6:30, convinced every scuttle-y noise was the sound of a vengeful furball coming to position himself directly above my face on the net, which is my absolute worst fear in life. Once the sun was up, I ran across the street, fetched my bleary-eyed neighbor Elias, and waited outside wringing my hands while he calmly pulled the bags to the side, smashed the spider with my broom, swept him outside, and went back across the street, no doubt to return to bed. Now I find myself glancing over my shoulder every couple of minutes (just now, for example), convinced I’m going to see another goliath in the exact same spot I saw the other one last night. (Nope, all clear.) Que patetica.<br /><br />In other news, I am now officially done with this 3-month workshop I’ve been doing in the high school, for four hours a week. Designed to orient them in the job market, help them select appropriate future careers or jobs based on their skills and aptitudes, and learn how to be successful employees and/or bosses, it’s one of those things that has awesome material and is entirely useful, so of the course the teenagers couldn’t care less. Though I can’t blame them; if I was a bored high schooler and some foreign lady with just two different outfits and extreme pit-stains came and yelled at me about the future every week, I’d hate it too. They didn’t put much into the workshop, and it’s hard to say how much they got out of it, but it’s over, so thank god. I never want to work with high school kids again. I am a Babies dame through and through, and that’s the truth.<br /><br />I also finally had my baseball clausura (obligatory closing-of-ceremonies, with cake and diplomas). I made a huge fruit salad (though accidentally including a rancid cantaloupe which people were too polite to comment on but almost killed me when I tried a piece), bought a cake and 18 liters of Coke. We also had a scary clown-ish piñata named Ruperto (thanks, Dona Marta!) and the kids all got fancy Peace Corps diplomas and some pictures I’d had printed up of them from the games. It was sort of slam-blam-thank-you-senora, but since a thunder storm was a-brewin’, it was for a best that we hustled along from speech-to-pinata-to-fruit-to-diaplomas-to-cake-to-adios. The parents sat around and slipped extra bowls of fruit into their purses to bring home to grandma while I handed out little awards for best batter and fielder, most improved, best attitude, and MVP (all of which I selected one for both boys and girls, except the MVP, la Mera Pantera). It was hella cute. I’ll miss playing baseball in the melting sun every day….and by miss it, I mean not a day goes by that I don’t wake up and give myself a high five for not having to play baseball today. WORST. SPORT. EVER. THERE I SAID IT. We should have started a professional recreational swimmin’ hole splashing team.<br /><br />My little literacy project is going awesome. I’ve got about 10 second-grades and 10 third-graders, all of whom were selected to participate by their teacher because they couldn’t read. I come by once a week and pull them out of class one by one and hustle them into the library, where all the magic is. Each kid is given a Ziplock baggie with an index card in it, with a group of words (or syllables, if they can’t do whole words yet) written on it that they must practice at home. After a week’s time, we sit together again in the library, and if they can read the card without difficulty and errors, they get to select a prize from the Treasure Chest and move onto the next card. If not, they stick with the same card until they learn it. First we did vowels, then vowels paired with the letter ‘m’ (so they get a card with ma, me, mi, mo, mu), then words (mama, mime, mame, etc.). Once they pass ‘m’, they move onto ‘p’ and practice “papa, pipa, pepe,” etc. Then it’s onto Level 2, with “s”, “l”, “n”, and then onto level three….there are six levels in all. Almost all the kids started unable to identify the vowels and nearly all the children are now onto Level Two, so we’re slowly but surely making progress. It’s awesome, because these are the kids that usually sit in the back and aren’t given any school work because their lazy teachers know they can’t read and won’t be able to do the work anyway. But not anymore! Yay literacy!<br /><br />In other library-themed news, I almost killed a man the other day. The roof in the library has been leaking badly for two years now, due to an askew piece of metal. Fixing it was just a matter of climbing up there and yanking the thing back in place, which we (the library committee) have been talking about doing for two years and keep putting it off. Finally, I got sick of waiting for “tomorrow,” which as we all know never comes, and took matters into my own hands. I marched over to this guy Tito’s house, who does odd jobs and had previously agreed to climb up and do the job, and dragged him with me and his little ladder to the school yard. He clamored up, walked along the metal-enforced beam along the middle of the peaked room, and fixed the hole in about two seconds. Then he came back and began to climb down the ladder, but felt insecure placing his left foot after his right, as it couldn’t quite reach the rung without him slipping down a bit more. So he climbed back up and started walking along the roof toward the other side, to see if he could climb down that way, while I’m still standing there holding the ladder. All of the sudden I heard a huge crash and some guy on the other side of the walls screams “TITO’S DEAD!” My heart stopped and I raced around the corner, chanting “ohmygodohmygod,” and ran right smack into Tito, who was strolling out of the library, brushing debris off his pants. “The roof is rotten,” he commented, and stooped to pick up his bike to head up the hill to open the water valves (one of his jobs in town). There was now a pony-sized hole in the roof, and the roof is not particularly low. When I asked him how in the world he wasn’t hurt, he just shrugged and said he landed standing up, “como Espider Mahn.” I couldn’t stop shaking, paralyzed with the thought that I’d almost killed a father of six, but he was totally nonchalant and even laughing about it. We spent the next week fixing the roof with three new sheets of zinc metal, to replace the rotten asbestos (yes, all the school and educational buildings here are made with poisonous roofs, and they don’t care it’s bad for you—it’s “much cooler than a metal roof,” so it’s worth it). We had to use nearly half of the money we had in our library fund…what was a 30 lempira project of 10 minutes turned into a 600 lempira week-long endeavor. So much for making a positive different in my community.<br /><br />If my two-year adventure here in Honduras was a day, then I would now be bathed in the crispy golden light of late-afternoon. I still have enough time to scamper around and do several Items of extreme Fun and Utility, but soon the sun is gonna duck behind the green bowl of mountains that surround this pueblo and I’ll have to head home before the it gets too dark to watch where I step. Every day people ask me “Ya se va?!”, Are you leaving now?!, to which I always respond, NO of course not, I’m here till September! At which point they point out that’s only four months away and I won’t even be here for the squash harvest. No, I say, but at least I’ll be here for the fair and independence day. Yes, they say. That’s true. At least you’ll be here for the fair (which is a joke because the fair here sucks). Anyway, I haven’t really, TRULY begun to process that my life here is winding down, but I talk about it every day and I assume that soon real gut-feeling will kick in with those words. Until then, please enjoy my artful sunset metaphor in lieu of real emotional insight into what leaving my sweaty, loving home for the past two years feels like.<br /><br />At least maybe once I get back to the states I’ll stop talking to myself so much. Seriously, I’m getting concerned. I do voices and everything.<br /><br />Love<br />Hayley<br /><br /><strong>P.S. Thursday, June 3, 2010 UPDATE!!</strong> I never did get to Tegus last week…soon after I wrote last week’s blog, what was delightful amounts of rain turned into a 5-day non-stop downpour of Extreme Negative Moist proportions, which is to say, hurricane-y. Or rather, there were several hurricanes “around” (like Guatemala and the Pacific coast) which turned into what any credible meteorologist would describe as “butt-loads of rain for H-town.” To quote little ‘ol Tom Robbins, “It rained a sickness. And it rained a fear. And it rained an odor. And it rained a murder. It rained an omen. And it rained a poison. And it rained a pigment. And it rained a seizure.” The river outgrew its banks like a one of those people with giantism might outgrow childhood pants—way to quickly, and to such a degree as to make people stare with grim nervousness. Which is exactly what Alubarén did. As the days progressed (eight days without electricity, six days without bridges in or out of town), the folks gathered near the river in tank tops and umbrellas to watch the crashing river take out entire trees and rush away with insane amounts of plastic garbage. All our bridges were under water, and people began stocking up on food, fearing that a lack of transport would result in a shortage (I just bought an entire sack of coffee, which we drank by the gallon daily). Folks here are pretty nervous about hurricanes, since Hurricane Mitch spanked the dickens outta Honduras 10 years ago, but we were fortunate and no one in my town suffered severe flooding in the house or anything like that. And once the rains began to let up a bit, people relaxed and it was downright enjoyable. No work, no school, just hangin’ around in shorts and sweatshirts (yes! it was below 90!) and drinking cup after cup of sugary black coffee until it grew dark; then rocking in hammocks to the flickery light of candles until established bedtime of electricity-less days, which is 7:30pm. Now it’s back to normal, but the river is still very strong. Be careful babies!</div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-60026946258785902432010-04-24T08:28:00.000-07:002010-04-24T09:08:50.826-07:00toad turds and pollywogs<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MTqiCgsqI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/osneLOUGIkE/s1600/IMG_6665.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463732394343314082" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MTqiCgsqI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/osneLOUGIkE/s320/IMG_6665.JPG" /></a> crazy sunset cloud formations...doesnt that look like Snoopy, peering off a cliff during a full moon? I KNOW RIGHT?!<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MTqY43rSI/AAAAAAAAAuI/7vO1vCJQle0/s1600/IMG_6660.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463732391886957858" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MTqY43rSI/AAAAAAAAAuI/7vO1vCJQle0/s320/IMG_6660.JPG" /></a> Yes Igor you DO look awesome bathed in late afternoon sunlight.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS6jQ_MHI/AAAAAAAAAuA/y7WSm1E6gyc/s1600/IMG_6658.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463731570038747250" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS6jQ_MHI/AAAAAAAAAuA/y7WSm1E6gyc/s320/IMG_6658.JPG" /></a> the hill david and i (and igor) scrambled up.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS6IPk8LI/AAAAAAAAAt4/oGqen9Wl3P4/s1600/IMG_6656.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463731562785075378" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS6IPk8LI/AAAAAAAAAt4/oGqen9Wl3P4/s320/IMG_6656.JPG" /></a> ambulatory bovine alert!!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS5gM7BvI/AAAAAAAAAtw/fy2XId6mVEk/s1600/IMG_6650.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463731552036521714" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS5gM7BvI/AAAAAAAAAtw/fy2XId6mVEk/s320/IMG_6650.JPG" /></a> the only photo of us together, ever.<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS5Z2hWgI/AAAAAAAAAto/di0YZ9X0gIc/s1600/IMG_6646.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463731550331951618" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS5Z2hWgI/AAAAAAAAAto/di0YZ9X0gIc/s320/IMG_6646.JPG" /></a> lubey lubes on a humid afternoon.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS5GMLlqI/AAAAAAAAAtg/hPQd7zIqXPc/s1600/IMG_6644.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463731545054090914" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MS5GMLlqI/AAAAAAAAAtg/hPQd7zIqXPc/s320/IMG_6644.JPG" /></a> Gary, my pet garrobo that lives in the random rock heap I have outside my home. He sits and suns himself all day long.<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRuRrdirI/AAAAAAAAAtY/630DM9XwQoc/s1600/IMG_6641.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463730259647892146" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRuRrdirI/AAAAAAAAAtY/630DM9XwQoc/s320/IMG_6641.JPG" /></a> Las Panteras, after our championship.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRuPV2lqI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/NF8mSKHEn_o/s1600/IMG_6637.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463730259020388002" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRuPV2lqI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/NF8mSKHEn_o/s320/IMG_6637.JPG" /></a> dog pile of joy...despite losing. thats right children, pound out your misery.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRtvbvGtI/AAAAAAAAAtI/cdS16xidtxA/s1600/IMG_6634.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463730250455128786" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRtvbvGtI/AAAAAAAAAtI/cdS16xidtxA/s320/IMG_6634.JPG" /></a> Fernando on first!<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRtRgL5qI/AAAAAAAAAtA/1MoMPWPhFcA/s1600/IMG_6621.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463730242420729506" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRtRgL5qI/AAAAAAAAAtA/1MoMPWPhFcA/s320/IMG_6621.JPG" /></a> Nely and her birthday donuts.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRtPml3bI/AAAAAAAAAs4/m02eND7n2IE/s1600/IMG_6610.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463730241910726066" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MRtPml3bI/AAAAAAAAAs4/m02eND7n2IE/s320/IMG_6610.JPG" /></a> Little Geyli and her grandpappy.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ5p2K9GI/AAAAAAAAAsw/JA0s78_aecU/s1600/IMG_6603.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463729355602195554" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ5p2K9GI/AAAAAAAAAsw/JA0s78_aecU/s320/IMG_6603.JPG" /></a> My backyard on an early misty morning<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ5TU1bGI/AAAAAAAAAso/GL0DjAsw0og/s1600/IMG_6601.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463729349556792418" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ5TU1bGI/AAAAAAAAAso/GL0DjAsw0og/s320/IMG_6601.JPG" /></a> my extremely pregnant landlady Mirian, who actually just had her baby the day before yesterday...a little baby boy named Eli! yay!<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ43pYzpI/AAAAAAAAAsg/zQ4GvToeX4E/s1600/IMG_6599.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463729342126804626" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ43pYzpI/AAAAAAAAAsg/zQ4GvToeX4E/s320/IMG_6599.JPG" /></a> Rony and Mirian. Landlords of the future.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ4oKxxXI/AAAAAAAAAsY/iZrEma9P6pk/s1600/IMG_6591.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463729337971885426" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ4oKxxXI/AAAAAAAAAsY/iZrEma9P6pk/s320/IMG_6591.JPG" /></a> Little Elvin, practicing good oral hygiene.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ4YfIPWI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/H5HQe1acdbw/s1600/IMG_6585.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463729333762276706" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MQ4YfIPWI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/H5HQe1acdbw/s320/IMG_6585.JPG" /></a> My friend Aida's younger sister, Xiomara, with her new husband Marlon and their puppy, Tuta, in their new home.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP89Q1PwI/AAAAAAAAAsI/9osBCql_-08/s1600/IMG_6566.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463728312842272514" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP89Q1PwI/AAAAAAAAAsI/9osBCql_-08/s320/IMG_6566.JPG" /></a> Doesn't little Carlos sit like a king? He looks ever so benevolent, yet wise...<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP8vZ2AgI/AAAAAAAAAsA/IEBMGbtlhCk/s1600/IMG_6549.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463728309121974786" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP8vZ2AgI/AAAAAAAAAsA/IEBMGbtlhCk/s320/IMG_6549.JPG" /></a> the little types of El Jicaro, scrubbin away.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP8AZrBkI/AAAAAAAAAr4/9qhzz21agbU/s1600/IMG_6530.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463728296504788546" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP8AZrBkI/AAAAAAAAAr4/9qhzz21agbU/s320/IMG_6530.JPG" /></a> Semana santa sunset.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP7rM-EyI/AAAAAAAAArw/a2XI9n-YikE/s1600/IMG_6520.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463728290814366498" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP7rM-EyI/AAAAAAAAArw/a2XI9n-YikE/s320/IMG_6520.JPG" /></a> permanent waves.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP7evPiOI/AAAAAAAAAro/6wjC2LoezGo/s1600/IMG_6515.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463728287468456162" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S9MP7evPiOI/AAAAAAAAAro/6wjC2LoezGo/s320/IMG_6515.JPG" /></a> cotton candy evening<br /><br /><div><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">23 April 2010</span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Hey, chochachos!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>IT’S FAKE WINTER!!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A little old man told me on the bus like two months ago that we would experience an “invierno falso” in April, and he’s totally right (real winter begins in the middle of May).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If it ain’t fake winter right now, then I’ll eat my mittens and hat (though not really, ‘cause I need those puppies!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Actually, that’s a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When Hondurans refer to “winter” they mean the rainy season, which if anything is actually HOTTER than summer because of the moisture-induced humidity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, the rain storms cool everything off and so it’s totally worth it, 100 times, 1,000 times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So anyway, a month ago I was bitchin’ about how hot and dry it is, how there’s no water, how all the plants are dead…please consider such insignificant groanings null and void.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Beginning about two weeks ago, we’ve had late-afternoon thunderstorms maybe every three or four days, with deliciously squishy results, foliage-wise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My basil is completely on steroids, and all the trees have suddenly exploded with leaves and new twigglies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The grass and weeds are growing like they’re 13-year-old boys, only without the painful self-awareness and wet dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My pila is filled with water regularly every other day, and the swimmin’ holes have swelled marvelously (here I could make another puberty-esque metaphor, but I’ll refrain as there might be children reading this).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, the rainy season isn’t just all rainbows and tambourines—there are evils afoot, too, which I shall list below in no significant order:</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">1. The beetles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The rains make all these huge, crunchy beetles emerge from somewhere, and they congregate in the evenings around the light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This means that while lying in my hammock, eating or reading or whatever, I am constantly plucking this plastic-enforced monsters off my shirt, my hair, my food, my skin, etc., though it’s a rather fruitless battle because no sooner do I yank one off and hurl his little scarab ass across the room does another dive-bomb me—they seem to love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also, the hammock lounge position (feet together, knees bent like a frog) means that there are gaping caves between my shorts and thighs, which is the perfect target for such kamikaze pilots…which is why I spend maybe a fourth of my evening fishing donut-hole sized insects out of my crotch.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">2. The amphibians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now, don’t get me wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Unlike every single Honduran ever, I am not deathly afraid of toads and their slightly less grotesque cousins, the frog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I actually like them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The rains, however, have encouraged them to emerge from their secret lairs carved into the sides of remote mountain ranges and they are taking over the damn place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At night, the toads hop into my house and lazily hunt the beetles that have turtled-over and wobble on their backs, tiny sticker legs waving around hopefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s all fine and good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The frogs, aided by sticky feet, spider-man-frog it around the walls and ceiling, hanging out by the light and slurping down any and all flying insects. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Fine by me. They also fill the night air with an incredible cacophony of different chirps, squawks, and croaks—it sounds like an intergalactic laser gun fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also great—if you think there is better falling asleep music, then you’re a liar, ‘cause there isn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What I DON’T approve of, however, is the frogs’ collective decision to turn my bathing barrel and pila into an all-night bath-house…and here I am referring to the infamous bathhouses of ill repute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You can also imagine my pila as a shadowy truck stop along a lone highway in the 1980s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Either way, there is a lot of mixing of bodily fluids and I often go out for a late-night pee, only to find various slimy green couples playing two-frog twister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One Friday, I left to go to Tegus for the day to do errands at the Peace Corps office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My neighbor Tina called me, very distressed, at about 10:00am, to inform me that I had “thousands of frog eggs floating in my pila.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She said she scooped out what she could but that there was still a lot in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I returned home Saturday to find a thick blanket of tiny black tadpoles carpeting the bottom of my concrete pila, wriggling around like spermies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The shower barrel was spawn-free, but had two toad turds floating in it, which look just like mini dog turds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>DAMN YOU, ANPHIBIANS. I called the kids over and we carefully filled 10 baggies with tadpoles, which we carried to the creek and released in a very Free Willy-esque moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The rest I drained out and scrubbed down with soap…same with <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Turd</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Island</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m touched these young lovers are sneaking out of their burrows to come tangle at my house, but if it happens again I’m gonna have to take serious measures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Like filling my pila with ginger-ale…boiling hot, Texas-style ginger ale!!!</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I guess that’s it, complaint-wise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I love the thunderstorms…the anticipation as the gray-purple mass forms on the horizon and heads toward us, usually from the north-east.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I love the flash of light followed by sharp crackles and booms, all the crazy pageantry of nature that we Californians can’t understand (no summer rain!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I love the sheets of water pouring off my zinc roof, and the roar it creates, so loud I can’t even carry a conversation with myself (“Another peanut M&M, Hayley?” “WHAT. EMINEM SUCKS. WHAT?" And I love the sudden greenification of my house and the hills around it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So even if this is a fake winter…I’m diggin’ it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Just don’t plant your corn yet.</span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I won’t say much about Semana Santa except that it was awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I slightly overdid it the first day and spend every waking moment in the ocean, which resulted in a) a ridiculous sunburn, b) painful, blistered lips, and c) an inner AND outer ear infection, in BOTH ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Totally worth it, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The waves were 6-feet-high every day and my buddies and I spent our days rolling and riding around on them, eating toasty sandwiches and drinking icy beverages of fruity origins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sand castles were also made, and I may or may not have pissed off an entire bar full of people by abusing my water-gun privileges and exercising my shoddy aiming skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Fortunately, I averted the mob by blending into the crowd, something I do naturally in <st1:place st="on">Central America</st1:place>.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Our baseball “championship” (April 17) went about as expected, which is to say we lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Reitoca hosted it this year, but it sucked because unlike previous years, the Peace Corps has no baseball funds, or they seem to have it tied up in a mysterious “coaches training” that was supposed to happen in February and has yet to be mentioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Either way, no dough for championships, regional or otherwise, and certainly none for the National Championship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In previous years it’s been held in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Tegucigalpa</st1:place></st1:city> in a real stadium, all expenses paid for the kids—they got hotel rooms, food, medals, even a trip to a children’s museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Not no more…now we don’t even have funds to pay for a real umpire to come to the regional championships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Which, I suppose, would be pointless, considering there aren’t trophies or a National competition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Either way, with my buddy David’s departure date looming (this Monday! Tear.), we decided to have one anyway, so the kids could have some closure (since Reitoca is the only other community nearby with a baseball team, once he leaves, we’ll have no one to play against until they get another volunteer, which isn’t until September).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, it was essentially like any other scrimmage, except David marked the field with ashes and we made the kids sing the national anthem before they played (horrific disaster…one of my kids Kenssy conducted it, and none of the kids followed her…they finished the song six different times).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I only brought 14 kids this time, because I’ve been having lower numbers (no one wants to be a loser, I guess).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One of my best pitcher’s moms refused to let him come, because she was “sick of watching him lose.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Not that she’s ever been to a game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So poor Enner had to pitch the whole time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As it was, they played pretty good, and we even scored a run!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Reitoca got three, thus beating us with a resounding 3-1 final score, and Las Panteras seemed no worse for the wear, as I suspect they now go into games assuming they will lose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was fun on the way over, though…I taught them all Spanish versions of those dorky call-and-repeat spirit songs we used to sing in T-ball, as well as the ever popular “GIMME A P! (P!) GIMME AN A! (A!)…” etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They belted them out all the way to Reitoca and begged to sing them on the way home, too, even though we’d lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So at least they’re good losers…though when we entered Alubarén proper they all started screaming and cheering and shouting “WE WON! WE WON!” to the people outside, which we most certainly had not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I didn’t stop them, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A little self-deception never hurt anyone, that’s what I always say.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">As I mentioned, David, my “pretend site-mate” and one-man adventure cohort, is on his way out; his two-year alarm clock is finally going off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Since he doesn’t live in my town, my day-to-day life won’t change much, but I’ll miss him coming over on the weekends once a month, to scramble around in the hills behind my house, cool off in the swimmin’ hole, lie in the hammocks and stuff our faces with candy and trail mix sent from the states, all the while greasing the gossip chains of my neighborhood as folks stand around and whisper about how “that other gringo” spends the night and therefore must be my boyfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s hard to explain that actually, American culture permits that a lady and a dude can be platonic friends and spend our evenings alone together, not boning but playing Hangman on my wall with sidewalk chalk while eating buckets of homemade pesto and drinking two liters of Coke, each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ah, the differences of culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyway, David and I decided we should have one final fling, and he came over last week to celebrate our Closing of Ceremonies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We made a picnic (rice crispy treats, sandwiches (tuna and cheese on wheat bread; god bless you Tegus supermarket) and a big thermos of ice cold homemade lemonade) and we set off into the jungley hills behind my house, Igor racing around our heels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Determined to make it a genuine Adventure, we scanned the horizon and declared it time to finally climb the abrupt peak that juts out of the mountain but which we’d never scaled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We circled around behind it and, lacking a path, just bushwacked our way to the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There we ate our lunch (Igor had dog biscuits sent down from gramma and grampa Kercher), peered down at Alubarén, and reflected on life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Getting down was, for some unexplainable reason, extremely treacherous and I led us down several VERY wrong paths (all ended in some abrupt abyss) until we finally stumbled upon the way we’d come up, which turned out to be the only way that didn’t involve “that god-damn gully AGAIN!”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Stupid gully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then we tramped up and over and down and through the woods, along the cow paths, until we got to the swimmin’ hole, where we splashed around and ate the last of our ‘crispies and drank more lemonade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Finally, we headed up to my favorite sittin’ hill and watched the sun set, slurping down the last tangy drops of god’s gift to beverages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A remarkable Closing of Ceremonies, indeed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then we headed back to the Tarantula Oven for a pesto, soda, and candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So long, pal.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Such is life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My time to peace out is fast approaching (I only have 5 months left) and after that I have no idea where I’ll go or what I’ll do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Any ideas? </span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Bed tiiiiiiime………just me and Fanny the Fan.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Love,</span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Hayley</span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-1111281312294604162010-03-28T11:52:00.000-07:002010-03-28T12:19:21.832-07:00man i got the swamp-ass on my throat<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p5G-9bXI/AAAAAAAAArg/Aqu0MZU7t3M/s1600/IMG_6496.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453764472361282930" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p5G-9bXI/AAAAAAAAArg/Aqu0MZU7t3M/s320/IMG_6496.JPG" /></a> Henri, my second-best pitcher.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p4SZi0hI/AAAAAAAAArY/qsys20etTtM/s1600/IMG_6492.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453764458245706258" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p4SZi0hI/AAAAAAAAArY/qsys20etTtM/s320/IMG_6492.JPG" /></a> Enner, my first-best pitcher.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p4PhxpeI/AAAAAAAAArQ/4uGbmmqpem4/s1600/IMG_6485.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453764457474926050" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p4PhxpeI/AAAAAAAAArQ/4uGbmmqpem4/s320/IMG_6485.JPG" /></a> Las Panteras de Alubaren! <br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p3sbNXWI/AAAAAAAAArI/1jj6Ji6GeJg/s1600/IMG_6465.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453764448052141410" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-p3sbNXWI/AAAAAAAAArI/1jj6Ji6GeJg/s320/IMG_6465.JPG" /></a> On the bus ride over (before their souls were crushed by defeat)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o-8Vn6kI/AAAAAAAAArA/bbwQWOSdp-I/s1600/IMG_6463.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453763473071139394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o-8Vn6kI/AAAAAAAAArA/bbwQWOSdp-I/s320/IMG_6463.JPG" /></a> well if that aint a rooster in a windowsill<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o-msAGWI/AAAAAAAAAq4/ENEdq6xng60/s1600/IMG_6458.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453763467259418978" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o-msAGWI/AAAAAAAAAq4/ENEdq6xng60/s320/IMG_6458.JPG" /></a> mouth-themed art.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o-K1Mr5I/AAAAAAAAAqw/z9RP8V2VKsQ/s1600/IMG_6449.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453763459781799826" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o-K1Mr5I/AAAAAAAAAqw/z9RP8V2VKsQ/s320/IMG_6449.JPG" /></a> little guys coloring their mouths.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o98WGaMI/AAAAAAAAAqo/xt-q_FPfKss/s1600/IMG_6447.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453763455893268674" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o98WGaMI/AAAAAAAAAqo/xt-q_FPfKss/s320/IMG_6447.JPG" /></a> view from the path on the way to the school...alubaren is waaaay down there in the valley.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o9TI_dEI/AAAAAAAAAqg/zpoINXqezpc/s1600/IMG_6438.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453763444832433218" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-o9TI_dEI/AAAAAAAAAqg/zpoINXqezpc/s320/IMG_6438.JPG" /></a> the third grade penpals! with their charming yet grossly incompetent teacher.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oVY8r76I/AAAAAAAAAqY/bjSqN8GoUKU/s1600/IMG_6420.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453762759196667810" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oVY8r76I/AAAAAAAAAqY/bjSqN8GoUKU/s320/IMG_6420.JPG" /></a> Igor and Kaiser, sopping wet after a trip to the swimmin hole.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oUwZAYvI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/ADfYyY0028U/s1600/IMG_6412.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453762748309594866" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oUwZAYvI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/ADfYyY0028U/s320/IMG_6412.JPG" /></a> leapin in!! dont break your face!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oUY4WAGI/AAAAAAAAAqI/qLM-JBZSMfo/s1600/IMG_6406.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453762741998583906" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oUY4WAGI/AAAAAAAAAqI/qLM-JBZSMfo/s320/IMG_6406.JPG" /></a> noel and his nature-made waterslide.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oUFwDCbI/AAAAAAAAAqA/dAYL4OH0FYE/s1600/IMG_6399.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453762736863513010" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oUFwDCbI/AAAAAAAAAqA/dAYL4OH0FYE/s320/IMG_6399.JPG" /></a><br />is douglas peering at us over those shades because he's cool...or because they're super-perscription and his eyes are aching?? child torture for photo ops is a large part of what peace corps volunteers do in the field.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oT_fTbeI/AAAAAAAAAp4/UimveVsk8yM/s1600/IMG_6392.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453762735182671330" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S6-oT_fTbeI/AAAAAAAAAp4/UimveVsk8yM/s320/IMG_6392.JPG" /></a> three generations of amazing women (dona anita, chepa, and maricela). all great friends of mine.<br /><br /><div><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">27 March 2010<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Hey, chochachos!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So my buddy Patrick got this awesome purple-camouflage t-shirt, which, being too small for him, was bequeathed to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It reads “BUTT SWEAT AND TEARS,” which is 1) hilarious and 2) entirely accurate of my current situation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>I’m not actually crying (though I did weep slightly last night watching “Milk” on ‘ol laptoppy) but I got swamp-ass like you wouldn’t even BELIEVE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Honduras</st1:place></st1:country-region> is all like “oo, you likes the heet, si? I geef you MORE!!” and totally throwing the lever to the “Butt Sweat 24-7” level of solar radiation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyway. I just thought you guys might like to hear about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I also have swamp ass on my throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Little weird blisters that pop and sting—right in the creases of my neck fat, formed from the slight inclination of the head as a result from reading in the hammock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>March and April are the hottest time of year in the south of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Honduras</st1:place></st1:country-region>, as everyone gazes ruefully at hazy blue horizon, waiting for the rain clouds that won’t appear until mid-May (save for a freak rain shower that fell a couple weeks ago and rained out baseball practice! Delicious).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All the plants have transformed into brittle, leafless skeletons and the dust is everywhere, coating all surfaces in a nice gritty filth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The cicadas drone incessantly and the toads hide in my latrine, looking for the Moist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Poor Igor just lies on the floor and pants frantically, though he is a warm-weather dog through and through and does much better here than I’m sure he’ll do in the states (the dope shivers with cold whenever we go to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Tegucigalpa</st1:place></st1:city>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The water shortage continues, though I really can’t complain because I have my whole pila to myself and most people have to share it with mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, kids, aunts, uncles…everyone in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So I let Nely come over and wash clothes and take baths all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sometimes, I just lie down in my underpants and let Igor lick me clean…dog saliva is antibacterial, you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The only good thing about the dry season here is the mangos are beginning to ripen, so I can switch from crunching on sour green ones (still tasty) to slurping down delicious sticky orange awesomeness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also, “jocotes” are in season now, also known as “plums,” (ciruelas) though they do not resemble North American plums in any way (they’re like little round balls of sweetish flesh, about the size of a walnut, with a huge pit).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Maranones are ripe now, which I have plenty of in my backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They taste like 100 gallons of butt sweat, though, so I give them all away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Fun fact—the nut on top of the fruit is where cashews come from! SCIENCE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyway, bitch bitch moan moan I’m hot and such, but it ain’t so bad cause 1) I borrowed the fan from the library, which has no electricity anyway, and 2) the swimmin’ holes still have water, so goin’ on adventures is always fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Last week, Nely and the kids and I (plus Igor) hiked for about an hour and a half to get to these amazing pools that are SO deep…you can jump off rocky boulders above and never touch the bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Plus, there is a shallow pool where the kids can splash around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We brought little bean tamales and it was delightful.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Work is goin’ awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The little penpal project I started up with the third-graders is adorable—they sent letters back and forth with an incredibly smart first grade bilingual classroom in Minnesota, taught by a former Honduran Peace Corps volunteer, Anne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s kind of sad, because the kids in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Minnesota</st1:place></st1:state> are a) 6 and 7 years old and b) learning Spanish for the first time, and their letters are still better written than my third graders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But the kids get a kick out of it, and draw great pictures to accompany their letters (which I send off in a manila envelope).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So far we’re only written twice, once introducing ourselves and talking about favorites and hobbies, and this past week, where the kids wrote about Semana Santa (Holy Week), which is exactly like American spring break, except instead of teenagers making bad decisions, it’s chock-full of Jesus, excursions to the nearest water source for swimming, and the consumption of fish-cake soup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The little letters explained as such.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s funny, though, because the third-graders all write little adult-ish phrases in the letters, like beginning with a “Hello, dear friend, allow me to hope that you are currently blessed with fine health and your family as well” (though totally botched spelling-wise) and “may the tiny baby-God bless you today and always.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Those Spanish-immersion blondies in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Minnesota</st1:place></st1:state> are gonna be like “que????”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Their letters are pretty funny too, though damn impressive—they throw the “le” and “se” around like it’s their job and their spelling is excellent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My favorite one was from a kid who wrote (in Spanish) “I’m so happy you are my new friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I used to not have any friends, but now I have exactly 101 and you are one of them. You are my best friend in the whole world and I love you so much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I want to meet this 6-year-old with so much love.</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Aside from that, I’m hiking up mountains twice a week to visit two aldea schools for my oral hygiene project, totally yellin’ at ‘em about cavities and such.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The kids are little angels and always so eager to participate—it’s adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This week, we colored pictures of the mouth and learned to identify all the different components.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s a damn good thing I’m a Scientist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In my village journeys, I’ve been able to form a closer friendship with a woman named Aida and her family, including little baby Geyly, who is now four-months old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Every Wednesday, on my way down the mountain after Colgate, I stop at their bright-green, open-air house and have lunch with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Or rather, she puts a huge plate of beans and rice and tortillas in front of me and watches me eat it, concerned with my “tiny waist” and lack of boobs (seriously!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In addition to little “Hayley,” she has a four-year-old son named Esteven who has the raddest bowl-cut ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He likes to show me his blocks that his dad made for him, and is also a fan of watching me stuff my face with food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m also friends with Aida’s sister, Xiomara, and her husband, Marlon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They’re newlyweds and have decided to stay childless for the first couple years, which is very rare in Honduran culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They’re in the middle of building a house (made of mud-and-straw bricks), and are sleeping in the half of it that has a roof while they finish the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They’re all really wonderful people and I’m delighted to have some real friends outside of Alubarén proper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s like Burrito Tuesday all over again (this thing my friends and I did in high school than involved eating burritos on Tuesday), only instead of burritos it’s beans and rice and tortillas, and instead of Tuesday it’s Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Baseball season is, thank tiny-baby-God, finally almost nearing an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We had our last “friendly scrimmage” today, in Reitoca.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’ve spent the past month convincing parents to let their kids play, despite the fact that no one wants their kid to be on a losing team, and did much damage to my “we’re improving everyday!” argument when Reitoca took us to school in the mini-van of Pain today, beating us 4-0 (our most painful loss yet).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We took the bus over early this morning, all sweaty-eyed and bushy-tailed, dressed to the nines in our sassy golden get-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The game started out all right, and we came very close to scoring runs several times (bases loaded, with my best batters at the plate…) but never managed to get a point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Meanwhile, Reitoca was playing just as crappily, with just one point to our zero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then, in the fourth inning, with two kids on base, their best batter slammed a ball into outer-space and won them three additional points with his fancy homerun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After we lost, my kids didn’t seem too disappointed—we’re used to being losers now—and instead ran around giggling and hamming it up for the camera, while I took individual shots of them posing in front out our team flag, one knee up and one knee down, with their hand on a bat, just like the cheesy pictures we take in American little league.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The parents were pissed, though, and much berating was going on until I finally lost it and yelled at them (the parents) that if they couldn’t support the kids positively then they shouldn’t come to the games (a message that needed to be said, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper, because know they’ll all talk smack about me behind my back).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We bused it home, I laid in the hammock and stuffed my face with avocado, tomatoes and basil salad (all local grown, chumps) and drank chai iced tea (thanks mom and dad!) with my new best friend, Fanny the Fan (I’m all like, Hey, Fanny, do you like tarantulas? And she’s all “Noo-oo-oo” while shaking her head slowly to-and-fro).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyway, just three more weeks until the “championship” on April 17 (though it will be essentially the same thing as a scrimmage since Peace Corps has no money in the baseball program for trophies, trips to Tegus, or anything of that sort) and baseball will have ended until next year, at which point the next sucker volunteer can have ‘em.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I should have formed a “hangin’ out in the swimmin’ hole” team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Hella bedtimes, folks…I gotta rest up for my Semana Santa adventures, which are beginning soon and involve salt water and hammocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>MYSTERIOUS!!</span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Love,</span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Hayley</span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-8576840053753109592010-03-13T13:33:00.000-08:002010-03-13T13:52:13.022-08:00birth birth birth birth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wH3AUscuI/AAAAAAAAApw/ZiGibFzxGoA/s1600-h/IMG_6314.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wH3AUscuI/AAAAAAAAApw/ZiGibFzxGoA/s320/IMG_6314.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448238290772456162" border="0" /></a>muddy fingahs!!!!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wH2-aQEgI/AAAAAAAAApo/xH6QCfdmYzM/s1600-h/IMG_6304.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wH2-aQEgI/AAAAAAAAApo/xH6QCfdmYzM/s320/IMG_6304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448238290258891266" border="0" /></a>birthday partyyyyyy<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF38D8knI/AAAAAAAAApg/fxiVoUMQIsU/s1600-h/IMG_6295.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF38D8knI/AAAAAAAAApg/fxiVoUMQIsU/s320/IMG_6295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448236107785081458" border="0" /></a>mud cake and a mud heart!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF3mWz4UI/AAAAAAAAApY/Ey7wV9muEuE/s1600-h/IMG_6293.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF3mWz4UI/AAAAAAAAApY/Ey7wV9muEuE/s320/IMG_6293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448236101958623554" border="0" /></a>FELIZ CUMPLEANOS JILI SORPRESA<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF3GENcOI/AAAAAAAAApQ/ZEIxQfUw50s/s1600-h/IMG_6291.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF3GENcOI/AAAAAAAAApQ/ZEIxQfUw50s/s320/IMG_6291.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448236093290672354" border="0" /></a>me and igor on the kitchen floor<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF27Bx01I/AAAAAAAAApI/wSgBSbrCMps/s1600-h/IMG_6281.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF27Bx01I/AAAAAAAAApI/wSgBSbrCMps/s320/IMG_6281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448236090327683922" border="0" /></a>douglas, the great chicken wrangler.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF2RGOBtI/AAAAAAAAApA/vIRfYqSrDkA/s1600-h/IMG_6276.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S5wF2RGOBtI/AAAAAAAAApA/vIRfYqSrDkA/s320/IMG_6276.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448236079072020178" border="0" /></a>thankfully the toy is covering his business this time<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />11 March 2010</span><br />Hey, chochachos! If my writing seems more sage and geriatric today, that is because ya’ll are accustomed to reading the words of a 23-year-old, and this chochacha is now 24. So, please attribute any sudden leaps in wisdom and/or insight to my advancing age and the gifts—and burdens, yes, there are burdens as well—that come with it.<br /><br />As the Hondurans say, I was “a little baby once again” this past Tuesday, March 9th. My second birthday in Honduras, this time fortunately bereft of extremely tiny panties, which were given to me in great numbers last year by various individuals. I woke up early because I had to get out to a village (Alto de las Mesas) to start a Colgate project with the school there, in which the kiddies brush their teeth with hopeless abandon every day after snack-time and receive weekly lectures regarding oral hygiene and the toothly sciences. This week, the lecture was just on how to brush your teeth correctly, though, which was nice and easy. Unfortunately, it meant brushing my teeth six times in 30 minutes, as I chose to do a demonstration with each grade, even though it’s a one-room school with one teacher for the whole lot (60 kids total). Let’s face it; I just love brushing my teeth. It’s so awesome. Anyway, I stayed the whole day, and clamored down the mountain (to get to the school from the dirt road, you have to walk up a mega-steep dusty narrow path that edges along the rim of a steep mountain, banked by corn and sugar cane plants) with the teacher, Maricela (who is also in my English class). As we approached the main road, we heard a truck coming (free jalon!) so I started to race down the hill like a dang goat, which was stupid because goat I am not. About 8 feet from the road, in plain site of the driver of the truck and several people standing around outside a house, I totally ate it and slid down face-first, my skirt all sliding around to suggestive leg-levels and my glasses all goin’ askew. I wasn’t hurt, except for a skinned leg and arm, but jesus in a juice box was I embarrassed. Everyone rushed over and was hella concerned, tryin’ to clean me up…meanwhile I’m covered in red dirt and laughing like crazy. Awesome. The driver of the truck did give us a jalon back to Alubarén, though, so that was rad. Then I went home for a quick shower and lunch before my 4pm English class. As I approached my house, the neighbor kids came streaming out yelling my name like they always do, trying to drag me into their house to see the surprise they had for me. Unfortunately, I had to pry their feeble little baby hands off my skirt and make them wait until that evening, because I was all kinds of rushin’.<br /><br />Off I dashed to English class, where I told my class of teachers that I had prepared a special surprise for them, in honor of my birthday. Murmurs of joy spread throughout the class, which were abruptly extinguished when, cackling madly, I whipped out the manila envelope filled with pre-tests they all had to take (which I should have given to them on Day 1, whoopsies). The test was hellsa chunkity, like 5 pages, so I just sat and dangled my legs from the desk while they grumbled their way through it. As they finished about 50 minutes later, they wandered outside and waited on the little soccer-playin’-concrete-slab (or so I though). When the last teacher handed me her test, I stepped outside to call the others in, only to find them GONE. I was like AW HELL NO YOU CHEATIN’ DESERTERS and such, full of Anger, until I saw one of them heading back into the school with a huge bottle of soda in her arms. Yay! Birthday Soda! I ducked back in so she wouldn’t see that I saw her coming, and busied myself writing on the board while they whispered and giggled outside. Suddenly, all 15 of them burst back into the room, grinning like little kids, bearing a little sugary-bread thing they’d bought at the pulperia and covered with 24 matches. They began to sing “Happy Birthday” (in English!) and took pictures of me with their camera phones while I blew out the “candles.” Then they doused me with bags of water (it’s typical to attack the birthday girl or boy with eggs and other crap, so I guess I got off lucky), handed out bags of chips and lolly-pops and cups of soda, and we participated in the great age-old tradition of forfeiting school time for consuming delicious treats. By the time we finished it was 5:30, so I just let everyone go home half an hour early. I walked up the road to my house, where Alison, Noel, Douglas, Cristina, and Yesica were waiting for me. They made me close my eyes and lead me through the house into the backyard, before finally arriving at the base of a big orange tree. “SORPRESA!!” they all screamed, and I opened my eyes to find a succulent mud birthday cake waiting for me at the base of the tree, complete with 24 little sticks, masquerading as candles. They’d also made a giant mud heart with my name inside, and with cinders from the fire had carefully written “FELIZ CUMPLEANOS JILI SORPRESA!!” on the concrete. Then they made me sit down and each presented me with a little hand-made envelope, covering in drawings, with sweet little birthday letters inside. My eyeballs, they did sweat a little, I must say…those kids have a vice grip on my soul. Then we trooped inside and made chocolate-banana smoothies, like we did last year, and sliced open a big juicy watermelon. My landlords gave me a huge sleeveless muscle-tee that I can never wear in public, with a picture of a Honduran beach on the front. Maybe I’ll wear it to baseball practice one day and freak out off the adolescent boys. Tina gave me an apple and a chocolate bar, and Lisbeth gave me a pencil, an eraser, a pencil sharpener, and a pen (her pencil case seems to have gone on a diet recently, I wonder why that might be?). But the best was that mud cake, which is now dry and sitting on a paper plate on my shelf in my room. Though I will admit I snuck a tiny bite before I put it up for display…god, those kids know how to mix dirt and water. Like imported Swiss fudge on ‘roids.<br /><br />That’s about it for the Birthday Special…baseball is goin’ great, my little misfits are having a wonderful time, and getting excited for our up-coming scrimmage in Reitoca on the 27th of this month. Colgate, Joven a Joven and TEAM are all cominn’ along beautifully, and I’m gettin’ ready to start a Nature Club in the school. Finally, I get to start the pinecone-art sweatshop I’ve always dreamed of (though pinecones don’t exist in Alubarén, I have a huge bag of them I collected when I lived in Santa Rita).<br /><br />My bed just texted me “haylz come on man it’s so l8t, come put on yr shortz and loser mouth-guard and get yr slumberz on”…so I guess I’d better go.<br />Looooove<br />Hayley<br /><br />P.S. Birthday Update: I got a sweet ride to Tegus on Friday afternoon and met up with some friends, who treated me to surprise party with cold beers and an incredible smorgesborge of fancy cakes (chocolate caramel, cheesecake with raspberries, and carrot cake ) and ice cream. And they sang so beautifully!! You guys is the best.Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-14657578432892372542010-02-25T08:30:00.000-08:002010-02-25T08:55:51.172-08:00dear john, im sorry i made baseball lame.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ap7qz-BvI/AAAAAAAAAoA/UM_tf7dOHlA/s1600-h/IMG_6273.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ap7qz-BvI/AAAAAAAAAoA/UM_tf7dOHlA/s320/IMG_6273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442224042293462770" border="0" /></a>beach day! the whole gang...except for little andri, who was passed out in the shade.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ap7Zhe7SI/AAAAAAAAAn4/ZVLKr35NrfE/s1600-h/IMG_6272.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ap7Zhe7SI/AAAAAAAAAn4/ZVLKr35NrfE/s320/IMG_6272.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442224037652524322" border="0" /></a>esau found some cangrejas...which he brought back to alubaren in a pepsi bottle and then fried in lard and bullion cubes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4apunFA2FI/AAAAAAAAAnw/Nq9kNGM4NXg/s1600-h/IMG_6268.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4apunFA2FI/AAAAAAAAAnw/Nq9kNGM4NXg/s320/IMG_6268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442223817952909394" border="0" /></a>douglas playin with the boats.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4apuJN_7kI/AAAAAAAAAno/Vg0yPlPjneQ/s1600-h/IMG_6263.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4apuJN_7kI/AAAAAAAAAno/Vg0yPlPjneQ/s320/IMG_6263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442223809937534530" border="0" /></a>splashin' around with grandma<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4apt-ORHsI/AAAAAAAAAng/5fa0KYOh9nM/s1600-h/IMG_6257.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4apt-ORHsI/AAAAAAAAAng/5fa0KYOh9nM/s320/IMG_6257.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442223806985871042" border="0" /></a>SO SALTYYYYY<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4aptj48OYI/AAAAAAAAAnY/f1P7hZyIc64/s1600-h/IMG_6253.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4aptj48OYI/AAAAAAAAAnY/f1P7hZyIc64/s320/IMG_6253.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442223799917099394" border="0" /></a>cute swimsuit little lady<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4aptUr9KCI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/KLrJOazFB40/s1600-h/IMG_6247.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4aptUr9KCI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/KLrJOazFB40/s320/IMG_6247.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442223795836102690" border="0" /></a>grandma tina and her nietos<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao3YyJTNI/AAAAAAAAAnI/HrPfbE9EZhc/s1600-h/IMG_6243.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao3YyJTNI/AAAAAAAAAnI/HrPfbE9EZhc/s320/IMG_6243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442222869222870226" border="0" /></a>ah, cedeno...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao2_VkppI/AAAAAAAAAnA/2GBewzTmDQ4/s1600-h/IMG_6241.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao2_VkppI/AAAAAAAAAnA/2GBewzTmDQ4/s320/IMG_6241.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442222862392141458" border="0" /></a>esau, nuria, lisbeth, alison and noel...in the swishy swashy warm waters<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao2hECzfI/AAAAAAAAAm4/PUqR0ZUy1hI/s1600-h/IMG_6232.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao2hECzfI/AAAAAAAAAm4/PUqR0ZUy1hI/s320/IMG_6232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442222854265556466" border="0" /></a>douglas in his little sand lounge chair<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao2GncyuI/AAAAAAAAAmw/Yq8a1Z1xT4A/s1600-h/IMG_6223.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao2GncyuI/AAAAAAAAAmw/Yq8a1Z1xT4A/s320/IMG_6223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442222847166302946" border="0" /></a>they'll be pickin sand out of their butts for weeks<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao1_M7PpI/AAAAAAAAAmo/fkIx9D4xzxc/s1600-h/IMG_6222.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4ao1_M7PpI/AAAAAAAAAmo/fkIx9D4xzxc/s320/IMG_6222.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442222845176004242" border="0" /></a>diggin and jumpin<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an9iRSvQI/AAAAAAAAAmg/dYVXnuLYalc/s1600-h/IMG_6218.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an9iRSvQI/AAAAAAAAAmg/dYVXnuLYalc/s320/IMG_6218.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442221875337018626" border="0" /></a>playin soccer!! before some chumps swiped it<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an9flTf2I/AAAAAAAAAmY/uSVYS28M3A4/s1600-h/IMG_6214.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an9flTf2I/AAAAAAAAAmY/uSVYS28M3A4/s320/IMG_6214.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442221874615648098" border="0" /></a>douglas playin in the sand<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an8q6LIrI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/SfD2eTqLVFQ/s1600-h/IMG_6210.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an8q6LIrI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/SfD2eTqLVFQ/s320/IMG_6210.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442221860476101298" border="0" /></a>"I'm on a boat, ******-******!" says Andri. "Got my flippy-floppies!" agrees Douglas.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an8b71bVI/AAAAAAAAAmI/6j-nZulf0TU/s1600-h/IMG_6208.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4an8b71bVI/AAAAAAAAAmI/6j-nZulf0TU/s320/IMG_6208.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442221856456535378" border="0" /></a>the kids and igor with some side-walk chalk art they did on my house...yeah i been doin some external decorating lately.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4anfcrsITI/AAAAAAAAAl4/L9KphTe0xco/s1600-h/IMG_6207.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S4anfcrsITI/AAAAAAAAAl4/L9KphTe0xco/s320/IMG_6207.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442221358441046322" border="0" /></a>the serious shot.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">21 February 2010</span><br />Hey, chochachos! It’s about 8:00pm on Sunday night, and I am waiting quite patiently for my Hayley Rice to finish….which is, in case the reader is wondering, is rice. With tomatoes and green peppers and onions. Hells yes Also, I have some spicy sausage I am gonna throw in there, and then throw in my MOUTH. Naum naum naum, naum.<br /><br />So I’m a big fan of the concept of “Beach Day!”, in which one packs the car with sandwiches, soda, and Frisbees, and takes to the beach with one’s buddies for swimming and adventures. Honduras is nestled in the tender bosom of not one but two oceans, so in my hunk of time here I’ve had many opportunities to embark on such Beach Days. My neighbors, “Nely and the kids” (a nickname I have for them, which my buddy Patrick says should always be followed by “The Country Jam-Band”) always stay and take care of Igor while I cavort around the country, my pockets heavy with US tax-payers’ money, and I always feel guilty that I can travel about so easily and they can’t, ‘cause they’re hella poor. So we decided as an early “Semana Santa” adventure, we would embark on a Beach Day adventure of our own. I went to the market on Thursday and bought all the fixins’ for tamales (corn flour mix, potatoes, chicken, onions, sweet pepper, vegetable-based lard, spices and salts) and Friday afternoon we made about 60 chunkity ‘ol tamales, wrapped up steamy in huge green banana leaves. Then we packed baskets with blankets, towels, extra clothes, water, sunscreen, the works. Saturday morning, at 5:00am, my landlord Rony, who is married to Nely’s half-sister Mirian, pulled up outside the house with his two kids, Esau and Nuria (and his pockets full of gas money, provided by Uncle Sam). Nely, little Douglas, and her dad Ruben (the old man with Parkinson’s, if you recall) sat up front while the rest of us (Tina, Elias, Esau, Nuria, Lisbeth, Andri, Alison, Noel, and me) settled onto the foam pad we’d placed in the truck bed. The kids chattered excitedly about what the beach would be like (none of them had ever been to the ocean), while little motion-sick Alison barfed continuously into various plastic bags, which were then ceremoniously dumped over the edge of the car into the dirt as we flew along. We watched the stars disappear and the sun come up over the mountains as we drove along, and after an hour and a half we reached the paved road. By 8:00am, we arrived at the southern beach town of Cedeno, parked the car near a little shack at one end of the beach, and unloaded ourselves into the sand. This particular shack provided chairs, shade, and hammocks to the folks who purchased their wares, so we bought a bunch of sodas to complement our bucket packed to the brim with tamales. The kids stripped down to their underwear in about three seconds and sprinted toward the surf. “AHHH IT’S SALTY!! IT’S SALTY!! OH NO!!!” screamed Alison, totally upset by the fact she couldn’t drink it. “MY EYES! THEY BURN!” They quickly got used to the salt water, though, and from that moment on until we left at 3:00pm, the kids didn’t leave the ocean once (except to ingest tamales as quickly as Science would allow). I had brought my Frisbee and Noel his new soccer ball my dad sent him, but both toys went basically unused as the kids were way too enthralled by the crashing waves. We played a Catcher in the Rye type game in which I would stand waist-deep in the water and snag the kids as the receding surf dragged them out…then, as the waves rolled in, I would launch them like little brown surf-boards and they would “surf” in. The only people who didn’t enjoy the water were Ruben, who shuffled around dressed for the office in leather shoes, pinstriped slacks, and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and Douglas and Andri, the two-year-olds, who were so terrified by the immense body of water that they refused to even go near it. However, there were little fishing boats pulled up on the sand, and they had a great time climbing around and playing in the sand (Douglas tried to eat it, and then sat there gagging until someone ran over and rinsed his mouth out). At 3pm, we piled back into the truck and set off for home. This time, the ride was much more unpleasant, because the sun-burned, tired kids were very cranky and we were all melting under the blistering sun. At least Alison wasn’t puking nonstop again; she passed out in my lap after 10 minutes in and slept almost the whole way home. When we arrived at 6:00pm, everyone took baths and then we made a quick dinner of eggs, chorizo, cream, and tortillas before calling it an early night. The kids passed out on the floor, on top of the same dirty pad we’d had in the truck, mumbling about waves (I bet they all pissed the bed). Hells yes Beach Day!<br /><br />I’ve suddenly found myself rather busy, which is nice. I began TEAM (Teaching English and Methodology) classes this week, with 16 teachers, and that went quite smoothly. I went by the high school one morning, to recruit baseball players, and mentioned to the principal that I’d like to start a project called “Youth to Youth: Work Skills and Orientation”; a 10-session, 40-hour work-shop that helps the kids identify their aptitudes and labor interests and, once they’ve identified possible careers or jobs they might enjoy, orients them on how to pursue them. It’s very intense and work-heavy, both for the facilitator and the participants, and I’ve been stressing about it because my counter-part that was trained in how to facilitate the program with me has since jumped ship and enrolled in the Police Academy—I’m flyin’ solo. So anyway, I sit down with the principal, and she whips out her little calendar, and figures out when the 11th and 12th graders could sacrifice an entire morning. We decide that Fridays would be best, and she announces that we must begin the NEXT DAY. I stay up until freakin’ 2:00am creating all the visual aids I would need and preparing, and wake up at 5:45am to I can get to the school by 7:00am. Despite my sleep deprivation and nervousness, the workshop went really well for the first day and the kids seemed into it (the methodology is excellent and uses a lot of games and activities). I enjoy it, sort of…though pre-schoolers and little guys like that are much more my thing and dealing with 37 high schoolers was definitely a challenge for me…they definitely think I’m super lame (probably because I kept telling jokes and doing things that can only be fairly described as such). We had the next session the next day, Friday, and from now one will have one session per week until we finish. Oh heavens.<br /><br />On the baseball front, Las Panteras have suffered a revolution and an abrupt re-enrollment. After we lost our first game, all the big kids that have played baseball for two years decided baseball is no longer cool, and ceremoniously quit (including my pitchers, catchers, and best basemen). I tried everything—talking to their parents, talking to them, going to the school—but it’s a closed case. Baseball is officially Hella Lame. I went to the school and recruited heavily, and all this week I’ve had numbers higher than I’ve seen all year—20 kids came on Wednesday, and 24 on Friday. But the dynamics are totally different. Before, the kids were the same ones who played with John (the volunteer before me)—generally well-behaved, successful kids whose parents are involved in the community and the churches. And, since they began with John, most of the kids were now pretty big and pretty good players. However, since they all quit, the ranks have been re-filled with all the little ragamuffins—the kids who roam the pueblo all day because their parents don’t care, little urchins who do poorly in school and stay up until 10:00pm every night playing soccer in the street because they don’t have enforced bedtimes. A lot of them have drunks for dads, and these kids have mouths on ‘em that would make a very surly pirate blush and say, “Well, I <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span>!”. Essentially, these little guys, the smelly kids at school, have become the core of Las Panteras. Baseball is no longer for the cool kids, it’s for the underdogs. This interesting social phenomenon came about very abruptly—I didn’t specifically invite this crowd of kids, I just issued a general invitation at the school and showed up a the baseball field the next day, expecting nobody to show and instead being greeted by 20 very punctual children, all eager to play. It’s frustrating, because the regional championship is in April and I’m now starting from scratch with kids who have no idea how to play baseball, but it’s awesome having a group of kids who are just there to play and not obsessing over whether or not we win our little scrimmages against Reitoca. And the best part of all is that these kids, who are always getting yelled at in school and bear the reputation of the “bad kids” have now accomplished two practices in which they were as good as GOLD. No cussing, no fighting, no rudeness (except for one kid who straight-up peed on another kid…needless to say, Pee Boy has been removed from the team). Maybe this will act as a catalyst in a life-changing metamorphosis in these children, and then Disney will make a movie about it. The rag-tag group of misfits who manage to win the big game…just like in Wet Hot American Summer. Only instead of calling it off and running off into the woods, we actually will play and it will be Awesome.<br /><br />Love,<br />Hayley<br /><br />P.S. I just found a tarantula the size of my face chillin on my bedroom wall. But my neighbor squished it with a broom so it's cool.Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-8587308970626915572010-02-08T09:04:00.000-08:002010-02-08T09:14:05.059-08:00sucks to be losers<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFaBmMWWI/AAAAAAAAAlI/Pk-ZXabANHQ/s1600-h/IMG_6157.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435921063643732322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFaBmMWWI/AAAAAAAAAlI/Pk-ZXabANHQ/s320/IMG_6157.JPG" border="0" /></a> Igor and our basil forest. yes, i eat pesto weekly, so what?<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFZ8BRmVI/AAAAAAAAAlA/Y2VPUMpBDY8/s1600-h/IMG_6153.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435921062146709842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFZ8BRmVI/AAAAAAAAAlA/Y2VPUMpBDY8/s320/IMG_6153.JPG" border="0" /></a> Las Panteras, posing in my yard during our after-party (celebrating that we...lost? i dont know.)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFZpieqyI/AAAAAAAAAk4/mXYmBENy7GM/s1600-h/IMG_6150.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435921057185704738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFZpieqyI/AAAAAAAAAk4/mXYmBENy7GM/s320/IMG_6150.JPG" border="0" /></a> Some of the kiddies in the Readers Club, with notebooks and McDonald's toys. Ah, literacy!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFZd1RfsI/AAAAAAAAAkw/DxUWRE7dSo8/s1600-h/IMG_6149.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435921054043307714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BFZd1RfsI/AAAAAAAAAkw/DxUWRE7dSo8/s320/IMG_6149.JPG" border="0" /></a>Making egg-carton dragons.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE1gZqfaI/AAAAAAAAAko/mFV9hGU4L1g/s1600-h/IMG_6147.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435920436257521058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE1gZqfaI/AAAAAAAAAko/mFV9hGU4L1g/s320/IMG_6147.JPG" border="0" /></a> Aurelio is too busy to smile.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE1UaL1oI/AAAAAAAAAkg/G9e2x15dfqA/s1600-h/IMG_6146.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435920433038481026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE1UaL1oI/AAAAAAAAAkg/G9e2x15dfqA/s320/IMG_6146.JPG" border="0" /></a> Little Elvin, my neighbor, gettin' to work.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE1BPpyLI/AAAAAAAAAkY/AAjLaY5T4eU/s1600-h/IMG_6141.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435920427894032562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE1BPpyLI/AAAAAAAAAkY/AAjLaY5T4eU/s320/IMG_6141.JPG" border="0" /></a> Nice polar bear Cristian!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE0yF5aUI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/jTMtFli2cH8/s1600-h/IMG_6140.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435920423826581826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE0yF5aUI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/jTMtFli2cH8/s320/IMG_6140.JPG" border="0" /></a> Dancing polar bears, la la la...<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE0ioR-gI/AAAAAAAAAkI/b5Xg681aC60/s1600-h/IMG_6138.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435920419675830786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S3BE0ioR-gI/AAAAAAAAAkI/b5Xg681aC60/s320/IMG_6138.JPG" border="0" /></a> Escarleth and friends gettin' busy durin arts and farts and crafts.<br /><br /><div><strong>6 February 2010</strong><br />Hey, chochachos! Well hooty-hoo, lookit that, a whole month has passed since my last blog. You guys have probably been super bored. I hope you all took advantage of your new-found free time and tackled those projects you’ve had hovering for the past few years (200 piece jigsaw puzzles, cleaning your toenails, writing your thesis, etc.). Anyway, you can put down that letter to grandma, because I got a hot new steamy blog all ready for ya’s. Topped with Funyons!<br /><br />Today was a sweaty bummer. After training Las Panteras in the stupid sport of baseball for the past three months (practicing EVERY DAY for two hours in the punishing Honduran sun), we finally had our first game today—a scrimmage against neighbors Reitoca, who are trained by my fellow Peace Corps buddy David. Now, last year, we managed to lose every single game we played against Reitoca except for one, and this year it’s been rough going trying to get the kids to show up for practice—they’re all like “Why play if we’re just gonna lose?” and “We’d rather play soccer!” Of course, there are still loads of kids who want to play, mainly groups of 8-year-old girls who idolize me. I can’t seem to get the 12-year-old boys to follow suit. Anyway, despite the resounding negativity, I felt confident that we could win the game with a little luck, and so we set out parading behind our banner toward the field at about 8:00am this morning. We got there, marked the field with ashes the kids brought from their mom’s wood-ovens, warmed up, and began the game. In the first inning, Reitoca didn’t get a single player on base, and we scored a run with a “jonron!” It was awesome. 1-0, bitches. Then the next inning, no changes. Then, in the third inning, Reitoca got lucky and scored three runs, mainly due to a crazy fluke batter who sent the ball into the bowels of left field, leaving our outfielders searching in the weeds. Finally, we reached the final inning (we only play five here). We batted second, and we found ourselves with two outs, bases loaded. It was Kelvin’s turn to bat, a new-comer who has a lot of spunk but whose technique is basically “swing wildly at anything, no matter what.” I kept yelling “Wait for the good ones! Don’t swing!,” hoping he’d get walked to first base and thus earn us a run. Pitch one. STRIKE. Pitch two. STRIKE. Pitch three….WHAM! Kelvin smacks it, straight to…first base. Our guy on third runs as hard as he can toward home, but the first baseman stomps the bag, thus ending the game, before our guy can cross the plate. We were soooo close to tying it up, but it just wasn’t in the cards…my kids were furious. Half the bigger kids threw their gloves down and stomped off, others dissolved into tears, were teased by the others, and then tried to fight them. It was a disaster. After screaming “Come BACK here, you guys! C’mon!” the kids finally grouped up so I could give them a little pep talk. We almost did it, you guys played great, don’t feel bad, we’ll get ‘em next time…but you could tell they didn’t want to hear it. I invited them all to come to my house at 2:00pm for the after-party (which I’d planned as a hopeful celebratory event, alas) and we went our separate ways, while Reitoca drove slowly down the road in their giant truck whooping and taunting. It was pretty sad.<br /><br />At two, all the kids showed up (each player toting about 5 siblings), and I cranked up the Rolling Stones and handed out puzzles, paper and markers, and the kids amused themselves playing tag and coloring while I dished out watermelon, popcorn, and home-made orange smoothies to 33 children. Then we circled up under my big cherry tree and talked about the game. Since they were all much more chilled out, this time it went a lot better, and we talked about how close the game had been and how if it wasn’t for that crazy left-field slammer we would have won. We talked about sportsmanship and how we weren’t always going to lose; how the next game could be different and how important it is to keep trying and not give up. Blah, blah, you guys are losers, you’re never going to account to anything…I like to tell it to ‘em straight. Then I brought out a big piñata filled with candy and little toys, and the kids smashed it to pieces. Only two kids got cracked in the head! New record! Then I sent them home and spent the next hour picking up watermelon rinds and plastic cups. Boo…urns.<br /><br />Oh, well. I’m thinking of making t-shirts for everyone that says “There’s No Crying in Baseball…Even when you lose every single game, ever, because your coach secretly hates baseball and is no good at teaching it.” Wouldn’t that be cute?<br /><br />The dry season is in full-swing. Or should I say, Honduras, most especially the south, is getting totally boned by a terrible draught. And it’s not consensual boning, if you receive my meaning. And I think that you do. Every sponge-full of water taken from the pila is measured and used carefully, and every drop of dirty water is conserved to dump in the toilet or sprinkle on my Basil Forest I’ve planted in the yard. The guy in charge of opening and closing the water valves in the community has become a hated man, as every day that goes by without water, everyone mutters, “That guy NEVER gives me water.” People accuse others of sneaking up and closing the valves a little after he leaves, so less water leaves, leaving more for themselves when it’s their turn. When the water does come, it comes in spurts and dribbles, and people stand agonized by their pilas, hoping it will be enough to add a couple inches of water. There are days when I have not a single drop, and I can’t bathe, can’t brush my teeth, can’t wash my clothes, can’t flush out the latrine, can’t even drink (on those days, I head sheepishly down to my neighbors, who often have water when I don’t, and vice-versa—we’re on different water lines). The other day my landlord woke me up at 6:00am hollering my name at the gate, and I walked outside rubbing my eyes to the sight of Rony standing on the steps in a towel—“Hayley, we haven’t got any water—can I take a bath here?” It’s an exercise in community support, because as much as I hate to give away even a drop of my precious water, I know there will be a time when I’ll have to go clean up at their house, too. The hills have turned brown, the river is totally dry, and all the soft luscious green plants have dried out and turned into vicious thorns and spines. The air is hot and dry all day long, and only at dusk do we get any kind of relief from the heat. Many of the corn and bean crops suffered from our dry winter and people are going hungry. The good news is that the mango trees are flowering and some of the other dry-season fruit trees are producing, so money can soon be made selling that produce in the market in Tegucigalpa.<br /><br />Next Monday, school begins, thus ending the 4-month summer vacation for the kids, and for me as well. I’ve spent my summer break doing daily baseball and twice-weekly “Readers Club” in the library, and that’s about it. Bout time for some real work…I was beginning to get incredibly lazy. We’re going to reduce baseball to Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and the Readers Club has finished. It was great while it lasted, though…the kids loved it. The little guys came on Monday mornings, and the big kids on Wednesdays. First, the kids spent about half an hour reading silently to themselves, choosing from the books I’d laid out on the tables. Then, they circle up, and each kid shares the book he read and what it was about. Then, I read a story out loud, and then the kids retire to the tables for a related art project. For example, after we read “The Legend of the Indian Paintbrush,” all the kids were given a sheet of white paper and watercolors and painted sunsets. Or another time, we read “Lars the Polar Bear,” and the kids glued cotton balls to cut-outs of polar bears and glued them to Artic scenes they painted themselves. To celebrate the last meeting, this week we read “The Paper-Bag Princess” and “Leo and Memo,” both of which feature dragons and/or crocodiles. Then I handed out egg-cartons and they painted them green (though most of them opted to paint them multi-colored for some reason) and we turned them into scary, toothy reptilian monsters. Then I handed out as prizes some notebooks Mom’s friend Leetha had sent me, and some crappy little McDonald’s toys I’d had donated. And that was that! The kids were all begging me to keep the club going, but we can’t do it in the mornings because they have class, and I won’t have time to do it in the afternoons. But our new superintendent is on the Library Committee, so I’m hoping to get him to force the teachers to take their classes to the library once a week for silent reading or story hour, something they flat-out refused to do last year.<br /><br />I’ll be starting “Team 2” in a week or so, which will be the same English classes I was giving to the teachers as the year before, only now it’s a level up. I’ll also be starting my “Yo Merezco” abstinence-education and female-empowerment workshop with the fifth and sixth-grade girls. I’ll continue doing oral-hygiene education in the village schools with free toothbrushes and toothpaste for all the kids, courtesy of Colgate, and I’ll also continue with my Pregnant Women’s Club and Hypertension Workshops in the Health Center. In March, I’ll begin a three-month workshop called “Youth to Youth,” which orientates and trains junior and seniors in high school in how to prepare themselves for the work-force after high school—gets them thinking about their characteristics and aptitudes, about what sort of work they would enjoy, or whether they would be better suited as entrepreneurs, and how to successfully apply for a job. Plus we throw in healthy doses of decision-making, self-esteem improvement, and life-skills such as good communication and positive coexistence with other people. Should be fun, but the manual is very complicated and I’m nervous because the counter-part I was supposed to do it with has left to join the police academy, so I have to train someone new. Finally, I’m going to start a Nature Club in the elementary school and give classes on environment education, and the kids are going to get baby trees through an NGO called “Trees for the Future.” They’ll tend these fruit tree saplings themselves, and then they get to take them home and plant them in their homes. Oh, and we’re going to do pen-pals with another third-grade class in the states!<br /><br />At the end on the month, I’ll have my annual “Re-Connect” conference in which all the Youth Development volunteers get together to share knowledge and stuff. I’m psyched though, ‘cause I’m going to leave a couple days early and go camping in La Tigra national forest with some fellow volunteers. Then, a week later, I’m going to go climb the highest peak in Honduras, Montana de Celaque! I’m gonna capture a gnome and roast him over a spit. No reason. Just feel like it.<br /><br />Finally, in political news, Pepe Lobo took up the charge as Honduras’ new president a couple weeks ago, amid much fanfare in the national soccer stadium (the best part was Pepe doing laps around the stadium in a glorified go-cart and waving happily at the people while sexy ladies danced around him and dudes dressed in white did some good ‘ol fashioned Ribbon Dancing. It was excellent). Our ex-prez Zelaya (you may remember him from such coups in which he was removed by force and then exiled to the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa) is now, I imagine, drinking a remarkably-garnished beverage on the beaches of the Dominican Republic, which is to be his new home. Be careful, Zelaya, don’t get sunburned! I imagine he must be mighty pasty after so many months without stepping outside.<br /><br />Time to get goin’, chochachos…I have to go to a vigil for a women in my community who died about a week ago, of a heart attack (I was actually in the health center with my pregnant women when she was carried in by three men, followed by a string of wailing daughters…they placed her on the table, the doctor checked her vitals, declared her dead, and then the center suddenly filled with mourning family members). This makes the fourth death in my community in the past month, all of them heart attacks…too much grease and salt in the diet! I don’t think their habits are close to changing, despite the educational attempts by the health center and the constant reminder that a fatty diet leads to high-blood pressure and heart attacks. Sometimes it feels very, very futile.<br /><br />Love,<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-38180166246843073942010-01-12T06:10:00.000-08:002010-01-12T06:36:48.205-08:00nica nica hey hey<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGr0eDfaI/AAAAAAAAAj8/c1lMpUwBlZg/s1600-h/IMG_6131.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859738451803554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGr0eDfaI/AAAAAAAAAj8/c1lMpUwBlZg/s320/IMG_6131.JPG" border="0" /></a> my alter ego, hairy hayley.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGrjWABmI/AAAAAAAAAj0/QDgnHUggWLg/s1600-h/IMG_6122.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859733854619234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGrjWABmI/AAAAAAAAAj0/QDgnHUggWLg/s320/IMG_6122.JPG" border="0" /></a> garbage-filled bottles used as building materials; part of a recycling project used by Hacienda Merida.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGjkLA5vI/AAAAAAAAAjs/8CLglq41CYM/s1600-h/IMG_6118.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859596638021362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGjkLA5vI/AAAAAAAAAjs/8CLglq41CYM/s320/IMG_6118.JPG" border="0" /></a> Gabe kayaking home from Magic Monkey Marsh at sunset...note the fin-shaped cloud behind me. a warning of things to come?!?!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGjZQQuyI/AAAAAAAAAjk/dK7Ca39Jhkw/s1600-h/IMG_6112.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859593707240226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGjZQQuyI/AAAAAAAAAjk/dK7Ca39Jhkw/s320/IMG_6112.JPG" border="0" /></a> sunset in the river<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGjKHf1XI/AAAAAAAAAjc/B9OLo81X_eg/s1600-h/IMG_6106.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859589643949426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGjKHf1XI/AAAAAAAAAjc/B9OLo81X_eg/s320/IMG_6106.JPG" border="0" /></a> howler monkey butt!!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGiuxqSlI/AAAAAAAAAjU/RLRG6YNkJd0/s1600-h/IMG_6096.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859582304602706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGiuxqSlI/AAAAAAAAAjU/RLRG6YNkJd0/s320/IMG_6096.JPG" border="0" /></a> sassy mangrove roots.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGifXMQYI/AAAAAAAAAjM/vWoBqgZZUgo/s1600-h/IMG_6093.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425859578167050626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yGifXMQYI/AAAAAAAAAjM/vWoBqgZZUgo/s320/IMG_6093.JPG" border="0" /></a> magic monkey marsh town!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFmFPsvJI/AAAAAAAAAjE/Da3WO-t6vcw/s1600-h/IMG_6090.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425858540364151954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFmFPsvJI/AAAAAAAAAjE/Da3WO-t6vcw/s320/IMG_6090.JPG" border="0" /></a> howler monkey, eating fruit.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFlgMBeSI/AAAAAAAAAi8/lV6EydcAJ8s/s1600-h/IMG_6085.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425858530416621858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFlgMBeSI/AAAAAAAAAi8/lV6EydcAJ8s/s320/IMG_6085.JPG" border="0" /></a> 4pm in the MMM</div><div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFlGxC8lI/AAAAAAAAAi0/BJ46JGZyX0A/s1600-h/IMG_6073.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425858523592585810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFlGxC8lI/AAAAAAAAAi0/BJ46JGZyX0A/s320/IMG_6073.JPG" border="0" /></a> hard to see cause the pictures so small, but it's a neat shot of a dude standing up in his fishing boat<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFk7E6PpI/AAAAAAAAAis/dCCPxpB8-8k/s1600-h/IMG_6070.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425858520454676114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFk7E6PpI/AAAAAAAAAis/dCCPxpB8-8k/s320/IMG_6070.JPG" border="0" /></a> where are the monkeys gabe?!?<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFkd9pfNI/AAAAAAAAAik/KzWatnS6_5U/s1600-h/IMG_6065.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425858512639589586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yFkd9pfNI/AAAAAAAAAik/KzWatnS6_5U/s320/IMG_6065.JPG" border="0" /></a> volcan concepcion<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_05e-6I/AAAAAAAAAic/ei-Y85i_rXo/s1600-h/IMG_6042.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425857883140979618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_05e-6I/AAAAAAAAAic/ei-Y85i_rXo/s320/IMG_6042.JPG" border="0" /></a> dont you make that face at me<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_tidkBI/AAAAAAAAAiU/VhkpaVj3hw4/s1600-h/IMG_6041.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425857881165369362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_tidkBI/AAAAAAAAAiU/VhkpaVj3hw4/s320/IMG_6041.JPG" border="0" /></a> mmm yes<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_dvapXI/AAAAAAAAAiM/CI-64SihJas/s1600-h/IMG_6033.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425857876924736882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_dvapXI/AAAAAAAAAiM/CI-64SihJas/s320/IMG_6033.JPG" border="0" /></a> gabe and i with our friends barney and chris, at the crater later on Volcan Maderas<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_DPtJxI/AAAAAAAAAiE/aeIvqBxRkJY/s1600-h/IMG_6032.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425857869812410130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE_DPtJxI/AAAAAAAAAiE/aeIvqBxRkJY/s320/IMG_6032.JPG" border="0" /></a> ooooo jungle...working our up way up the volcano<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE-lFGfhI/AAAAAAAAAh8/2pPJxinOTAU/s1600-h/IMG_6029.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425857861714869778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/S0yE-lFGfhI/AAAAAAAAAh8/2pPJxinOTAU/s320/IMG_6029.JPG" border="0" /></a> shot of volcan concepcion from the porch of Finca Magdalena on New Years day<br /><br /><div><strong>9 January 2010</strong><br />Hey, chochachos! Happy New Years, etc. I hope you guys all spent it the way I like to in America, which is drinking an entire bottle of Martinelli’s sparkling apple cider all by myself and steadily working my way through a tub of Red Vines while reading online comics. God, I miss the states. Instead, I had to settle for 12 crummy days in lame ‘ol Nicaragua…the soaring, smoking volcanoes, the immense monkey-rimmed lakes and lagoons, the stretches of pristine beach with sexy curly waves, all totally rideable and such…what I would have given to trade it all for 30 minutes on YouTube and some FunDip. But alas, the sacrifices I make as a selfless Peace Corps volunteer are mighty and I was forced to welcome the New Year in my new favorite Central American country. I know. I know. It’s sad. Sucks to be me!<br /><br />With plans to meet my PC buddy Gabe in the southern Honduran town of Choluteca, I waved goodbye to a howling Igor and strolled down the road at about 9am. After a delightful jalon in the back of a nice couple’s pick-up, I grabbed a bus headed south at about 11:00am and was high-fivin’ Gabe by 2:00pm. We shared a Tupperware of tortillas and pesto I’d brought from home (the neighborhood kiddies and I had made a huge batch the night before, with plans to give a plate of it to everybody, only to discover that if there is anything Hondurans hate more than cold milk with their cornflakes, it’s pesto) and silently mocked the first of many European dirty hippies who choose to stroll around barefoot in the nastiness that is a Honduran street, amidst the people who actually are too poor to have shoes. We hopped on a little white bus to the border, Guasaule, followed by a 15-minute bicycle-rick-shaw ride across the border and through customs. Once money was changed to the Nicaraguan cordova, we grabbed another bus to the city of Chinendenga, then another to the first stop in our odyssey, Leon.<br /><br />Gabe and I wandered alongside the pinworm-infested hippies till we found the part of town where our buddies Ana and Justin were waiting for us. We settled into our hostel, a chill little place called Sonati, complete with hummingbird garden, rocking chairs, and the tallest bunk-beds in the history of stackable sleeping arrangements. We spent the night wandering around the historical city, getting into minimal amounts of trouble and wondering why all the bars were empty. The next day, we headed to the market and from there took a very crowded chicken bus to the coast, about half an hour away. We spent the day at Poneloya beach, rolling around in the warm black sand and struggling to maintain upright in the fierce waves, which were the strongest I’d ever been in. I would not be the least bit surprised to discover a dirty little creek leaking steroids into the ocean. We ate lunch at a seaside restaurant which had no seafood—actually, it didn’t have anything, except curry chicken, which is what we all ended up ordering. Fortunately, it was hells of delicious. That evening, we took the same bus back to Leon, but it managed to morph from “crowded” to “jesus I can feel at least four different crotches pressing up against me.” They packed so many people onto that bus I didn’t need to hold on to anything to remain upright. It was like a sweaty, salty, smelly cattle truck, only instead of cattle it was Nicaraguan dudes and instead of a truck it was a bus I paid to be on. But despite the unfortunate degree of boners touching my butt and armpits touching my head, we all made it back to Leon alive. Then we wandered around, took pictures of the millions of old cathedrals and statues (except for me, because I was too lazy to tote my camera), and then had delicious Mediterranean food and mojitos. God I love mojitos. So sugary, so minty, so fizzy…but I digress.<br /><br />The next day, we got up bright and early and headed out looking for a tour company who could take us up the nearby Cerro Negro volcano (the most active volcano in all of central America!), which offers the unique extreme “sport” of volcano boarding. We found our guide, and after a slight detour during which I had to dig around in vast bins of used shoes in the market to find a cheap pair (open-toed shoes are not allowed for volcano boarding, apparently, and the only footwear I’d brought were my sexy Chacos), we headed down a black, sandy road toward the volcano. Once we got to the foot of the mountain, our guide handed out giant slabs of wood with plastic on the bottom and a loop of twine on the top. Our “safety gear” was stuffed in a little burlap sack with he slung over his shoulder, and up we trooped, staggering around with our unwieldy sleds acting as unwanted sails as the crazy winds whipped around us. The volcano, extremely active as she is, is devoid of any vegetation and is covered with sharp, crumbly black gravel. After about an hour and a half of melting under the vicious sun, exacerbated by the vast sea of black around us, we made it to the summit and then humped it along a windswept ridge, peering down into the sulfur-stinky, yellow-smoky crater below. The guide then admitted that since he only had safety suits for two, the ladies would get them (yay boobies!). Everyone got elbow and knee pads, but the goggles the company promised were nowhere to be found and those of us without sunglasses (Ana) were given the “slow” sleds as a compromise. First went Justin, who was given a “fast” sled and promptly sat down, grabbed his little rope, stuck his legs out in front of him, and zoomed off in a spray of gravel. Then went Gabe, who had a slow sled, and had to scootch his way down the mountain like the fat kid who gets stuck in the slush. Really, Gabe. Lay off the Hot Pockets and maybe volcano boarding would be more exciting. Then it was my turn, with my ‘fast’ board, and I made it to the bottom in about 15 seconds. It was exhilarating, but not so much that I couldn’t sing “volcano boarding, volcano boarding, la-la-la, volcano boarding,” to myself as I flew down. I made it to the bottom without skidding off and getting a nasty roadburn, which is the main danger involved in this activity, but I was cleaning black dirt out of my ears, nose, ears, and mouth for about two days afterwards. Then came Ana, on a “slow” board, moving at such a ladylike clip that she placed one hand on her hip and the other in a slow, regal Queen-Wave. Then our guide came down, carving up the gravel on a crudely fashioned snowboard, gave us all high fives, broke open a cantaloupe, and drove us back to our hostel.<br /><br />The next day, the four of us bussed it to the capital of Nicaragua, Managua, where we immediately caught another bus to Granada, another large, colonial city. Granada is on the shore of what must be one of the biggest lakes in central America, Lago de Nicaragua, which features a huge, mystical island in the middle composed of two volcanoes (more on that later). Granada, like Leon, is overflowing with old crap, like cathedrals and parks and cobblestones and such. We met up with Ana’s friend Beth, a buddy visiting from the states, and sprawled out in our new home for the next couple days, a rad hostel called Oasis—nice beds in the dorms, each with its own locker big enough for a backpack, free computer use, a pool, a garden atrium and tasty breakfast…doesn’t get much sweeter than that for $6 a night. Granada, unlike Leon, has a raucous nightlife and we enjoyed tasty sandwiches and far too much tequila, which was necessary since we were celebrating the 24th anniversary of Gabe’s birth. The exact sequence of events that evening is a little hazy, though I do recall walking all the way back to the hostel before we decided NO, it was too EARLY to go to bed on Gabe’s birthday, even though all the bars were closing, which resulted in all of us trooping back for one more round of beers. The poorly-decorated sports bar (they had half an English-style jumping saddle sawed in half and glued to the wall) gave us the stink eye but grudgingly slid five more Victoria’s across the counter, which, by the way, are better than Honduran beer, sorry to say. The next day we spent the morning floating in the pool and drinking coffee, and after much pleading on my part, rented retro Shwinn’s in the afternoon and biked along the lakeshore, pausing only to wait out a five-minute rainstorm and, later, to rescue a tiny baby turtle who was crossing the road way too slowly (Gabe and I were the terrapin rescuers, to be fair—SOME PEOPLE felt it was not worth stopping and continued biking on to the Flaming Gates of the Fiery Lakes of Smoldering Indifference). Anyway. Later that afternoon, our fellow PC friends Bug and Emilie joined the group, and we passed the night at a resoundingly disappointing restaurant called “Imagine,” created by a Lennon-obsessed New Mexico ex-pat whose menu featured fancy-sounding dishes, all listed at prices easily triple what we had seen anywhere else in the city. Since it was our last night in Granada, we tried it anyway. Like all things involving New Mexico and starfruit, the night ended in regret. But it was okay, because the next day we blew smooches to Granada and bussed it down to Rivas, a little town that is the jumping off point for many places, including our next destination, the Isla de Ometepe.<br /><br />The ferry ride across the lake took about an hour, which we passed sitting on the upper deck and gazing at the two green humps rising out of the approaching island, their peaks shrouded in a perpetual ring of clouds and mist. Once we docked, we hooked up with a cool British pair named Barney and Chris (lady), and a lone Aussie dude named Blair. Now 10, we managed to avoid the slow three-hour bus ride across the island and instead rented a mini-van taxi and sped cheaply to the rad hostel we decided to stay at, Finca Magdalena. It’s actually a working farm, growing coffee, rice, and other products, and functions as a cooperative, collectively owned and operated by 20-some families on the island. It’s a huge, funky old barn converted into “rustic” (fancy word for shitty) sleeping quarters for the poor travelers who seek its eaves. However, make no mistake, I ain’t complaining, I am actually a fan of crappy sleeping conditions (as are all campers) and the place had such an awesome vibe. Migrating artisania-makin’ hippies from Spain and Argentina sprawl everywhere, braiding bracelets and threading earrings, while backpackers from all over the world sip the organic coffee made right in the backyard. The folks who work there are all locals, extremely laid-back and goofy kids who don’t really care what anyone does as long as it’s all friendly and good-hearted. We arrived there in the early afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and immediately fell in love with the place. The finca is pretty isolated, nestled at the literal trail-head of Volcan Maderas, the smaller, jungle-covered of the two volcanoes (Concepcion, the other volcano, is active and located at the other end of the barbell-shaped island). Bars unavailable, the staff did the next best thing which was provide a huge radio and an unlimited supply of ice-cold liters of beer, which we ticked off honor-style as we drank them. There were maybe about 30 of us that night, a nice hodgepodge of folks from around the world, and we passed the warm hours dancing around, stomping about the smooth wood floors of the barn and frequently dashing outside to twirl a bit under the gloriously full New Year’s moon. The countdown was in Spanish, and christened with a spray of warm Nicaraguan beer. It was beautiful.<br /><br />The next day, Justin headed to the capital for health reasons and the rest of us rented bikes and rode to a nice beach about an hour away, where we passed the afternoon, enjoying the surprisingly strong waves and keeping a constant watch out for the endemic Fresh Water Bull Shark, the only species of shark found in fresh water. The aggressive, dangerous shark used to be found in great numbers in this lake, but due to over-hunting, is only now making a slow comeback from near extinction in these waters. I’m pretty good at punching sharks though, so I think everyone felt pretty safe as long as I was in the water with them. That night, we chilled in the moonlit jungle behind the finca, listening for howler monkeys. The next day, the girls decided it was time for some tropical beach action, so they headed south to the famous, Cancun-esque town of San Juan del Sur. I wasn’t ready to leave the misty magic mountain yet, though, and neither was my trusty sidekick Gabe, so we woke up early, packed a daypack, and hired a guide with our English friends Barney and Chris to take us up the volcano. We left at about 8:00am and began the four-hour slog up the mountain. And I do mean slog. Because the volcano is so tall, steep, and jungly, it’s surrounded by a constant veil of mist. And the spongy moss on the trees grabs that mist and makes sweet, sweet misty-mossy love it to, and the mist falls like drippy-droppies to the ground below. So it’s sort of like climbing up a vertical mud puddle. It might have been one of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done, due only to its steepness and slipperiness. And the fact that 40 minutes into the hike, I reached for my Nalgene, only to discover I’d packed it near empty, meaning to fill it on my way out and totally forgetting to do so. Gabe had two liters of water, but one of those was nearly gone and I didn’t want to drink all his water. I suffered for another hour or so, makin’ Nala eyes at the glistening water drops all around me and contemplating ripping moss off the branches and sucking the liquid out of them. Finally, I was so desperate that I quickly ducked off the trail and filled my bottle with the creamy-colored muddy run-off and chugged three quick gulps before our guide could spot me and yell at me. Whatever! Gringos love giardia! We can’t get enough of it. Everybody knows that.<br /><br />At about noon we made it to the summit, a little pocket protected from the howling winds by a Tolkien-y cluster of gnarled, moss-covered trees and hanging vines. We then began a short but incredibly steep descent into the volcano’s crater, aided by a series of ropes and switchbacks. Once in the crater, we were disappointed to see that the mist hung so low and thick that one couldn’t see more than three feet off the shore of the (allegedly) blue lagoon nestled in the bowl. It was still beautiful, though. We quickly ate our sandwiches and drank our water (Gabe shared his with me), posed for a picture, and clamored back out of the crater lake to begin the grueling descent. While not as sweaty as the ascent, it was just as hard and took just as long, because one has to pick one’s way down the steep, muddy rocks with extreme caution. Ass-sledding is not an option, due to the boulders. However, I didn’t wipe out once, so I guess that’s a good thing. We arrived at the finca in late afternoon, hosed off our entirely brown lower-bodies, and treated ourselves to mugs of hot, tasty coffee and thick slices of homemade chocolate cake with cookies on top.<br /><br />The original plan was to leave for San Juan the next day, but Gabe and I decided the island was too awesome and warranted one more day of adventures. So we shot an e-mail to the ladies and headed out the next day, blowing more smooches to our new friends at Magdalena and hoofin’ it down the road with our pretty little thumbs out in the wind. Pretty soon a truck pulled over and we swung into the bed, cruising along toward the junction between the two volcanoes. Then we hopped out and began to walk down the dirt road toward another finca we’d heard about, and before long we had another free ride to that place too. Hacienda Merida was definitely higher-class than Magdalena, with slightly higher prices ($5 a bed instead of $2.50), fancier food and crazy signs all over the place demanding NO WALKING BAREFOOT and NO ILLEGAL DRUGS. Gabe and I had a damn tasty lunch, took a little nappy-poo, and rented kayaks at about 3:00pm, heading out along the shore toward an alleged river-mouth that was supposed to be pretty and tranquil. It was a gorgeous ride. Every 10 minutes or so we’d pass a little clapboard house right on the edge of the water, with little half-naked kiddies sitting in the tree-trunk canoes each family owns for fishing. After about an hour and a half of leisurely paddling, we finally swung into the “river,” which was actually a wide, lazy-flowing marsh surrounded by the most gorgeous wildlife and flora I’ve ever seen. Huge flowering trees bent over the river, their enormous roots forming little caves and mangroves for the multiple species of giant birds to stand in and look pretty. Gabe practically peed himself with glee, and could be heard exclaiming “Ohmigosh! An egret! And oh, oh! Look! A HERON! And a stork! And—oh jesus—are those CRANES?!” They all looked pretty much the same to me (giant birds bigger than a 5th grader that sound like bears), but it was nice having a friend with such a bird fetish around to distinguish them for me. Intricate webs of lilies and other flowing water plants fanned out toward the middle of the little river, and thick green vines hung down all over the place. Gabe and I separated for a while, and spent almost an entire hour apart, slowly paddling around with our eyes falling out of our faces and our mouths agape, listening to the strange cries of the water birds and the eerie splashes of unseen animals sliding into the water. I had my heart set on seeing howler monkeys, a promise I’d made to my little buddy Max back in the states, and was starting to feel like I was never going to get a chance. Suddenly, Gabe cries out quietly, “Hayley! A monkey!” I whipped my kayak around and, sure enough, there was a huge howler hanging low in the canopy, shoving flowers in his mouth. We paddled closer and he turned to watch us. He grunted a few warning <em>herr, herrs</em> and we sat, mesmerized, watching him and his four friends leap from branch to branch, grazing happily in the late-afternoon sunshine. It was the first time I’d ever seen a wild monkey and it was in perhaps the most beautiful setting I could ask for. Then, I saw a rainbow. Thanks, Nature.<br /><br />As the sun dipped toward the horizon and spilled metaphorical gasoline all over the surface and lit it on fire, we realized we had to get going, because the water is rougher at night and we didn’t want to have to navigate the entire trip in the dark. Kayaking at sunset was so fun I thought my eyeballs were gonna explode, and doing it under the stars was awesome, too (though finding the dock of the hacienda in darkness was a challenge…Gabe gets total credit for finding it). We finally made it back just in time for the 7:00pm dinner buffet, made us some friends, and passed the night relaxing on the dock. The next morning, Gabe decided he wasn’t feeling up for Girl Talk on the Beach, so he headed back to Honduras and I headed solo toward the south, to meet up with Ana, Beth, Bug and Emilie in San Juan del Sur. I got there easy as pie, but their hostel was full so I quickly found a room in a dirt-cheap, and dirt-dirty, place down the street (Soya…not recommended). San Juan del Sur is so full of foreigners it didn’t even feel like Nicaragua—I’ve never seen so many white people in a Central American town before. That said, I had a pretty bitchin’ time, so I guess I can’t complain. There seems to be a growing colony of Canadians there, and I met more of them in the two nights I was there than I have in my whole life. I had a great time though, and Bug and I went on crazy Adventures with our new Canadian buddies, Lucus and Travis, until daybreak. The next day, we headed out to a gorgeous local beach called Maderas, a chill little spot with medium-sized, beautiful waves and not too many people. I rented a boogie board and spent the day catching waves, skipping around in the sand and playing Frisbee. It was awesome. Then we headed back to San Juan and had a fun last night (sort of…Ana and Beth stayed in and Bug was sick, so Emilie and I wandered around and harassed people/drank expensive cranberry juice/made friends with some real-live Cougars. We all departed early the next day for Honduras. In seven hours I was at the border and we all spent the night in Emilie’s site, which is about 30 minutes away from Gausaule. We made spaghetti and watched “I Heart Huckabees,” a perennial favorite, and crashed hard. The next day, I bussed it home and was hugging Igor by four pm.<br /><br />Brevity version: I climbed a bunch of stuff and slid down a bunch of stuff and ate and drank a bunch of stuff and had a bunch of fun and it was hella awesome and Nicaragua is the best.<br /><br />The End.<br />Love<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-53442542088711174462009-12-26T10:32:00.000-08:002009-12-26T10:44:35.182-08:00eight fat tamales, three shiny rainbows, one coral snake and a partidge in a pear tree<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZYk7-qpqI/AAAAAAAAAh0/tQ1vegYrsic/s1600-h/IMG_6004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419616593186039458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZYk7-qpqI/AAAAAAAAAh0/tQ1vegYrsic/s320/IMG_6004.JPG" border="0" /></a> Mariana making her mom a christmas card...we read If You Take a Mouse to the Movies.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZX0ICz_xI/AAAAAAAAAhs/p6na5b1zMoU/s1600-h/IMG_6003.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419615754611064594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZX0ICz_xI/AAAAAAAAAhs/p6na5b1zMoU/s320/IMG_6003.JPG" border="0" /></a> Neil and Enner hard at work. Produce placement!!!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXzmLN2bI/AAAAAAAAAhk/4EwSjljGt1Q/s1600-h/IMG_6002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419615745519507890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXzmLN2bI/AAAAAAAAAhk/4EwSjljGt1Q/s320/IMG_6002.JPG" border="0" /></a> Makin´santa cards.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXzTureZI/AAAAAAAAAhc/E7CFHkULBk4/s1600-h/IMG_5999.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419615740567976338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXzTureZI/AAAAAAAAAhc/E7CFHkULBk4/s320/IMG_5999.JPG" border="0" /></a> Posing with newborn ¨Hayley¨<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXy9R7K7I/AAAAAAAAAhU/3PKstX1LoJk/s1600-h/IMG_5996.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419615734541790130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXy9R7K7I/AAAAAAAAAhU/3PKstX1LoJk/s320/IMG_5996.JPG" border="0" /></a> Aida and her two kids...including little Geyli!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXyv4Nj5I/AAAAAAAAAhM/csPhksAGSrU/s1600-h/IMG_5993.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419615730944282514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SzZXyv4Nj5I/AAAAAAAAAhM/csPhksAGSrU/s320/IMG_5993.JPG" border="0" /></a> just in case you guys were wondering what it might look like if igor and kaiser drank at the same time.<br /><br /><div><strong>25 December 2009<br /></strong>Merry Christmas, chochachos! It’s about nine o’clock pm on Christmas—my second one in Honduras. Perhaps you guys think it’s sad to be alone on Christmas, typing on an dilapidated laptop, sipping a solitary mug of tea and listening to that one Charlie Brown Christmas song on repeat (you know, the one that’s all slow and goes do-do-doooo, do-dooooo….do-do-dooooo, do-doooooo…if you’ve seen Arrested Development or any Peanuts cartoons then we’re on the same page). But you guys are hellsa wrong cause this ain’t sad at ALL. That’s because today isn’t actually Christmas. Not in Honduras, anyway. Hondurans celebrate Navidad on the 24th, and today, the 25th, seems to be reserved for loafing off your tamale hangover, and, if you’re a man, drinking a butt-load of booze and shooting your gun off all freaking afternoon. Since I’m not a man, I abstained from gettin’ my slant on/shooting the air and instead spent the morning pouring concrete with my landlord Rony (who also refrained from boozing it up), fixing a 6-meter section of fence that wasn’t connected to the ground and had thus become an excellent escape port for Igor and his devious brother Kaiser. Afterwards, I made fresh lemon smoothies for Rony and the two dudes he brought with him to help with the fence. Then I ate a leftover tamale and spent about three hours washing clothes…then I cleaned the house…as well as other assorted proofs that I am a domesticated lady now. Whenever I remembered it was Christmas day, I would feel a little funny and sort of sad I wasn’t with my family, eating breakfast casserole and opening presents in our jammies. But, like I said, it doesn’t count as a lame way to spend the holiday because a) YESTERDAY was Honduran Christmas, and b) what better way to celebrate Jesus’ birthday than scrubbing out your undies in the beating tropical sun? I broke my own personal record and managed to consume EIGHT, count them EIGHT, hulking Honduran tamales yesterday. I know. I am an impressive person. Please, feel free to bask in my amazingness. Throw money and panties at my feet, if you feel the urge. I spent the morning eating tamales and drinking coffee with Nely and the kids, then wandered around the neighborhood, delivering little plates of bastard Rice Crispy Treats…and I say bastard because I used wonky Honduran marshmallows and, in lieu of rice crispies, had to use Frosted Flakes. They turned out very greasy (a little heavy handed with the margarine, I is) and barf colored (the marshmallows were all different colors, which did not result in rainbow magic but instead blended to a gross, zomie-esque gray) but they tasted okay and the neighbors were quite delighted. They have no idea…an American child would have refused to eat them, I reckon. Unless it was a really deprived American child whose parents don’t believe in refined sugar—they’ll take anything they can get.<br /><br />At each house, I was given a tamale on a plate with a cup of soda or coffee (except for Nelo, my 50-something bachelor neighbor who spends his days leaning in his doorway and frequently dying his hair black…he certainly cannot make tamales). By two o’clock, I was bursting, but onward I marched, stoically packing in the slippery bundles without faltering. Then I headed up the road and did a big lap around town, stopping at a couple special friends’ homes, where I ate MORE tamales, as well as torrejas, which is a hella tasty French-toast-esque dessert typical of Christmastime. I got home by early evening, at which point I had to shower and get dressed up for Christmas church, which I’d been invited to by Nely and Glenda. Four hours later, after countless rounds of singing and clapping, sermons, and little dramatizations of the nativity by the kids, we were released around 11:00pm (I’m not gonna lie, this was super boring and I spent most of the time playing with a little plastic pony Douglas had). Then Nely, the kids and I went to Mirian and Rony’s house (my landlords and Nely’s half-sister), where we sat down to a midnight feast of apples, grapes, oranges, and of course tamales and coffee all around. I finally got home at about 1:00am, though it was hard to sleep due to all the children setting off firecrackers outside (which they do the entire month of December, and without cessation on Christmas day). My body was also struggling to adjust to the extreme gluttony I’d participated in…but one of the nice things about living alone is you can fart as much as you want and no one complains.<br /><br />This past week was a good one. I met with my pregnant women’s club, and we talked about how to be a good parent, which was fun…it’s hard to delve too deep in 45 minutes, but we talked about behavior management and communication and self-esteem in the child, among other topics, and the ladies participated fairly well, which is always delightful (sometimes they just sit in silence and don’t say a damn word, which is uncomfortable). As I was leaving the health center and walking down the road, Aida, of the women who used to be in the club, approached me with her four-week-old baby girl. We chatted a bit and I ooh-ed and aah-ed her squirmy little squinchy-eyed bundle of joy, and asked her what the baby’s name was. Aida smiled and said, “I named her after you.” She spells it differently (“Geyli,” since the ‘g’ can make the ‘h’ sound in Spanish), but still…I feel so SPECIAL. Fortunately, I had my camera with me, so I took a couple pics of mom and baby (as well as little Geyli’s big brother), and then Aida took one of Big Hayley and Little Geyli together. They live out in one of the aldeas of Alubarén, but we made plans that I’ll go visit them in January so I can meet Aida’s spouse and the rest of her family.<br /><br />Together with our mediocre librarian, I have opened the library and finally begun my summer reading project. My “Club de Lectores,” or Reader’s Club, is basically a glorified story-hour, but the kids seem to love it and it’s going really well. On Monday mornings, the little guys (four to eight) come from 10-11:30am, and on Wednesday the bigger kids (nine and up) come. For the first half hour, the kids are free to sit and look at the 12-15 books I’ve selected and placed on the tables (I don’t let them browse the book shelves themselves because they just yank out books, look at them for two seconds, and pull out another…plus, this way, I can pick the best books for their ages). It’s awesome, because thanks to Johana, the volunteer who started the library 10 years ago and has continued to send books, the selection for children is pretty good. After half an hour, the kids scootch their chairs in a semi-circle and I read them a story I’ve picked out for the day. Then, using the art supplies donated over the past year by folks back in the states, we do a related art project. The first day, the little kids and I read “Silvester and the Magic Pebble” (in Spanish, obviously). Then they each got a sheet of paper and drew a picture of what they would do if they had a magic pebble. Many of the kids were too young/behind to write their own names, so afterwards we practiced that. On Wednesday, I read the bigger kids “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day” and then the kids had to write a short story about someone having a terrible day and the things that go wrong, complete with illustrations. The next week the little guys read “Lily and Her Purple Plastic Purse,” and then glued cut-outs of Lily and her purse that I’d made previously out of construction paper. For the big kids, I read the first several chapters of “James and the Giant Peach,” and then they drew pictures of Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker. This week, for Christmas, I read each class “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” and “If You Take a Mouse to the Movies,” and then they made little Santa cards for their moms. Seriously fun stuff. I’ve also been pilfering the young-adult section, taking home “Little House on the Prairie” and “Island of the Blue Dolphins,” which are the perfect level for my Spanish. I hope the Ingalls make it through the long Dakota winter!!! Shut up I ain’t nerdy, YOU’RE nerdy. Aren’t you late for your nerd meeting? Nerd.<br /><br />Found another coral snake in my latrine—my neighbor Dario killed it with a machete. Poor little guy…I feel bad for hiring out his murder but I don’t want to get bitten and totally die. So, I win. In other garden news, my basil patch is growing tremendously well…I have about 20 plants, all over are over a foot tall now. I made my first batch of pesto the other day, to celebrate the best holiday ever, which is December 19th, a festival invented over four years ago by myself and one Matt McCorkle, in which one must eat pesto and watch the 1972 Jamaican classic “The Harder They Come”…I had my dad bring me my copy of the movie when they came to visit. David came over and we ate hella tasty pesto (thanks to the UC Davis olive oil my mom brought me and the parmesan cheese I found in Tegus) and watched the flick. It might seem boastful to say my holiday is the best in the world, but I’ve got the celestial proof if ya’ll don’t believe me. David and I had clamored up the hills behind my house to enjoy the late-afternoon sunshine and kick-off the holiday by watching the sunset. Remember, this is the middle of December—well into our dry season. No more rain, not since the first of November. More over, we had a nasty drought during the wet season. So anyway, David and I are sittin’ up on the hill, looking at the gray clouds in the distance, and commenting on how much we missed the rain. We glance up, and David spies…A RAINBOW. Just smearing its beautiful, wondrous self across that hot Honduran sky. About ten minutes later, upon further contemplation of the sky, I see that our rainbow has become a DOUBLE RAINBOW. Dudes, I AIN’T EVEN KIDDING. We freaked out and I practically peed myself. A double rainbow! During the dry season! Craziness. Then, suddenly, we looked up and noticed a THIRD rainbow stretching across the sky, wider and brighter than out first two. That’s right, people. THREE FREAKING RAINBOWS. Then, the most magical thing of all happened. It began to rain. And not just sprinkle-sprankles. It poured, it dumped, and David and I gleefully slipped and slid our way down the mountain back to my house. When we arrived, we were totally soaked, and it was absolutely amazing. People were talking about the miracle rainstorm for days afterwards, but it wasn’t a miracle…it was just Somebody upstairs sayin’ “Hayley, I dig what you’re doin’.” I feel like God sent me a December 19th holiday card or something.<br /><br />Because I am the luckiest lady in the world, I am leaving tomorrow for Nicaragua, to celebrate the New Year with my Peace Corps posse. Hell yes and hot damn I am ready for some volcanoes and lakes and swishy-swashy-warm pacific ocean….so you see, even though I am spending Christmas without my family and presents and stockings and pies, my life really isn’t all too rough down here.<br /><br />Looooooooooove<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-2353347864280319582009-12-11T10:02:00.000-08:002009-12-11T10:23:33.237-08:00oh how sweet it is to be a first-born<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLmDqwIAI/AAAAAAAAAhE/vm1XrsPBc-w/s1600-h/IMG_5977.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414043187988668418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLmDqwIAI/AAAAAAAAAhE/vm1XrsPBc-w/s320/IMG_5977.JPG" border="0" /></a> Douglas is uncomfortable that Noel gets to hold his red car, awesome gifts from mom's friends Leetha and Tai.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLcACriRI/AAAAAAAAAg8/m8Um5_6uNAU/s1600-h/IMG_5974.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414043015216597266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLcACriRI/AAAAAAAAAg8/m8Um5_6uNAU/s320/IMG_5974.JPG" border="0" /></a> Alison with her little blue car....Douglas insisted on having two (one for each hand).<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLbq2-a_I/AAAAAAAAAg0/NXW2zBsf2QM/s1600-h/IMG_5972.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414043009530358770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLbq2-a_I/AAAAAAAAAg0/NXW2zBsf2QM/s320/IMG_5972.JPG" border="0" /></a> DELIGHTED.<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLbIv3mMI/AAAAAAAAAgs/F6raCNl4GVY/s1600-h/IMG_5966.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414043000373745858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLbIv3mMI/AAAAAAAAAgs/F6raCNl4GVY/s320/IMG_5966.JPG" border="0" /></a> Yesica, Noel, Alison, and Douglas with their new loot.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLaszmUjI/AAAAAAAAAgk/-erL9vblpGw/s1600-h/IMG_5936.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042992873198130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLaszmUjI/AAAAAAAAAgk/-erL9vblpGw/s320/IMG_5936.JPG" border="0" /></a> right before he gauged the other one's eye out! or, at least tried to.<br /></div><div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLZ35DOOI/AAAAAAAAAgc/_IwCLmUpXTc/s1600-h/IMG_5913.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042978668984546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKLZ35DOOI/AAAAAAAAAgc/_IwCLmUpXTc/s320/IMG_5913.JPG" border="0" /></a> this is exactly what i look like when i dance. Dancing Jaguar is my guru.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK7GLGUOI/AAAAAAAAAgU/C27X4LRGXY8/s1600-h/IMG_5895.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042449926836450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK7GLGUOI/AAAAAAAAAgU/C27X4LRGXY8/s320/IMG_5895.JPG" border="0" /></a>View of part of the Copan Ruins.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK6mRESWI/AAAAAAAAAgM/IdSwzCPSmoE/s1600-h/IMG_5857.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042441361934690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK6mRESWI/AAAAAAAAAgM/IdSwzCPSmoE/s320/IMG_5857.JPG" border="0" /></a> me and the folksies in front of a sepultura.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK6Ph_X3I/AAAAAAAAAgE/1LiqW71Y9vw/s1600-h/IMG_5837.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042435258900338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK6Ph_X3I/AAAAAAAAAgE/1LiqW71Y9vw/s320/IMG_5837.JPG" border="0" /></a> wendy kercher! also, andy kercher, questioning our crazy guide fidel.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK582DtgI/AAAAAAAAAf8/tLN_f9rQx00/s1600-h/IMG_5834.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042430242797058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK582DtgI/AAAAAAAAAf8/tLN_f9rQx00/s320/IMG_5834.JPG" border="0" /></a> god we're beautiful.<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK5Ywu3RI/AAAAAAAAAf0/0iDf4xHwgfc/s1600-h/IMG_5805.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042420556782866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKK5Ywu3RI/AAAAAAAAAf0/0iDf4xHwgfc/s320/IMG_5805.JPG" border="0" /></a> this picture looks hella dark...but it's us on a pier in roatan. maybe it will be brighter on your monitor, viewer.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKhbyJtOI/AAAAAAAAAfs/73WU4M-Rhp0/s1600-h/IMG_5781.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042009051182306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKhbyJtOI/AAAAAAAAAfs/73WU4M-Rhp0/s320/IMG_5781.JPG" border="0" /></a> the loins/womb of which i am the fruit, in the jungle of pico bonito.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKhIS4J5I/AAAAAAAAAfk/eoLdQqYfYM0/s1600-h/IMG_5774.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414042003819734930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKhIS4J5I/AAAAAAAAAfk/eoLdQqYfYM0/s320/IMG_5774.JPG" border="0" /></a> dad and i hiked down to the base of this waterfall. this was after i broke my glasses but you CANT EVEN TELL.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKgc5ojxI/AAAAAAAAAfc/Zs-2pke_O1Q/s1600-h/IMG_5763.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414041992171130642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKgc5ojxI/AAAAAAAAAfc/Zs-2pke_O1Q/s320/IMG_5763.JPG" border="0" /></a> mom and i chillin on a buttress root.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKf4vG7jI/AAAAAAAAAfU/0OR28Q4OMxM/s1600-h/IMG_5760.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414041982463307314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKf4vG7jI/AAAAAAAAAfU/0OR28Q4OMxM/s320/IMG_5760.JPG" border="0" /></a> so jaunty!!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKfAAlcKI/AAAAAAAAAfM/Z-WUbuQD8EQ/s1600-h/IMG_5744.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414041967235788962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SyKKfAAlcKI/AAAAAAAAAfM/Z-WUbuQD8EQ/s320/IMG_5744.JPG" border="0" /></a> green jungle snake...on the side of the road.<br /><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>5 December 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos!<br />Whoops, guess a month has dang near slipped by since my last post...I’ve been busy basking in parental affection and the like, so I suppose that’s a good excuse as any. I said goodbye to my folks exactly a week ago, who arrived on November 19th. As the date to fetch them at the airport approached, my landlords became increasingly anxious regarding the state of my home, lest the gringo parents judge them negatively for the healthy abundance of cobwebs in all corners of my dwelling, swaying heavily in the breeze, pregnant with dead bugs. “Clean those up!” says my landlady. “But they catch mosquitos!” says I. “Let’s cut your lawn!” says my landlord. “No, I like the green grass!” says I. “Clean up those old plastic soda bottles you leave strewn about like a hillbilly!” says my landlords in unison. “How do you guys know what hillbillies are?” says I. Etc. In the end I did a fair amount of sweeping the dirt outside, and mopped thoroughly inside, and cleaned up the spare car parts I’d let Cletus scatter about our front yard, and called it good. Nely announced she would like nothing more than to accompany me to the airport, as it was probably the only opportunity she would ever have to go there and was dying to see a plane land. So we set off early Thursday morning, first hitting up the market to buy a ton of ingredients for tamales, our planned parental menu. Then we headed to the airport, where we enjoyed ridiculously garnished coffee beverages (sweet heaven do I love me some whipped cream) and waited for the Kercher Parents to make their much awaited arrival. I was waiting for them at the gate with a handmade, meticulously painted sign bearing the name KERCHER, lest they be confused about which sweaty, red-faced wanna-be albino was theirs to claim. Many hugs and smooches were exchanged, and we hopped (after some ado) into our little rental car to head down south to Alubarén. After a 30-second panic that I had somehow guided us onto the wrong freeway (I hadn’t) and a rather unfortunate event at the gas station in which I allowed us to be swindled into filling the crappy Toyota with premium gas and be called names by a mean old lady (she called me a “stuck-up bitch” because I wouldn’t give her any money), we were finally on the open road, the sun low in the sky and the road-side horses plentiful (much to Wendy and Andy’s amazement). After about an hour and a half, we turned off the freeway (escorted by Andy’s diligent turn-signal application) and began a two-hour roller-coaster that I will never again attempt in a tiny sedan. Woefully optimistic about such a car’s abilities to navigate the rocky, steep dirt roads that lead to Alubarén, I foolishly did NOT encourage the parental units to rent a 4x4 or some other vehicle created for such conditions. As such, we spent the rest of the afternoon sloooowly picking our way up and down the hills, as the Little Carola That Could strained and clunked its way toward my pueblo. We did, however, make it one piece, save for a front bumper which detached itself in the journey—which my dad and an eight-year-old skillfully reattached with rusty wire, leaving it literally better than ever (the hubcabs, which were attached with zip-ties, held fast—which was good because I didn’t have any extra zip-ties).<br /><br />We were met with a small hoard of excited neighbors, the kids throwing themselves around Andy and Wendy’s waists and the adults happily shaking hands and awkwardly trying to kiss the American’s cheeks, which is always hilarious. Nely and her mom had been planning to make us tamales the next day, but due to a family problem which required one of them to speed across the country to sit on an aunt’s sickbed, they decided to make the tamales right then and there. Tamales are an all-day affair, with a multiple-layered process and much prep work. Starting them at 6:30pm is just seven kinds of crazy, yet that is exactly what my selfless neighbors set themselves to do. We trooped into my house and Igor set about Phase One of his masterpiece plan “Worm My Way Into The Old Folks Hearts So They Let Me Live With Them For A Bit”, by dancing and licking and rubbing and gazing lovingly into their faces with his fixing golden eyes. After an evening of chopping potatoes, child-wooing, and skillfully-translated conversations, we trooped up to my house and collapsed in bed. The next day was spent relaxin’ in the ‘ol Tarantula Oven, playin’ baseball with Las Panteras, strolling around the town, and meeting my friends (usually followed by an invitation to sit down and drink some soda). I was in hog heaven combining my two worlds, and I know my folks loved getting to see and experience it all. Plus, it was a huge ego-booster for ‘em…the first thing out of everyone’s mouth after “nice to meet you,” was “Heeli, your parents! They are so young! Your father, so handsome! Your mother, so beautiful!” Seriously. I was starting to get an inferiority complex, they were getting hit on so much…then I realized I am the fruit of the coupling of such attractive people and I felt better about myself. I also learned a new, super-creepy Honduran euphemism for spending time with parents…as I introduced my folks to a neighbor, she winked and said, “Ohhh, Hayley, you’re gonna suck some titty tonight, aren’t you?” Uh…lemme ask my mom, but I wasn’t planning on it, no. I thought maybe just that particular woman was being lewd, but it happened several more times.<br />“Doña Maria, this is my mom Wendy and my dad Andy.”<br />“Oh, pleased to meet you both! Hayley, you’re gonna suck some titty tonight, I bet!”<br />PLEASE, HONDURAS. I myself am a healthy subscriber to coarse and vulgar humor, but I don’t like hearing that phrase coming from old Honduran women’s mouths. I suppose it’s a reference to being united with one’s parents once again, becoming a nursing babe once again…but as they say, once you can buckle your own overalls, you ain’t a suckling infant no more. Anyway. Gross.<br /><br />That night we celebrated Andy and Wendy’s last night in the ‘lubes by gorging ourselves on tamales and soda and imported left-over Halloween candy. My neighbor Glenda presented mom and dad with a handmade embroidered pillowcase that said something about sweet dreams, and Tina presented them with an embroidered tortilla cloth that Nely had made for them with a basket of fruit and the words “Senor Bendice Esta Casa,” which means “God Bless This House.” We left for vacation the next morning after a group shot with all my neighbors, the kids running (well, walking due to the necessitated low speed) alongside the car and Tina crying. These folks are my family down here, and it was very special for me to be able to blend my two worlds in this way.<br /><br />We then left reality and traveled into luxery-vacation-land, in which we jet-setted around Honduras, delighting (some of us more than others) in hot-water showers, fancy multi-course meals and comfortable beds with real, non-foam mattresses. Sweet jesus in a juice box, it was awesome. First we went to La Ceiba and spent two days in Pico Bonito National Park. Our beautiful B&B (Casa Cangrejal) was right in the buffer-zone of the protected area, so we ate our breakfast with the birds and the butterflies in the morning before hiking 10 minutes down the road into the jungle. We went on an amazing 5-hour roundtrip hike (with no sandwiches!) up the mountain, carefully avoiding the giant ant freeways and the amazing Blue Morpho butterflies, which are bigger than my face. My parents had never hiked in rain forest before, so it was a thrilling experience for them (and me as well, obviously). The trail was very well maintained and we saw almost no other hikers, which was nice. The middle point of the loop was an 80-meter waterfall, which pours down a rocky wall, covered with moss and leafy plants. Dad and I actually hiked down to the base of the fall, where I promptly sat down under the turbo-shower and only slightly broke my glasses (again). The next day, our jungle-appetites sated, we took the mildly-turbulent ferry across the Caribbean to Roatan, one of the Bay Islands. We stayed in a remarkably un-occupied resort called Fosters, which was located on the prettiest beach on the island. (I say remarkably because everyone knows the average traveler prefers their home-away-from-home to be stocked with mouse poop, grimy bathrooms and shoddy carpentry, and that is PRECISELY what this idyllic little bungalow offered). But, as my grandma says, it’s just a bed—no one goes to vacation on the beach to stay inside all day, reading Middlesex (ahem, Wendy Kercher). Just kidding, the literary habits were kept to a minimum and Wendy spent most of her standing—damn, can that girl stand!—in the turquoise, tranquil waters of the Caribbean, while Andy and I snorkeled till our mouths pickled themselves, gliding over the beautiful coral reefs and occasionally diving down into the deep blue trenches to slap eels and taunt small sharks. Twice, a Carnival cruise ship arrival and dumped like 2,000 people in the island, which is no doubt devastating to the natural environment; through excellent for the business owners. It made for pretty good people-watching, as Wendy and I strolled through the throngs of fat, greased-up Americans with a beer in one hand and a corn-dog in the other, bobbing waist-deep in the sea. They all had to return to the boat by 4pm, though, which left the late-afternoon delightfully solitary. Ugh. The food was also amazing, and I happily devoured my weight in many varieties of shrimp during our stay there (coconut thai shrimp, blue-cheese-and-sun-dried-tomato shrimp, etc). We found one restaurant, Bite on the Beach, so tasty we ate there TWICE, while I alternated between slurping down delicious minty cocktails whose name escapes me and rubbing their freaking INCREDIBLE home-grown lettuce on my cheek, declaring my love before slowly dipping it in olive oil and grinding it to heaven in my mouth.<br /><br />To finish our family outing, we headed to Copan for two days, to check out the famous Mayan ruins. Andy, forever the recreational learner, had done some reading on the glyphs before our trip, and was able to supplement our guide Fidel, who made up for a shoddy command of English with rambling nonsequitors and a robust quantity-over-quality attitude. Still, it was amazing…the ruins were so much bigger than I imagined and Honduras has done a fair job preserving them. My favorite parts were the giant stadiums with impressive staircases, down which sacrificed heads would tumble during ceremonies; and the ball court. I also really dug on the sculptures, most especially the dancing jaguar, who, if my glyph reading is accurate, and I believe it is, seems to model his style much after mine…it’s amazing what the Mayan culture produced long before the rest of the world had so much as an inkling. We also spent some time poking around in souvenir shops, eating tasty food, drinking tasty wine, and enjoying each other’s company. The next day, we took an early bus to San Pedro Sula, smooched goodbye, and went our separate ways. I moped my way to a fellow volunteer’s house nearby, where I passed the elections (Pepe Lobo, the conservative candidate, won!). Now back in Alubarén, I am passing my time nibbling on the delicacies my loving parents brought for me (hella Swedish fish and chocolates, hells yes) and gearing up for an attempt to instill a love of literature in the Honduran youths.<br /><br />Mom and Dad, thanks for comin’ to see ‘ol Hayley…it was the highlight of the year. And it’s not just ‘cause you brought my candy, neither. I love you guys.<br /><br />Adiooooos<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-83872978717357282002009-11-11T09:29:00.000-08:002009-11-11T09:42:08.496-08:00dang i drank so much coke this week<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1zJ71IjI/AAAAAAAAAfE/I5fGaZiV0TA/s1600-h/IMG_5738.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900962173329970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1zJ71IjI/AAAAAAAAAfE/I5fGaZiV0TA/s320/IMG_5738.JPG" border="0" /></a> Alison the graduate under her awesome balloon arc, with her new dress and dolly. Also pictured is bro Noel, who was sad because he received no presents.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1yyuF2gI/AAAAAAAAAe8/pGAaxknBMRw/s1600-h/IMG_5729.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900955941689858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1yyuF2gI/AAAAAAAAAe8/pGAaxknBMRw/s320/IMG_5729.JPG" border="0" /></a> Ah, the obligatory diploma picture.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1y2a3q6I/AAAAAAAAAe0/rBDLJqFq6UE/s1600-h/IMG_5659.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900956934810530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1y2a3q6I/AAAAAAAAAe0/rBDLJqFq6UE/s320/IMG_5659.JPG" border="0" /></a> Igor's brother Navigante at the dogs' first birthday party.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1aMs7OQI/AAAAAAAAAes/SKdo57TSdHw/s1600-h/IMG_5658.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900533419391234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1aMs7OQI/AAAAAAAAAes/SKdo57TSdHw/s320/IMG_5658.JPG" border="0" /></a> GIMME THE TREAT I CANNOT WAIT ANY LONGERRRRR<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1Z74Dr2I/AAAAAAAAAek/frWPM477BdA/s1600-h/IMG_5657.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900528902680418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1Z74Dr2I/AAAAAAAAAek/frWPM477BdA/s320/IMG_5657.JPG" border="0" /></a>This was the fastest picture I've ever taken.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1Z1hneVI/AAAAAAAAAec/DhhbGcC-mTM/s1600-h/IMG_5655.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900527197944146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1Z1hneVI/AAAAAAAAAec/DhhbGcC-mTM/s320/IMG_5655.JPG" border="0" /></a>birthday boy<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1Zq4N7RI/AAAAAAAAAeU/C2llmAsw6_o/s1600-h/IMG_5651.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900524339948818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1Zq4N7RI/AAAAAAAAAeU/C2llmAsw6_o/s320/IMG_5651.JPG" border="0" /></a> the peace corpse, a ninja turtle, and a recycling plant<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1ZdaGIMI/AAAAAAAAAeM/4ttYr5jXGjs/s1600-h/IMG_5650.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900520723947714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1ZdaGIMI/AAAAAAAAAeM/4ttYr5jXGjs/s320/IMG_5650.JPG" border="0" /></a> PEACE CORPSE AHHHHHHHhhhhhh gosh im clever.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1NDhxYrI/AAAAAAAAAeE/J4Nv2Zxmlis/s1600-h/IMG_5578.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900307618390706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1NDhxYrI/AAAAAAAAAeE/J4Nv2Zxmlis/s320/IMG_5578.JPG" border="0" /></a> saturday at the swimmin' hole<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1M20tJBI/AAAAAAAAAd8/mEb_S16CNy0/s1600-h/IMG_5576.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900304208143378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1M20tJBI/AAAAAAAAAd8/mEb_S16CNy0/s320/IMG_5576.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor loves this place...you can tell.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1MpDOcTI/AAAAAAAAAd0/65GosKdJWXo/s1600-h/IMG_5555.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900300510949682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1MpDOcTI/AAAAAAAAAd0/65GosKdJWXo/s320/IMG_5555.JPG" border="0" /></a>my novio douglas and i.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1MaeqEjI/AAAAAAAAAds/mYnlNAOpUD0/s1600-h/IMG_5552.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900296599474738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1MaeqEjI/AAAAAAAAAds/mYnlNAOpUD0/s320/IMG_5552.JPG" border="0" /></a> noel and grandma tina in the agua<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1MIqfgqI/AAAAAAAAAdk/yUadbPBgqz4/s1600-h/IMG_5549.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402900291817276066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Svr1MIqfgqI/AAAAAAAAAdk/yUadbPBgqz4/s320/IMG_5549.JPG" border="0" /></a> douglas loves to swim...aw.<br /><br /><div><strong>10 November 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos!<br />Dudes guess what? Nicaragua totally saved our back, a little bit. Nicaragua was all like “hells YEAH we got rain, you waaaaant some?” and Honduras was like “I…yes. Please, don’t make me beg.” And Nicaragua was like, “If you want the rain, you’ll have to <em>dance</em> for it.” And Honduras danced (while crying quietly) and rain it did. It was just for the weekend, but it was awesome. I woke up last Saturday morning and was hit with nostalgia like a sock full of marbles…it was COLD. I mean it was probably in the 60s, but to me it felt freezing. It was gray and drizzly outside, which it NEVER is in the morning. I immediately put on socks, and flannel pants, and a hooded sweatshirt, and proceeded to spend the next four hours swaying in my hammock, watching the rain and drinking cup after cup of delicious coffee from Copan. I considered buying a blanket, really I did. It was awesome; it felt like just fall…I pretended I was back in Chicago, gettin’ my autumn on. Then I pretended I was in California, and had even MORE fun. The roads became so muddy the buses got stuck; my grass became squishy, and the river swelled a bit. It was over by Monday morning, but the weekend was just delightful. Thanks, Nicaragua! You guys always know just what I like.<br /><br />Rain aside, this weekend was also a blasty-blast because it was the graduation for both kindergarten and sixth grade. I’m a pretty popular lady among folks of that age group, so I walked the red carpet at both events. They have a thing here where a family with a graduating child asks a family friend or relative to be the “madrina” or “padrino” of the kid (godmother or godfather) for the ceremony. Basically this entails attending the graduation and sitting at the little plastic table each family has, drinking a cup of coke and taking many pictures. When the kid’s name is called, you go up and take a picture with them, one hand on their diploma, the other on a gift you bought for them (but the kid can’t have it yet!). Then you go sit back down, wait for the ceremony to end, and then go back to the family’s house and have dinner (rice, meat, veggies, lots of soda) and the kid finally gets to open his or her present. Saturday night I attended the 6th grade graduation as my neighbor Enner’s madrina. His mom, Glenda, is a good friend of mine, and his little sister Jessica and I are also bosom buddies (is that creepy? I don’t mean it to be. She’s six). Enner is kind of a punk, but I do love him and he’s a pretty decent pitcher on my baseball team (for his present, I bought him a baseball cap). Sunday, I attended the kindergarten graduation as Alison’s madrina. Alison is my best buddy Nelly’s 5-year-old daughter and my across-the-street neighbor…she’s also one of my favorites. It was adorable, they paid a neighbor (the currency is one 3-liter bottle of Coke) to do her hair all fancy-pancy, and painted her nails, and put on make-up, and her fancy blue church dress. Nelly even spent the better half of the morning making this amazing balloon arc, by tying a million balloons to a plastic tube stuck in two sand-filled coffee cans. Very creative. The parties were a lot of fun…god, I love soda.<br /><br />And we had ANOTHER party the Thursday before, on November 5th, celebrating Igor’s first birthday! At about 4:00pm I decided we should have a fiesta, so I sent some neighbor kids with bikes to go invite Igor’s three litter mates in the area and their respective kid owners. I got busy making little ground-beef birthday cakes for each dog, while my little buddy Nuria deftly created a million crepe paper streamers. Her mom (and my landlord) Mirian raked the sand and leaves in my yard, and Douglas helpfully peed on my floor. Nelly and her mom Tina (proud owners of Kaiser, Igor’s brother) brought over a bunch of plastic chairs. By 5:00pm the kids and dogs had arrived, and Nuria placed a crepe paper garland on each dog (one of them, Princesa, is her’s). Kaiser is, of course, Nelly’s dog, and another kid on my baseball team Samer owns the fourth, a white one named Navigante. I gave each kid a hamburger patty with a candle stuck in it and we sang Happy Birthday. Then I told each kid to make a wish out loud on the dog’s behalf (I went first, and said in a dog voice, “I wish I could eat my birthday treat now!” and all the kids copied me…unimaginative bastards). Then we blew out the candles, removed them, and placed the plates on the ground. In about two seconds all the meat was gone and the dogs were left to rip the crepe paper off one another while we humans had several cups of Coke and cookies. It was perhaps the best dog birthday…ever?!?<br /><br />Yesterday was my first baseball practice of the season…we picked up right where we left off. We have a handful of newcomers but the team is pretty much the same. We met at the field right at 2:00pm, ran our lap, did our stretches, and did throwing and catching exercises until 4:00pm. Today was more of the same but we did batting and fielding instead. I spent a fair amount of time yelling at the kids—they’re such PUNKS, always throwing rocks and cussing—but after I sent one cocky 13-year-old home they calmed down. I think this year will go a lot smoother, but it’s a bummer because there is no national championship as a goal. The Peace Corps has sort of sold out to the Dodgers, which is great because they’re funding this awesome week-long clinic for our Honduran coaches. Awesome, but not for me, because I don’t HAVE a damn Honduran coach. One of my kid’s dads is interested (also my landlord), but by interested I mean he likes to come and watch, when he feels like it, and doesn’t want to adhere to the rigid time commitment. He’s out of work at the moment due to an injury, actually, and I think he might just be bored. But he’s a good guy, and not a creep with young girls, so I’ll see if I can entice him to commit to being our coach for REALS.<br />Oh, yeah, Halloween! Dudes. Halloween was AWESOME. We stayed in this rad hostel called La Iguana Azul and just had wonderful dang time runnin’ around the cool town of Copan. The first night there was this great party at a local bar Via Via (which I showed up at in my dog food costume, only to find NO ONE else was in costume except for three dudes dressed as Drugs, Sex, and Rock ‘n Roll, respectively). But it didn’t matter, because it is hellsa fun to run around dressed up like dog food. Saturday, Halloween proper, was even more fun…I looked pretty good as the Peace Corpse, and we went to parties at several different bars before ending up at this one with an awesome live band. Oh, to dance like a dorky white girl with face paint….such a treat. It was fun because the whole town seemed to welcome this onslaught of gringos (or at least, those who could profit from our presence seemed to welcome us) and it was wonderful to catch up with all my old buddies I haven’t seen in a year. I also met a bunch of volunteers for the first time, some of whom were Excellent. So hooray and hot damn. Saturday afternoon, before the party began, a bunch of us went to this place called Macaw Mountain, which is basically a glorified nature park with a wide collection of exotic birds in large outdoor enclosures, as well as a bitchin’ swimming hole. There was even a section where the birds were loose on perches, and you could have them climb on your head and nibble your earlobe…which I enjoyed….perhaps too much. (Though at one point I had enticed this green macaw onto my arm, and was enjoying his heft, when a park employee came running up and was like “dude that’s the bird that claws people’s eyes out when they least expect it!”, which kind of killed the moment). I opted not to check out the ruins, since I’ll be headed there in about two weeks with Wendy and Andy Kercher (who arrive in Honduras in exactly eight days!!!!). Man. I had fun.<br />So yeah, T-minus ALMOST NO TIME AT ALL until my folks get here. I’m so excited, I could just barf. All ova this keyboard!!! But I won’t, cause this is the only one I got. I feel like the luckiest dame in the world…I can’t wait to hug my mom and dad. I haven’t seen them in like 17 months, and it feels more like 18. Which is nearly 20! It feels like it’s been nearly 20 months…which is nearly 24, which is two years. So you understand my excitement.<br /><br />Time for bed, dudes…I am so exhausted from yelling at children about Sports.<br />Love,<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-59580355009263255162009-10-23T14:04:00.000-07:002009-10-23T14:40:03.017-07:00summer is upon me, like the sweatiest wool blanket in the world<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIhSBttiBI/AAAAAAAAAdc/KJo3nyepxI8/s1600-h/IMG_5545.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395911897124800530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIhSBttiBI/AAAAAAAAAdc/KJo3nyepxI8/s320/IMG_5545.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Lisbeth, reading one of the new books my grandma sent me. i wish i could turn this photo normally!<br /><div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIb-4mEtMI/AAAAAAAAAdE/OgUOS1agREI/s1600-h/IMG_5544.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395906070701192386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIb-4mEtMI/AAAAAAAAAdE/OgUOS1agREI/s320/IMG_5544.JPG" border="0" /></a> the gang, reading the awesome childrens books that my awesome mimi sent<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIb-lEYlJI/AAAAAAAAAc8/AYj7nA15bxw/s1600-h/IMG_5541.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395906065459614866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIb-lEYlJI/AAAAAAAAAc8/AYj7nA15bxw/s320/IMG_5541.JPG" border="0" /></a> tina and her hubby Ruben on his 74th birthday<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbRRBAL2I/AAAAAAAAAc0/-_EOeNPhkQ4/s1600-h/IMG_5518.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395905286982610786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbRRBAL2I/AAAAAAAAAc0/-_EOeNPhkQ4/s320/IMG_5518.JPG" border="0" /></a> ruben, attacking the rabbit-coyote with youthful vigor<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbQ_r7bvI/AAAAAAAAAck/44eQkZ7PW7E/s1600-h/IMG_5496.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395905282330816242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbQ_r7bvI/AAAAAAAAAck/44eQkZ7PW7E/s320/IMG_5496.JPG" border="0" /></a> nelly and douglas on his second birthday<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbQbtAlXI/AAAAAAAAAcc/_2FD_T7U5vU/s1600-h/IMG_5484.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395905272671671666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbQbtAlXI/AAAAAAAAAcc/_2FD_T7U5vU/s320/IMG_5484.JPG" border="0" /></a> douglas attacking the rabbit-coyote with even more youthful vigor (thats right, we reuse pinatas in alubaren)<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbP73nRfI/AAAAAAAAAcU/m7-xokHQdHI/s1600-h/IMG_5505.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395905264126215666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbP73nRfI/AAAAAAAAAcU/m7-xokHQdHI/s320/IMG_5505.JPG" border="0" /></a> looking down into the valley of one of the aldeas where I work<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbRNiNwpI/AAAAAAAAAcs/EUdaRhmdAJI/s1600-h/IMG_5516.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395905286048170642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SuIbRNiNwpI/AAAAAAAAAcs/EUdaRhmdAJI/s320/IMG_5516.JPG" border="0" /></a> spank that pinata, ruben!<br /><br /><br /><div><strong>23 October 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos!<br />Crap, crap, crapity crap. “Oh no Hayley whatever seems to be the matter” you say? WELL, IT AIN’T A GIANT MUDDY DEATH TRAP AROUND HERE AND THAT IS VERY WORRYING. In case you guys are too busy eating delicious toasty sandwiches and then driving to buy MORE sandwich fixins’ when they run out, or whatever it is you do in America, as I have now forgotten, it is OCTOBER, people. Moreover, it is nearly November. In Honduras, as with pretty much all tropical places (I assume), October is, as the kids say, “negative moist.” It is supposed to just rain and rain, with torrential monsoons of fat warm wet drops bombarding the Dickens outta everything. The rivers swell, the roads wash out, little pink wormies drown, and the cuffs of people’s pants take on a permanent brown tone. BUT that’s how it HAS to be, because from November to May, not a single drop falls (at least in the south of Honduras) and we depend on the chunkity-ass rivers to supply us with drinking, bathing, and irrigating water. But WHAT THE HELL, PEOPLE. It isn’t raining!! And it hasn’t rained since the second week of October! And when it WAS raining, it wasn’t all that much! Last year at this time, I was leaping into a swirling, churning river and squealing gleefully as the rapids shot me down stream. This year, I can walk across the same river and not even get my butt wet. The water flows lazily along, with bits of garbage floating along peacefully. Bob Ross would love to come here and get his paint on, I’m sure, but for Alubarén’s purposes, this is bad news. The corn crops are already stunted, and with no rain, the harvest is gonna be hells of meager. Same with the beans. And the squash. Everything is already drying out, beginning to take on the toasty, dusty film of summer. I was burning some used toilet paper in my yard the other day (just one of my many new hobbies) and the fire leapt to the grass and started spreading! And just a couple weeks ago, that same lawn was a thick squishy green delight of life. I never realized how much I love the rainy season until I noted its abrupt departure and the rapid encroachment of summer, shoving its dry, crackly body in front of the withering green of winter like a particularly arid bully in the school lunch line. Oh, but how summer loves those baked Tator Tots! This is gonna be a long-ass summer.<br /><br />Summer seems to be moving onto the seen in other areas, too. Usually, the kids are in school until mid-November, at which point they are turned out to graze the crusty grass of Endless Summer, until it ends in February and the kids don their uniforms and head back for some learnin’. This year, however, the Ministry of Education decided that what with the political unrest, it would be prudent to release the kids a month early, in mid-October. The elections are scheduled for the very end of November, and the schools are used as community polling places. So obviously, we must have the schools barren for a good six weeks prior. You know, just in case. So the teachers were given orders to pass ALL their students, whether they should be passed or not, hastily administered some last-minute tests (though I can’t imagine why, if they were going to pass the entire class anyway) and swept the youngsters out the doors for a nice hearty summer break of nearly four months. One of my projects is called TEAM, and involves four hours of English class and creative teaching methodology for about 23 local teachers, who then replicate the classes in their own schools, thus giving the kids a good dose of basic English as well as dynamic, interactive learning that gets them off their feet and eschews rote-memorization for 50 pleasant minutes. Anyway, I had TEAM scheduled to go into November, including two observations per teacher out at village schools where they teach. When the Ministry announced they were chopping the school year down at the knee caps, I had to hurry the hell up and finish all my classes before the teachers took off for Tegucigalpa, where many of them reside when they’re not teaching in the country schools. As such, I was only able to observe each teacher once instead of twice, which was a shame because I always enjoy going out into the aldeas (villages). The people are always so friendly and happy to see one another, greeting their neighbors on the path like cherished family members. You feel like Alubarén has great poverty, but then you walk two hours out to some remote aldea, which is really just a cluster of houses, and suddenly Alubarén seems like a wealthy metropolis. The folks out in the aldeas are so poor, they don’t even have doors on their mud houses. Latrines are uncommon; most families just go out in the open air. The kids show up at school barefoot, the required white-and-blue uniforms are nonexistent. To get to many of the aldeas, the teachers in Alubarén walk 15 minutes to a bus pick-up spot, take the 6:15am bus that passes on its way to Tegus, ride it for 20 minutes, then get off and head their separate ways. One teacher I went with hikes for over an hour down a steep ravine into a valley so isolated I was shocked to find the number of houses that claim that little area as Los Amates, their home. Hiking back UP to the road after class was rather hellish, it was so steep and so hot. She told me she often goes on mule but that week the poor guy was occupied hauling sand for a construction project.<br /><br />So needless to say, I’ve been hells of busy trying to suddenly wrap up all of my school-related projects before the kids scatter and the teachers leave. I’m also about to begin baseball again, which I’m looking forward too, though I have enjoyed my several months of free afternoons. I’ve also been happily celebrating many birthdays, including little Douglas turning two and his grandpa Ruben turning 74. Both birthdays were celebrated across the street at their house, with cake, a piñata, and tasty food. Douglas was very serious about beating (well, gently tapping) his piñata, but managed to do such a delicate job in removing the candy that the rabbit/coyote/whatever thing was salvaged for Don Ruben’s birthday two weeks later. Douglas’ birthday was lots of fun, but Ruben’s was very special. As I’ve mentioned, he has pretty bad Parkinson’s, and so for this birthday family and friends turned up from all over the place to celebrate another year. They clapped and strummed guitars and sang church songs, prayed, and gave little speeches (I actually gave one too, and nearly began to cry, which was awkward). Then they passed out the ubiquitous plastic plates of rice-and-chicken-with-three-tortillas and little cups of coke. Then frosting was smeared on the old man’s face, as tradition mandates, we sang three different Happy Birthday songs (one of which I directed in English), ate cake, had more soda, and the party dissipated. Same format as every party in this one-trick-pony-town, which I enjoy. Ruben, in his quiet, wavery voice, gave a little speech from his plastic lawn about the incredible love he has in his heart for the people in his life, and for life itself. A retired pastor in the Evangelical church, his outlook on life is so upbeat and optimistic you feel like a better person just listening to him. He is perhaps of the most adored members of the community.<br /><br />I’m gettin’ seven kinds of psyched because in exactly one week, I leave for the Mayan Ruins of Copan to celebrate the best holiday ever, aka HALLOWEEN. Every year there is a giant Halloween party in the little town of Copan Ruinas, which boasts the actual ruins outside of town. All the volunteers in Honduras that can go, do, as well as any other ex-pats or folks who celebrate the holiday (Halloween is generally not celebrated in Latin America). I freakin’ LOVE costume parties, and the fact that this one is a huge crazy fun-fest in an awesome location with like 500 people makes me want to sweat candy corn outta my eyes. I actually have two costumes picked out, one for Friday night, and one for the actual Halloween party on Saturday. Friday night, I shall stand around havin’ a great ol time as a bag of dog food. Igor blows through 50 pound sack of “Dogui” kibble in no time, so I have a quite a stack of empty bags. I’m just gonna cut leg and arm holes and stuff it with newspaper. For Saturday night, I’m following my heart as a lover of “pun” costumes and shall make my debut as “the Peace Corpse.” GET IT?! Cause, you know, dumb people might pronounce “corps” as “corpse”…. AND it works in Spanish, because we’re known as “El Cuerpo de Paz,” which means “the Body of Peace.” I found a sweet orange tie-dyed tank top with a giant white peace sign on the front, and shall wear that with many other stereotypical hippie paraphernalia whilst smearing my face with corpse-like face paint and fake blood. Basically, I win.<br /><br />My buddies Noel, Alison and Douglas just barged into my house asking permission to collect the many windfall cherries that are strewn about my yard, so I’d better wrap this up. If you give a kid permission to pick cherries, chances are, he’s gonna want a plastic bag to go with it…and a glass of juice. And if you give him juice, chances are he’s gonna pee on the floor and then you’ll have to splash some water on it and make a promise to mop later, which you inevitably will not.<br /><br />Only 27 more days until parental units Andy and Wendy fly down to Honduras for nine days of Adventures!! They’re gonna spend two days in the tourist gem that is Alubarén, and then we’re heading north to the Pico Bonito National Park, where I intend on tricking my mom into going white-water rafting in the rain forest, which sounds too bitchin’ to pass up. Then we’re headed to the sexy Bay Islands to snorkel until a sea turtle eats a stray appendage and/or the backs of knees become too sunburned. Then we’re heading off to Copan to scope out the ruins (I’m gonna bring my dog-food costume just in case). Then they head home, filled with tender memories of the best nine days ever spent with their precious first-born child. And to that I say, yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!<br /><br />Love,<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-86453625305347420862009-09-29T07:47:00.000-07:002009-09-29T08:10:40.590-07:00much like alex mac acquired super powers from slime, i now have electrical abilities from lightening.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIiIY5HKWI/AAAAAAAAAcM/Ud-ZauKVJjU/s1600-h/IMG_5363.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386905631804828002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIiIY5HKWI/AAAAAAAAAcM/Ud-ZauKVJjU/s320/IMG_5363.JPG" border="0" /></a> according to patrick, i look like "something from harry potter" in this picture. i don't know how to interpret that, unless perhaps he's inferring that everyone in harry potter has a sunburned forehead. patrick looks like a dork in a honduras-purchased polo shirt.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIf0CsdgII/AAAAAAAAAcE/TvYm7neD0ak/s1600-h/IMG_5411.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386903083225546882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIf0CsdgII/AAAAAAAAAcE/TvYm7neD0ak/s320/IMG_5411.JPG" border="0" /></a> Hawk Waterfall! in the beautiful misty cloud forests of Parque Nacional Montana de Comayagua.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfBaZnzJI/AAAAAAAAAb8/dMYlTWVyBjg/s1600-h/IMG_5407.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386902213415652498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfBaZnzJI/AAAAAAAAAb8/dMYlTWVyBjg/s320/IMG_5407.JPG" border="0" /></a> cascada!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfA3qw4SI/AAAAAAAAAb0/IVbSeRozd7A/s1600-h/IMG_5388.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386902204092309794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfA3qw4SI/AAAAAAAAAb0/IVbSeRozd7A/s320/IMG_5388.JPG" border="0" /></a> Gabe doing his duty as a tour guide [note: this photo is definitely not staged.]<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfAnDwTZI/AAAAAAAAAbs/bj_a5rP4I4Q/s1600-h/IMG_5382.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386902199633726866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfAnDwTZI/AAAAAAAAAbs/bj_a5rP4I4Q/s320/IMG_5382.JPG" border="0" /></a>you may consider us the three musketeers. </div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfAFejdII/AAAAAAAAAbk/BXKKOlH32-g/s1600-h/IMG_5378.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386902190619325570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIfAFejdII/AAAAAAAAAbk/BXKKOlH32-g/s320/IMG_5378.JPG" border="0" /></a> tiny baby waterfall!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIe_tWy75I/AAAAAAAAAbc/O2VChEthUpg/s1600-h/IMG_5358.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386902184144334738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIe_tWy75I/AAAAAAAAAbc/O2VChEthUpg/s320/IMG_5358.JPG" border="0" /></a>Gabe utilizing his sorry excuse for a pila...but it's okay because he has the sweetest view in the world.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeTXdjrgI/AAAAAAAAAbU/kwB8mtzdY_M/s1600-h/IMG_5345.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386901422352870914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeTXdjrgI/AAAAAAAAAbU/kwB8mtzdY_M/s320/IMG_5345.JPG" border="0" /></a> Douglas chillin' in my hammock. That's his cousin Andri in my other hammock in the background.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeTKYIqBI/AAAAAAAAAbM/LA3Ie0t_dh4/s1600-h/IMG_5304.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386901418840467474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeTKYIqBI/AAAAAAAAAbM/LA3Ie0t_dh4/s320/IMG_5304.JPG" border="0" /></a> My kindergarten buddies marching in the Independence Day parade of Alubaren.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeSnvn7RI/AAAAAAAAAbE/a5e6ijB5TXU/s1600-h/IMG_5276.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386901409543744786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeSnvn7RI/AAAAAAAAAbE/a5e6ijB5TXU/s320/IMG_5276.JPG" border="0" /></a> Alison and her neighbor Yesica, her cousins Lisbeth and Andri, and her brother Noel.</div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeSamV2rI/AAAAAAAAAa8/5ArztjWwvXA/s1600-h/IMG_5275.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386901406015150770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeSamV2rI/AAAAAAAAAa8/5ArztjWwvXA/s320/IMG_5275.JPG" border="0" /></a> Nina Independencia!! I guess I could have put her in front of something prettier than my clothesline.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeRzMct5I/AAAAAAAAAa0/dGv1F-jmDl0/s1600-h/IMG_5270.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386901395437565842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SsIeRzMct5I/AAAAAAAAAa0/dGv1F-jmDl0/s320/IMG_5270.JPG" border="0" /></a> Remember baby Javier, my old host mom Suyapa's youngest? He's a crazy monster baby now and runs around like a track star.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><strong>27 September 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos!<br />Guess what today is? Nothing other than my official half-way mark of service, THAT’S ALL. Though actually it was the 28th of September that I arrived in Alubarén last year, but that’s because I cheated and came a day late so I could be sneaky and have a fun time with my buddies from training one last time. Anyway. I can’t think of anything to say about this moment that isn’t just a bunch of clichés out at a cliché family reunion, totally singing songs about bein’ clichés and eating snacks that clichés eat….I can’t believe how time has flown; it seems like only yesterday I was dragging two huge suitcases up the dirt road, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and sweaty-faced, etc. Time really has flown, but not any faster than it always does. That would require that Honduras be in some sort of time-accelerator-warp. Let’s not be crazy here people. EVERYBODY CALM THE HELL DOWN.<br /><br />I am currently eating hot green squash with sugar sprinkled on top that my neighbor Glenda just brought me in a little bowl. It is delicious.<br /><br />After a particularly long period of “mini summer,” we have now departed the hot-and-dry-all-the-damn-time period and entered the hot-and-muddy-because-it-rains-like-the-tears-of-an-adolescent-boy-listening-to-The-Cure-in-a-sit-down-bath-in-the-eighties every dang day. I rather like thunder storms…they’re so violent and warm and extreme, nothing like the cold wintery rain that California gets. My yard LOVES it; I’ve had to pay a dude to come machete all my grass and weeds into submission again because it was getting waist-tall and I’ve been finding snakes and such in places I do not want them (aka eye-ball level in my shower, for starters). I’ve planted a bucket full ‘o basil, which is coming along delightfully. I can’t wait to eat it on EVERYTHING. The rain is also making the river grow, which is awesome…I can’t wait till October (wait, I guess that’s this Thursday…I can’t wait till late October) when the river gets nice and swift and deep and we can go tubing in it. Lightening, however, can just take its business SOMEWHERE ELSE (more on than in a second).<br /><br />A couple weekends ago I went with my buddy Patrick to go visit our friend Gabe in his site, a tiny 400-person village up in the mountain of Comayagua, in the western-ish part of the country. Gabe is a Protected Areas Management volunteer (as is Patrick) so the lucky bastard lives practically IN the Parque Nacional Montana de Comayagua, a beautiful national park that is mostly cloud forest and dripping with water (it supplies water to a jillion communities, I believe). His town is called Rio Negro, and is basically a small cluster of houses nestled into the forest. “This here is coffee country,” said Gabe, hitching his thumbs behind his over-all straps, and I believe him. Everywhere I looked grew short, shiny coffee bushes, and I tasted some of the best coffee I’ve ever had while eating dinner at his old host-mom’s house (and promptly bought three pounds of it). Gabe’s house is small but nice, though like the rest of his community, has no electricity. We’d stopped at the grocery store before heading up the mountain, so the three of us prepared a tasty meal of eggplant, spaghetti, and quesillo (a mozzarella-like cheese). Then we sat out of his amazing porch that looks down onto the basin below and admired the incredible lightening storm dancing on and stabbing up the open valley. In the morning, the clouds hang in the trees like they ain’t got no better place to be, and the birds just go crazy flyin’ around while Gabe identifies them with his nerdy little bird book (I’m jealous). Then he took us on the sweetest hike ever, especially considering the trail head is a five-minute walk from his back door. The trail winds through cloud forest for about an hour before reaching a small waterfall, and Gabe stopped and explained all the leaves and trees and plants and insects for us whenever we asked. Then we decided to scramble up the higher ‘trail’ to get to a bigger, more impressive waterfall, which was about another hour up the mountain. The trail, however, was barely existent, and Gabe had to force our way through with his machete much of the time, constantly looking out for the bright orange plastic ribbon marking where the trail aspires to be. The trail was also hells of steep and quite muddy, which meant that we had to crawl on all fours for much of the time, pulling ourselves up by vines and roots and branches. I pretended I was a chimpanzee and thoroughly enjoyed myself. We were so filthy by the time we got there! It was awesome. I love filth. Especially cloud forest filth…everything there smells so awesome and mushroomy and soily. Delightful. Getting down was even harder, because it was so steep and slick, so I finally just waited until the boys got a good ways ahead, squatted down on my heels, and skied down the slope. I don’t think I need to mention how filthy I became after sliding down a muddy mountain on my ass. Patrick didn’t like it much, though, because I would invariably catch up to them in about 10 seconds and smash into the backs of his legs. I kept doing it, however. Soon karma caught up to me, though, when we began walking through a sunny meadow and I tripped and fell flat on my face in a GIANT ant-hill. Biting ants, people! I start screaming and leaping around and smacking at myself while the guys just howl with laughter. I think the worst thing about Honduras is definitely the bitey ants.<br /><br />We got home late afternoon, with just enough time for the three of us to shower and head over for a six o’clock dinner with Gabe’s old host family. I was busy scrubbing my filthsome shorts, so the guys went first. When it was my turn it was already raining pretty good, but no one ever told me of the dangers of showering during a thunder storm, so I jumped into the bathroom and rinsed myself with nice cold mountain water. I has just finished soaped and shampooing myself to hell and was just beginning to rinse myself when….when….I TOTALLY GOT ZAPPED BY GOD HIMSELF. A lightening bolt landed just outside the house and the electricity ran right through the hose I had in my hand and the water I had squirtin’ all over myself and just jolted me. I SCREAMED bloody murder and threw the hose down, then screamed again. Then I leapt out of the shower and stood dripping soap all over the floor while I whimpered to myself and explained in hysterical tones to the concerned boys on the other side of the door what had happened to me. It reminded me of the time I grabbed a hot-wire fence as a kid and stood there screaming and electrocuting myself until my dad came and ripped my fingers free. I continued to stand there and stare up fretfully at the small sky-light in Gabe’s bathroom ceiling for about half an hour. Finally I jumped back in, rinsed off for about 30 seconds, and jumped back out. I then spent the rest of the night recounting my horror story to anyone who would listen (Gabe’s old host-family, my family on the phone, and the boys several more times).<br /><br />The next day we had delicious hot mountain coffee and pancakes for breakfast (I warmed everything by zapping it with my fingers, like the Emperor) and then set off for another adventure. We went over to the little Tourism Center (basically just this guy’s house), saw the four eco-cabins they have built for tourists, and had some juice. The family was incredibly nice and the mom couldn’t seem to stop stuffing us with food, followed by promises of more food (“You like those fried corn cakes, do ya? Well wait till ya try my homemade CHICKEN SOUP!”) Then we hiked down to this little waterfall and pond where the guy had built a sweet hydro-generator! His house is only one in Gabe’s community with electricity. It was totally amazing. But not as amazing as his WINE CAVE. You slosh through this freezing cold pond and force yourself under a pounding waterfall to reach a little cave hidden behind the dumping water. There, this enterprising man has hidden a bottle of homemade wine, complete with several little wooden cups. Unfortunately, the idea is a lot radder than the actual place, because a) the wine tasted like vinegar and puke, b) the cups smelled like my childhood friend Jennifer’s turtle tanks, and c) the cave was tiny and freezing and very wet, not my ideal wine-drinkin’ local. But at least now I can say I’ve drank crappy moon-shine in a cave.<br /><br />So Honduras, like all over Central American countries, celebrates its independence day on September 15th. In a typical year, the kids basically stop learning or doing anything productive in school for a full six weeks before the 15th, spending their precious four hours of school practicing marching around, twirling batons or pompoms (if you’re a girl), banging on a drum (if you’re a boy), and singing the National Anthem, which has like 100 stanzas. However, this year was a little different, because the kids had already lost so much school due to the coup. So the Ministry of Education declared that no school could waste class preparing for Independence Day, which was sad for the kids but an excellent decision. As such, Alubarén’s “Quince de Septiembre” parade was rather thrown together and lame, but at least no minds were deprived of long division unncecessarily. My little neighbor Alison, one of Nelly’s kids, was crowned “Nina de Independencia” in her kindergarten class, so I had a great time walking next to her in the parade and taking a million pictures. She LOVED getting to wear lipstick and earrings and have her nails painted and her hair done (in case anyone is wondering how the exchange rate is doing down here, the local hairdresser charges one three-liter bottle of Coke to style a 5-year-old’s hair). It was a proud moment for Nelly…there are lots of cute girlies in Alison’s class, so the teacher must think Alison is pretty special to have chosen her.<br /><br />I had a really special day the other day…about twice a month, I go into the health center and give a health lecture about high blood pressure to the poor people sitting in the waiting room. Usually there are about 30 people sitting in the church-like pews, talking quietly or comforting fussy babies. It’s almost always folks that come in from the surrounding villages, or aldeas. Aldea folks are, typically, must more shy and quiet, especially around gringos. Doing a workshop with folks from the aldeas is often like pulling teeth—people no one will even LOOK at me, much less participate and speak and contribute to the group. My monthly health lectures are no different. I always follow a similar format, asking questions about what they might know about high blood pressure, how it’s caused, how to prevent it, etc. And, usually, no one says anything, and then one of the nurses Franklin comes in and yells at them for being so rude to me, which just makes it WORSE, and then I just have to go through the lesson about the evils of salt and saturated fat and pretend I’m talking to people instead of robots who are programmed to only stare shyly at the ground. But this month was AWESOME!!! I don’t know what the difference was—all of the people were new to my lecture, no repeats—and most were from aldeas. But they listened when I was speaking, contributed when I asked them questions, and then began peppering me with so many questions I ended up staying a whole hour later than usual. I brought up the dangers of alcohol and how it can affect the heart, and encouraged them to give the local AA chapter a try if they were struggling with drinking. An older man then stood up, took off his cowboy hat, and began to share with this health center waiting room his own personal history with alcohol and how it nearly destroyed his life and his health. He looked around at all the other men and told them how wonderful AA was and that they should give it a try if they were “tired of being drunks.” Then he sat down. Then a young woman raised her hand a little, and addressed the group, saying how she had never really considered what her food was doing to her and her childrens’ hearts, and that from here on out she wasn’t going to cook with manteca (vegetable-based lard) anymore, only vegetable oil. And “only a teeny bit of salt!” She finished her speech and another woman declared she was going to start exercising to lose weight. Then we started discussing alternative recipes for meals (making rice without manteca, for example, or spaghetti without the obligatory 2 bars of margarine), and the women started getting all excited about the new ways they were going to prepare meals. Hooray for days like today.<br /><br />Tomorrow is the “clausura” (closing ceremony?) of my “Yo Merezco” abstinence-education workshop. We’re going to eat cake, drink soda, bash open piñatas, play games, and pointedly not have sexual relations until we’re ready. This cake better be the best freaking cake ever, though, because it’s costing us $25 DOLLARS. That’s….so much of my money. God damn.<br /><br />NOW I am eating dinner I just made, which is rice cooked up all tasty with tomatoes, celery, cilantro, sweet pepper, onions, garlic, and eggplant. One of the ladies who sells produce has really been bringin’ in the good stuff lately. I mean, eggplant?! In Alubarén?! It is awesome. I am kind of obsessed with eggplant these days. Weird.<br /><br />The other day I played in the annual “teacher’s soccer game” (Alubaren versus one of the aldeas). It was rather hilarious because many the teachers were fat and running around in tight jeans, and everyone was shouting “GO HEELI!!” because my un-encumbered body could move around quicker than theirs. But then I got too cocky and totally wiped out, skinning my knee, which turned me into an instant celebrity. Even now, over a week later, people keep coming up to me—“Jili, is it true you hurt yourself?! Let me see! Oh, Diosito [tiny baby God].” Seriously. I’m FAMOUS for my skinned knee.<br /><br />I guess since I’m describing my meals I’ve sort of run of out things to say at the moment. Lesse….I got a little bird’s nest in my lime tree! I think it’s a sparrow. I have no reason to think this other than the momma bird is small and brown. What else…man, I guess I actually went a whole blog entry without talking about Igor. He is doing excellently, and continues to grow, though I think he’s almost done now (he’ll be a year old in November!). The other day I noticed in the evening that his left eye was almost swollen shut, and totally freaked out, convinced he was pulling an Erika and going blind on me. I force fed him an Advil and slept fretfully. In the morning, however, his eye was totally normal, so I guess a bee or something must have stung him.<br /><br />Time for bed…it’s nearly 9:30! Though the other day I made a new record for myself…the lights had been out all day and it was storming so violently I was afraid to be in my hammock, convinced a rogue lightening bolt would hit the roof and travel through the cotton and fry me. So I crawled into bed and decided just to chill and relax until the storm passed. This was at like 6:45pm…the next thing I knew, it was 7:00am and Igor was nosing me through my mosquito net. I am a human miracle!<br /><br />Looove,<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-6167892159317304862009-09-11T08:38:00.000-07:002009-09-11T09:07:47.840-07:00i found another fat old snake in my bathroom today<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzsvLC60I/AAAAAAAAAas/XNxYq390zV8/s1600-h/IMG_5257.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239917261712194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzsvLC60I/AAAAAAAAAas/XNxYq390zV8/s320/IMG_5257.JPG" border="0" /></a> locals paddling about in their wooden canoes. probably either fishing, or thinking about fishing.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzsY4haoI/AAAAAAAAAak/05ylfVbr9pc/s1600-h/IMG_5252.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239911278439042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzsY4haoI/AAAAAAAAAak/05ylfVbr9pc/s320/IMG_5252.JPG" border="0" /></a> look at how delighted we are!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpzr_SJObI/AAAAAAAAAac/JHFFp_rf5N4/s1600-h/IMG_5249.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239904406583730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpzr_SJObI/AAAAAAAAAac/JHFFp_rf5N4/s320/IMG_5249.JPG" border="0" /></a> manatees live here! ALLEGEDLY.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzArq340I/AAAAAAAAAaU/ZH-71ct8eQI/s1600-h/IMG_5247.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239160407221058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzArq340I/AAAAAAAAAaU/ZH-71ct8eQI/s320/IMG_5247.JPG" border="0" /></a> riverfront of where we stayed. the guy in the picture is the portuguese butthead.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzAEDGLWI/AAAAAAAAAaM/3DPPnxWU-jg/s1600-h/IMG_5246.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239149771402594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpzAEDGLWI/AAAAAAAAAaM/3DPPnxWU-jg/s320/IMG_5246.JPG" border="0" /></a> path winding through the forest toward my treehouse.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpy_HeRtAI/AAAAAAAAAaE/KsbXaSDrxnI/s1600-h/IMG_5244.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239133510841346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpy_HeRtAI/AAAAAAAAAaE/KsbXaSDrxnI/s320/IMG_5244.JPG" border="0" /></a> sprinkle sprakle raindrops! that there's a cabin.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpy9UG-H9I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/doEyeUQfR64/s1600-h/IMG_5242.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239102543011794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpy9UG-H9I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/doEyeUQfR64/s320/IMG_5242.JPG" border="0" /></a> chops descending our awesome staircase.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpy817SuMI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/bIBM0y87Ua0/s1600-h/IMG_5236.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380239094440966338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sqpy817SuMI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/bIBM0y87Ua0/s320/IMG_5236.JPG" border="0" /></a> dusk.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyHJBdxYI/AAAAAAAAAZs/nb1P9TemPcU/s1600-h/IMG_5221.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380238171854194050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyHJBdxYI/AAAAAAAAAZs/nb1P9TemPcU/s320/IMG_5221.JPG" border="0" /></a> approaching dusk? everything is green.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyGiJxKQI/AAAAAAAAAZk/EoWtfS6KJ88/s1600-h/IMG_5218.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380238161420036354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyGiJxKQI/AAAAAAAAAZk/EoWtfS6KJ88/s320/IMG_5218.JPG" border="0" /></a> just around the river bend (come on lets not pretend we havent all seen Pocahontas)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyGHNn-pI/AAAAAAAAAZc/nJ-n63xEZsc/s1600-h/IMG_5215.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380238154188454546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyGHNn-pI/AAAAAAAAAZc/nJ-n63xEZsc/s320/IMG_5215.JPG" border="0" /></a> chops, t-bag, and our extremely sassy boat driver lady. note the cut-offs.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyFwFHvFI/AAAAAAAAAZU/-2iRSbD7Q6U/s1600-h/IMG_5194.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380238147978771538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyFwFHvFI/AAAAAAAAAZU/-2iRSbD7Q6U/s320/IMG_5194.JPG" border="0" /></a> our jungle guide and me after the hike.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyFR7n4nI/AAAAAAAAAZM/a4KUlEUSKTo/s1600-h/IMG_5190.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380238139885871730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpyFR7n4nI/AAAAAAAAAZM/a4KUlEUSKTo/s320/IMG_5190.JPG" border="0" /></a> from inside the CAVE of TIGERS!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxVPk5lFI/AAAAAAAAAZE/MoAWP06S7BI/s1600-h/IMG_5178.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380237314619970642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxVPk5lFI/AAAAAAAAAZE/MoAWP06S7BI/s320/IMG_5178.JPG" border="0" /></a> secret jungle island.<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxUkrSL9I/AAAAAAAAAY8/cmwXZOC_QAI/s1600-h/IMG_5172.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380237303104024530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxUkrSL9I/AAAAAAAAAY8/cmwXZOC_QAI/s320/IMG_5172.JPG" border="0" /></a> glowy leaves!!!!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxUCSGEoI/AAAAAAAAAY0/RLc2FITENgI/s1600-h/IMG_5166.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380237293871567490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxUCSGEoI/AAAAAAAAAY0/RLc2FITENgI/s320/IMG_5166.JPG" border="0" /></a> amazing twisty vine. they call it the monkey ladder. it should be called the twisted glaze.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxTsfJrzI/AAAAAAAAAYs/qIC2vpDZHVc/s1600-h/IMG_5160.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380237288020750130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxTsfJrzI/AAAAAAAAAYs/qIC2vpDZHVc/s320/IMG_5160.JPG" border="0" /></a> moss!!! which flakes off onto your skin in a delightful way when hugged.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxTAISdyI/AAAAAAAAAYk/h9S3fANdqgU/s1600-h/IMG_5099.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380237276113696546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SqpxTAISdyI/AAAAAAAAAYk/h9S3fANdqgU/s320/IMG_5099.JPG" border="0" /></a> chops eatin' breakfast at the beach.<br /><br /><div><strong>7 September 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos!<br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Love,<br />Hayley </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-73104749738033802312009-08-14T09:04:00.000-07:002009-08-14T10:13:07.265-07:00man my bowels be TIGHT today<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWOvQRfFrI/AAAAAAAAAYc/EfuDmgBcf28/s1600-h/IMG_4995.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369855073182488242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWOvQRfFrI/AAAAAAAAAYc/EfuDmgBcf28/s320/IMG_4995.JPG" border="0" /></a> sittin' on our sittin' hill<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWOu7F0e6I/AAAAAAAAAYU/XRkl3GfKw4g/s1600-h/IMG_5010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369855067496414114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWOu7F0e6I/AAAAAAAAAYU/XRkl3GfKw4g/s320/IMG_5010.JPG" border="0" /></a> lookin down toward Alubaren from my Secret Area<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWOuRwm8cI/AAAAAAAAAYM/EDO7a8jQuJ8/s1600-h/IMG_5011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369855056401592770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWOuRwm8cI/AAAAAAAAAYM/EDO7a8jQuJ8/s320/IMG_5011.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor pretending he is a greyhound<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNOe8iAlI/AAAAAAAAAYE/YEinrfGj0mY/s1600-h/IMG_4994.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369853410673820242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNOe8iAlI/AAAAAAAAAYE/YEinrfGj0mY/s320/IMG_4994.JPG" border="0" /></a> oh man this is so Purina<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNN8ljdhI/AAAAAAAAAX8/eK4unrbzPtE/s1600-h/IMG_4988.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369853401450640914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNN8ljdhI/AAAAAAAAAX8/eK4unrbzPtE/s320/IMG_4988.JPG" border="0" /></a> for those of you familiar with the Sexy Bear Pose, this is the Sexy Igor Pose.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNNYsn7XI/AAAAAAAAAX0/Lxl4WPgNIHM/s1600-h/IMG_4986.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369853391816617330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNNYsn7XI/AAAAAAAAAX0/Lxl4WPgNIHM/s320/IMG_4986.JPG" border="0" /></a> hunting moths.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNNGpRwnI/AAAAAAAAAXs/FUG7ScQDPb0/s1600-h/IMG_4977.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369853386970743410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNNGpRwnI/AAAAAAAAAXs/FUG7ScQDPb0/s320/IMG_4977.JPG" border="0" /></a> me and the fam<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNMe33PpI/AAAAAAAAAXk/7lQYaI9pLnc/s1600-h/IMG_4968.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369853376294502034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWNMe33PpI/AAAAAAAAAXk/7lQYaI9pLnc/s320/IMG_4968.JPG" border="0" /></a> oh, just indians and i (anner and eliezer)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMDpW_seI/AAAAAAAAAXc/sg_UIAnc_Vc/s1600-h/IMG_4953.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369852124978983394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMDpW_seI/AAAAAAAAAXc/sg_UIAnc_Vc/s320/IMG_4953.JPG" border="0" /></a> goofy Lempiras<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMDESqsgI/AAAAAAAAAXU/JjygoU2m92k/s1600-h/IMG_4944.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369852115028718082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMDESqsgI/AAAAAAAAAXU/JjygoU2m92k/s320/IMG_4944.JPG" border="0" /></a> you can't shoot me with an arrow! barack obama will bring the pain.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMCkd0KFI/AAAAAAAAAXM/am0tnMsIEC0/s1600-h/IMG_4929.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369852106485540946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMCkd0KFI/AAAAAAAAAXM/am0tnMsIEC0/s320/IMG_4929.JPG" border="0" /></a> sassy indian maidens.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMCTsTWWI/AAAAAAAAAXE/By57_5Ue8-s/s1600-h/IMG_4926.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369852101982902626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMCTsTWWI/AAAAAAAAAXE/By57_5Ue8-s/s320/IMG_4926.JPG" border="0" /></a> waiting for the parade AKA lap around the park.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMBzfdVNI/AAAAAAAAAW8/RvEP9c6mlLo/s1600-h/IMG_4921.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369852093339096274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SoWMBzfdVNI/AAAAAAAAAW8/RvEP9c6mlLo/s320/IMG_4921.JPG" border="0" /></a> this little guy won the boys' fashion show. because of his excessive soot, i believe. </div><div><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy6CoVwxWLp3Zsxx25QHEYqys_H_UlYEIL-ZIzXuXf0Yrsnu89ZtfXSBjDeof4lpvQC1iFRJ05LXv83gi7XeA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><div>some of my little buddies marching around, pretending to be indians.</div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>9 August 2009<br /></strong>Hey, chochachos!<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Well my my will you look at that, it is 12:30pm AKA TIME FOR SOME TORTILLAS AND BEANS AND CHEESE!<br />Loooooove,<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-30244262660306765452009-07-19T11:16:00.000-07:002009-07-19T11:22:34.799-07:00today i saw a dead armadillo on the road!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SmNjo4QnZHI/AAAAAAAAAW0/Xl2xBIcT-E0/s1600-h/IMG_4913.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SmNjo4QnZHI/AAAAAAAAAW0/Xl2xBIcT-E0/s320/IMG_4913.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360237535449015410" border="0" /></a>Two sixth grade girls in my "I Derseerve" abstinence workshop, making the "Chain of Abstinence"....very inspiring. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SmNjotNeBZI/AAAAAAAAAWs/iAFYi4sXWB0/s1600-h/IMG_4897.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SmNjotNeBZI/AAAAAAAAAWs/iAFYi4sXWB0/s320/IMG_4897.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360237532483028370" border="0" /></a>My neighbor Rubio, with his banjo (this one goes out to you, dad!)<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span lang="EN-US">18 July 2009</span></b><br /><span lang="EN-US">Hey, chochachos!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Sorry, I can’t hack ‘howdy dudes’ anymore.<span style=""> </span>It just makes me think of <i style="">“Hey, dude!”,</i> which those of you fortunate enough to have had Nickelodeon as a child (and, obviously, fortunate enough to have been a child in the nineties) will recall as the teenagers-on-a-dude-ranch sitcom.<span style=""> </span>All ladies wearin’ sleeveless denim tops, knotted in that sassy limbo that is the below-the-navel-above-the-jeans region…all guys with floppy man-bangs…everybody eatin’ <i style="">outside</i>, on <i style="">picnic tables</i>…hilarity all ensuing when the experienced ranch-hands let the excessively-fringed greenhorns take the toughest stallions EVER on a trail ride…man.<span style=""> </span>I hope that show was as awesome as I remember it.<span style=""> </span>Next time I am on a non-dial-up computer I am totally going to YouTube the DICKENS out of “Hey, Dude!” and see what’s up with the old gang.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Meanwhile, back at the non-1990s/non-horse ranch ranch, things are...semi-crisis like.<span style=""> </span>Think of your typical political crisis as a delicious sirloin hamburger.<span style=""> </span>Then replace that delicious sirloin with crappy pre-formed hamburger patties, and cook them (aka throw the still-frozen meat-disc into the frying pan) medium rare.<span style=""> </span>This non-deadly, but certainly non-tasty burger, is essentially the state of the union down here in H-Town (if I may).<span style=""> </span>The past couple weeks have been a delightful exercise in what happens when a country decides to oust its own leader.<span style=""> </span>Following the coup, <st1:country-region st="on">Honduras</st1:country-region> was surprised to discover that no one outside of <st1:country-region st="on">Honduras</st1:country-region> (except <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I think…random) supported their decision to get rid of Zelaya.<span style=""> </span>Nearly every Honduran I spoke to (aka all my neighbors and such, all poor campesinos) echoed similar sentiments—“we HAD to get rid of Zelaya like that, there was no more time and he was about to do a big sassy power-grab and ruin our democracy.”<span style=""> </span>Most people are indignant that any other country (especially <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Venezuela</st1:place></st1:country-region>) should stick its nose in their business regarding their political issues, and continue to organize politically in a way I’d never have expected.<span style=""> </span>The news here showed massive demonstrations for Peace and Democracy marching around in all the major cities, with children, youth, old folks and everyone in between chanting “STAY OUT, ZELAYA!” and “IT WASN’T A COUP!”<span style=""> </span>(Since the military is not in power, and they all acted together, they’re trying to argue it wasn’t a coup and was a legal maneuver.)<span style=""> </span>The government issued a country-wide curfew and was constantly interrupting the normal television programs to update the public on what was going on.<span style=""> </span>Fortunately, though, because the vast majority of Hondurans seem to be against Zelaya, there has been little conflict or blood-shed at any of the demonstrations.<span style=""> </span>The Peace Corps has restricted our movement around—some days we were instructed not to leave even our homes, and other days we were allowed to leave our sites to go to nearby towns.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on">Tegucigalpa</st1:city> and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">San Pedro Sula</st1:place></st1:city>, however, continue to remain off-limits.<span style=""> </span>The boiling point was reached last week, when they closed the airport on Tuesday, July 7—Zelaya attempted to re-enter the country and people stormed the runway and blocked his plane.<span style=""> </span>One person was killed in the struggle.<span style=""> </span>Zelaya has yet to enter the country, and recently had the first face-to-face meeting with Micheletti (the president of Congress, who was placed as the new president of the country after they kicked Zelaya out), mediated by <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Costa Rica</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s president.<span style=""> </span>Nothing has been resolved yet, but things seem to be calmer and I expect life will return to normal relatively soon.<span style=""> </span>The vibe I get from the folks I talk to is that they want Micheletti to stay until November, when we have the general elections to choose a new president.<span style=""> </span>However, that’s flexible—even Micheletti said he will step down if people want him too—people seem to be saying “ANYONE but Zelaya!”<span style=""> </span>At first, everyone I spoke to was very vehement that Zelaya not even be allowed to return to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Honduras</st1:place></st1:country-region>, because “he’s a corrupt thief” and it will just bring more disruption.<span style=""> </span>Now, however, people seem willing to allow him to return to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Honduras</st1:place></st1:country-region>—just not as President.<span style=""> </span>I expect a conclusion will be reached in the next couple of weeks.<span style=""> </span>Being in a country involved in such a political crisis has been kinda exciting, I’ll be honest—mainly because this type of thing could never happen in the states (can you imagine if the military, congress, and supreme court had kidnapped Bush on the eve of some huge decision he was about to make and sent him to Canada, then, with massive citizen support, managed to argue it was a legit move?).<span style=""> </span>I’m also lucky because the “coup” hasn’t really affected me in any important way...my little dusty pueblo in the middle of nowhere goes about its sleepy, sweaty business no matter what happens in the big cities, and the only danger I face here has either 0 or 8 feet, and are not known to participate in mass demonstrations (though if I ever catch wind of a tarantula or snake peace march I will become a Peace Corps deserted and go straight to the beaches of El Salvador).<span style=""> </span>However, Zelaya DID ruin my Guatemalan adventures with my excellent college buddy Chops…the day Chops’ plane was supposed to land, Honduras closed its airports and American Airlines cancelled all flights, due to the riots at the airport.<span style=""> </span>But it was for the best, because I was totally POMB (Peein’ Out My Butt) anyway and traveling would have been extremely gross.<span style=""> </span>So Chops is gonna come in August and I ain’t gonna have any diarrhea and we’re gonna have a great ol time.<span style=""> </span>Hells of hooray!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Because the government shut down the schools for a couple weeks during all this government hoo-hah, I haven’t had as much to do—just my English and methodology classes for teachers, pregnant women’s club, hypertension classes, and abstinence workshop.<span style=""> </span>But one exciting development is that I finally wrangled together the folks who used to be involved with our little library (which was founded 10 years ago by a Peace Corps volunteer named Johana and has been bolted shut for like two or three years) and meet with the mayor.<span style=""> </span>The mayor agreed to pay a small stipend to our librarian (1,000 lempiras a month, about $50) to open the library four hours a day.<span style=""> </span>SUCCESS!!<span style=""> </span>It’s just a tiny room attached to the school, with four huge shelves stuffed with incredibly dusty books.<span style=""> </span>Most of the books are useless crap—seriously—but there is a nice selection of children’s story books as well as some chapter books and novels for adolescents and adults.<span style=""> </span>Pleasure reading is not an activity pursued by any Honduran that I know, but I’m working with the preschool and elementary school teachers to form reading clubs, so hopefully we can change that, at least a little bit.<span style=""> </span>The kids here love to be read to, so my plan is that if we can get the teachers to use the library and read to their kids a couple times a week, maybe the kids will start coming on their own. <span style=""> </span>Once school lets out in November I’m going to start a “summer vacation literacy project,” but that’s a ways off.<span style=""> </span>The library still needs a lot of work and supplies.<span style=""> </span>The librarian we have at the moment is horribly incompetent—I had to explain to her the concept of alphabetical order—and the whole idea of organizing the books into sections based on topic (non-fiction, fiction, science, history, etc.) is very challenging for her, too.<span style=""> </span>Her attitude is seven kinds of awful, too—she’s very childish and gossipy and makes no effort to hide the fact she’s in this for the money and not much else.<span style=""> </span>However, she was the only one we could find who was interested and had the time and “experience,” so for the time being, she’s the boss.<span style=""> </span>I want to fix up the library a little, maybe buy a rug and some pillows or squishy chairs for the kid’s reading corner, and buy some posters or decorations to liven the place up.<span style=""> </span>We can also use more Spanish books, so if anyone has any (especially children’s books), send ‘em my way.<span style=""> </span>I just received a shipment of 30 pounds of books from the Darien Book Aid organization, which is located in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Darien</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">Connecticut</st1:state></st1:place> (what up, Brickmans!).<span style=""> </span>They were amazing and sent me the box free of charge.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, their Spanish section is limited, so the majority of what I received was in English. <span style=""> </span>But beggars can’t be choosers, so I am very thankful for their support and generosity.<span style=""> </span>Yay for NGOs!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Man, I can’t believe it’s July…I celebrated the fourth last weekend with my neighbors in the most American way possible—slightly burned hotdogs.<span style=""> </span>I bought like 20 of them (20 for a dollar, can’t beat that price) and fashioned a grill over Nely’s woodstove.<span style=""> </span>We diced up lettuce and tomatoes and served the dogs on toasted buns with ketchup.<span style=""> </span>Everyone drank a butt-load of soda and had at least two hotdogs, so it was excellent.<span style=""> </span>Then I handed out firecrackers to the kids (good influence, I know) and we had a great ol time.<span style=""> </span>They asked me to sing the national anthem, which was brutal.<span style=""> </span>No effort was made to hide their collective look of horror as I screeched my way through it…couldn’t we have written an anthem that is a little easier, tone-wise? Like Old McDonald?<span style=""> </span>Then David came over, and we ate a ton of chips and drank more soda.<span style=""> </span>On July 9<sup>th</sup>, I hit my one-year mark of being in-country, and will celebrate my halfway-through-service mark in September.<span style=""> </span>It feels like I’ve been living in Alubarén forever.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I’m sweating. Time to go.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Love,<br />Haylz</span></p>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-31268233378746180312009-06-30T08:37:00.000-07:002009-06-30T09:29:43.648-07:00oh dang it.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7NoOgZuI/AAAAAAAAAWc/6CDGuNsNKFs/s1600-h/IMG_4867.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353156212405855970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7NoOgZuI/AAAAAAAAAWc/6CDGuNsNKFs/s320/IMG_4867.JPG" border="0" /></a> the gang. alison is pissed because the angry ants bit her feet.<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7NM37JDI/AAAAAAAAAWM/WZdPNo6ZCG0/s1600-h/IMG_4837.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353156205063382066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7NM37JDI/AAAAAAAAAWM/WZdPNo6ZCG0/s320/IMG_4837.JPG" border="0" /></a> Igor practicing for his career as a Pedigree dog food model.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7MkihqJI/AAAAAAAAAWE/RMnPeEyse8c/s1600-h/IMG_4818.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353156194236213394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7MkihqJI/AAAAAAAAAWE/RMnPeEyse8c/s320/IMG_4818.JPG" border="0" /></a> my best bud nely, in her garden.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7Nzq1ATI/AAAAAAAAAWk/TgOnfNbGS_A/s1600-h/IMG_4873.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353156215477436722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7Nzq1ATI/AAAAAAAAAWk/TgOnfNbGS_A/s320/IMG_4873.JPG" border="0" /></a> my other best bud.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7NVd45fI/AAAAAAAAAWU/dyUiNE4LL0M/s1600-h/IMG_4842.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353156207370102258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko7NVd45fI/AAAAAAAAAWU/dyUiNE4LL0M/s320/IMG_4842.JPG" border="0" /></a> noel frolicking in the fields behind our houses.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko530oOZpI/AAAAAAAAAV8/wO_y-nhQl80/s1600-h/IMG_4816.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353154738266203794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko530oOZpI/AAAAAAAAAV8/wO_y-nhQl80/s320/IMG_4816.JPG" border="0" /></a> noel, alison and cristina surprised me with this bottle-cap flower arrangement at my pila.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko53mBLPfI/AAAAAAAAAV0/NA7KwAauMtA/s1600-h/IMG_4812.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353154734344322546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko53mBLPfI/AAAAAAAAAV0/NA7KwAauMtA/s320/IMG_4812.JPG" border="0" /></a> and cristina planted me this coluis. alison refused to change out of her pajamas all day.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko53ccnYkI/AAAAAAAAAVs/vFWj7xyw6JA/s1600-h/IMG_4800.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353154731775058498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko53ccnYkI/AAAAAAAAAVs/vFWj7xyw6JA/s320/IMG_4800.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor in the yard, post machete work.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko522cwxbI/AAAAAAAAAVk/21guOJB3X3I/s1600-h/IMG_4795.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353154721575126450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko522cwxbI/AAAAAAAAAVk/21guOJB3X3I/s320/IMG_4795.JPG" border="0" /></a> alison with the turtle we found in my yard.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko52vYGgHI/AAAAAAAAAVc/kZkn9kfyCq8/s1600-h/IMG_4792.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353154719676530802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko52vYGgHI/AAAAAAAAAVc/kZkn9kfyCq8/s320/IMG_4792.JPG" border="0" /></a> this caterpillar enjoys my shoe. also, good god, my ankle sure looks ugly up close.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko3-rL2IAI/AAAAAAAAAVU/LArbit3j24s/s1600-h/IMG_4786.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353152656967081986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko3-rL2IAI/AAAAAAAAAVU/LArbit3j24s/s320/IMG_4786.JPG" border="0" /></a> overcoming her fright.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko3-XepeaI/AAAAAAAAAVM/avOzEBV74B8/s1600-h/IMG_4770.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353152651677235618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko3-XepeaI/AAAAAAAAAVM/avOzEBV74B8/s320/IMG_4770.JPG" border="0" /></a> such a beautiful little dude. or lady. who knows.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko3-NmUnKI/AAAAAAAAAVE/li0izmrpf-Y/s1600-h/IMG_4768.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353152649025068194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko3-NmUnKI/AAAAAAAAAVE/li0izmrpf-Y/s320/IMG_4768.JPG" border="0" /></a> tarantulaaaaaaa!!!!!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko39w7F8FI/AAAAAAAAAU8/xoa7iPsyVsI/s1600-h/IMG_4758.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353152641327558738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko39w7F8FI/AAAAAAAAAU8/xoa7iPsyVsI/s320/IMG_4758.JPG" border="0" /></a> just strolling about my yard.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko39tr8AbI/AAAAAAAAAU0/_Ufj1FsoH8U/s1600-h/IMG_4750.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353152640458686898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko39tr8AbI/AAAAAAAAAU0/_Ufj1FsoH8U/s320/IMG_4750.JPG" border="0" /></a> this used to be a small mountain of sand...igor flattened it. fatty.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0KEUojPI/AAAAAAAAAUs/ZHtQ42X2BzA/s1600-h/IMG_4748.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353148454646877426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0KEUojPI/AAAAAAAAAUs/ZHtQ42X2BzA/s320/IMG_4748.JPG" border="0" /></a> my melon patch, completely overgrown. plus papaya trees!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0J8pAiiI/AAAAAAAAAUk/rUv_er-p04w/s1600-h/IMG_4744.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353148452584852002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0J8pAiiI/AAAAAAAAAUk/rUv_er-p04w/s320/IMG_4744.JPG" border="0" /></a> my secret sittin´area, before we took a machete to it.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0JYK5H9I/AAAAAAAAAUU/SJ8DKe_3z44/s1600-h/IMG_4734.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353148442794860498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0JYK5H9I/AAAAAAAAAUU/SJ8DKe_3z44/s320/IMG_4734.JPG" border="0" /></a> obed hard at work.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0JOIW5MI/AAAAAAAAAUM/bFXJLob6YHc/s1600-h/IMG_4731.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353148440099873986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0JOIW5MI/AAAAAAAAAUM/bFXJLob6YHc/s320/IMG_4731.JPG" border="0" /></a> my baseball team with US baseball player and scout Raphael Avila, who came to do a workshop. He was actually from the Dominican Republic, I think. I forget. The kids loved it.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0Ju1wAuI/AAAAAAAAAUc/N2E4_UTNtVY/s1600-h/IMG_4740.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353148448880198370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/Sko0Ju1wAuI/AAAAAAAAAUc/N2E4_UTNtVY/s320/IMG_4740.JPG" border="0" /></a> my yard and pila, pre machete attack.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SkoytvO63gI/AAAAAAAAAUE/JcWcWm33qC4/s1600-h/IMG_4718.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353146868437802498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SkoytvO63gI/AAAAAAAAAUE/JcWcWm33qC4/s320/IMG_4718.JPG" border="0" /></a> little toad i found in my room.<br /><br /><div align="left"><strong>28 June 2009<br /></strong>Howdy dudes,<br />I can now count two separate times when my jaw has literally fallen open in wonder and disbelief this weekend. The first was yesterday, Saturday, June 27, when my neighbor casually mentioned that she didn’t know that that “dead singer Michael Jackson was black.” I was like hang on, what do you mean, dead singer? And she’s all like “yeah a doctor injected him in the heart and killed him.” Now, this is the same neighbor that sent me into hysterics when she somehow botched the news that the Obamas got a new dog and informed me she saw on the news that “Barack Obama had a new woman,” so I wasn’t sure if I could believe her. Then I remembered I had heard the Ranchera radio station play Thriller three times that morning, and realized she might have her facts straight. I immediately called my buddy who confirmed MJ’s death, though informed me that was “so three days ago.” (To which I reply, shut up, I live in a television-less cave and my only supply of current events comes from my neighbors whose television has never been changed from the telenovela channel.) So all I can say about that is, Michael Jackson, it sucks you’re dead and I hope your babies are okay.<br /><br />So I awoke this morning, still reeling from the loss of El Rey de Pop, to a text-message from my Peace Corps boss informing me, in the succinct way that only a Spanish text-message can, that there had been a military coup and we no longer had a president. Actually, it said “golpe del estado,” and I struggled through the early-morning boogers my brains coats itself in to remember what the particular phrase meant. Then my four months in Chile paid off and I remember from all those boring lectures that that means the military busts in waving machine guns wildly in each hand, blows up the presidential palace, kills the president, and totally takes over the country, ruling with a bloody fist for like 18 years. “Crap,” I though.<br /><br />Turns out, Honduras must have read the “Military Coups for Dummies” manual (or at least wikipedia’d that shit) because this thing was classy. I mean, totally seamless. Our now ex-president Mel Zelaya (Liberal party) has been hollering all over the news for the past couple weeks (or maybe more, I only just noticed it myself) that he wants to change Honduras into a “participatory democracy.” At first, no one seemed to know what he was talking about, and people seemed to vaguely agree with him…no one knew exactly what he meant, but he kept saying that with his new plan, the needs of the people who find a voice and the poor would finally get the representation they wanted. Finally, though, it became clear that he actually wanted to do was RE-WRITE THE CONSTITUTION to model that of Venezuela. “Our constitution is too rigid!” he said in a speech last night, the eve of his kidnapping. “C’mon, guys! Let’s change it!” His new “democracy” would involve him having full authority over the Congress and Supreme Court and would allow him to be president FOREVER. Fortunately, even the most humble campesinos recognized this for the Hugo Chavez drivel that is was and I can’t say I spoke to a single Honduran who supported Zelaya’s proposed plan, which he called “La Cuarta Urna” (or something, I’m not even sure). Today, Sunday, June 28, was supposed to be the “voting” day—he’d dispatched people with ballot boxes in all the communities so the people could vote on his plan, offering a hefty “bonus” (bribe) for the folks that voted. He asked the military to force people to participate, and to support him on this, but they admirably refused. The Congress and the Supreme Court also refused, declaring that such a Constitutional re-write and power-grab was against the law. And so, the three entities of law creation, law enforcement, and law trying banded together and kidnapped his blind-to-popular-will-of-the-people butt. This is how I imagine it went down:<br /><strong>SCENE:</strong> <em>IN A TOP-SECRET TREE HOUSE SOMEWHERE IN THE MOUNTAINS OF TEGUCIGALPA</em><br /><strong>MILITARY</strong>: Hey, guys.<br /><strong>CONGRESS</strong>: Hey man.<br /><strong>SUPREME COURT</strong>: ‘Sup.<br /><strong>MILITARY</strong>: You both told your moms you were spending the night at each other’s houses, right?<br /><strong>CONGRESS</strong>: Yeah dude.<br /><strong>SUPREME COURT</strong>: Yeah, AND I stole 100 lempiras from her purse and bought us a bunch of Twizzlers and Mountain Dews.<br /><strong>MILITARY</strong>: Aw, sweet! Good move, SC. Anyway, Zelaya is totally being a wiener about his four-years of presidency coming to an end. All like “waaah I don’t wanna leave let’s be communists and I’ll be the dictator FOR EVER.” So I’m thinking, kidnap his ass?<br /><strong>CONGRESS</strong>: I’m down. Where will we send him?<br /><strong>SUPREME COURT</strong>: I’ve heard Costa Rica is nice for exile.<br /><strong>MILITARY</strong>: Word. Meeting adjourned.<br /><strong>NARRORATOR</strong>: And so the three boys played Bak-u-gan and gorged themselves on candy and soda until daybreak, at which point, giddy with refined sugar and caffeine, they nabbed the president of Honduras and sent him to Costa Rica.<br />THE END.<br /><br />So that’s pretty much what happened. Most of the Honduran people are totally down with it. They’ve installed the current president of the Congress (Micheletti) as the acting President until elections roll around in January. Most people seem to be in support of the coup—no one liked Zelaya’s “Cuarta Urna” plan, and the fact that his schemes were all illegal made him lose any legitimacy in the eyes of the people. However, there are people who, Zelaya supporters or not, don’t agree with the situation because of the way it was carried out. Blah blah “military removal of the President isn’t legal, either” blah blah. I guess coups aren’t very “democratic.” But re-writing the Constitution and assigning yourself never-ending leadership doesn’t exactly fit that title, either. So I guess I’m not really for the coup…but in my opinion, it’s the lesser of two evils in this situation. The only issue is, the international community seems to be rather upset about the whole charade and I’ve heard rumors that Venezuela is prepared to go to war in order to reinstate Zelaya as the proper president. So basically, I have no idea what is going to happen. But I feel frustrated because we’re not allowed to leave our communities at the moment (due to potentially violent protests), and in one week, my college buddy Chops is supposed to arrive so we can go have crazy-go-nuts Jungle Adventures in Guatemala. Come on Honduras, don’t ruin my Jungle Adventures. Please?<br /><br />Other than that little thing, not much else is new. My weeds situation got mildly out of control, in the sense that the snakes started to have secret Snake Party meetings there, which eventually spilled into my house (picture, if you will, me lying in my hammock one night, reading Newsweek, listening to Cat Stevens, drinking tea, aka TOTALLY PEACEFUL, and some smart-ass snakey dude just slithers all angrily out from some corner and crosses the room). I said angrily because his head was raised, like a water snake or something….it gave me the creeps. I leapt out of my hammock and sort of death-gripped my magazine, clutching my heart (literally, just like in the movies!) with the other hand and unsure of what to do. The snake continued his angsty migration toward the open door and disappeared into the rainy night. I have no idea if it was poisonous or not. Then, later that night, I carefully tiptoed out to my latrine, and was brushing my teeth when something compelled me to turn around. Slithering toward me was ANOTHER freaking snake! I sort of jerked my foot at it and it flipped over and ran away. HAH. Anyway, I decided that was enough and spent the next three days breaking my back with my neighbors Obed and Elias, wielding machetes and cutting every blade of grass and greenery into complete submission. Nothing quite makes you appreciate lawnmowers like cutting an entire yard of knee-high grass with a machete…it was just like the Olden Tymes. We found a baby turtle, a harmless garden snake, and the biggest, hairiest tarantula I’ve ever seen (of all the critters we found, he didn’t make the cut…my neighbor Tina stabbed him with a stick while giggling madly and crying, “He’s ripe to die!” I did not stop her.) It was hard work, and I miss my jungle, but it’s nice to be able to walk around at night and not worry about having to kung-fu a snake to death with a magazine or anything.<br /><br />I’ve begun my abstinence group, which is a roaring success so far…none of my sixth or seventh grade girlies have become pregnant this week (to my knowledge) and I KNOW no one has HIV, either. Score one for abstinence! We’ll continue to meet for two hours a week (each group) until October. And, due to the genius of my mom, I’ve decided I want to start an herb-growing club with local women (perhaps the very same pregnant women of my pregnant women’s club, though I’m not sure how much time they’ll have to tend a garden once their bun in the over pops out). We’ll see. If anyone has any insight on such a group, or materials they want to suggest, shoot me an e-mail. Or e-mail me a shoot! (Get it? As in, the first little green guy that pushes out of the ground…) I’ve also begun doing chats at the health center once a month about high blood pressure and how to avoid it (stop eating so much saturated fat dipped in salt, guys!).<br /><br />My paragraphs seem to be getting shorter. I think that means it’s time for bed.<br />(Though all the gunshots I’ve been hearing in favorite of Zelaya’s removal are not very sleep-inducing…and this crazy “Mexican chili bean” tea I found abandoned in the Peace Corps lounge is making me sweat.)<br />Love, all over the dang place,<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-81150191039877875172009-06-16T08:32:00.000-07:002009-06-16T08:34:48.698-07:00i am addicted to rehydration salts<strong>14 June 2009</strong><br />Howdy, dudes,<br />Yeah that’s right. Tooootally stickin’ by my guns about that new greeting. You all thought I’d forget. YOU WERE WRONG.<br /><br />It’s raining like god like the spigot on when he was filling up his pila and then left to go on a bike ride and totally forgot about it…which is something I would never do, by the by. But anyway, it’s raining. Which brings me to a certain interesting Flora and Fauna Fact about Honduras: where’re all them toads at?? ‘kay, that’s a question, not a fact, but still: a week ago, every time it rained, my open doorway turned into a freaking toad Social Mixer…a bunch of toads all standing around awkwardly, girl toads all on one side giggling to each other, boy toads all on the other side, nervously inhaling all the snacks that the Social Committee put out…you know what I mean. Hells of toads, in my house. I would usually lie in my hammock and watch them, because a toad hunting is kind of intense. They focus in on a fallen beetle, left for dead by his comrades (they’re not heartless; they just know how the world works). Then the toad quick-hops over and shlurps him into his mouth. I’ve seen certain toads catch and eat like 7 bugs in 10 minutes. That’s good eatin’, man. But now, it’s raining like the dang dickens and there are NO toads, not even one. What the hell people?<br /><br />The onset of winter here in the south of Honduras is getting pretty rough…the mountain passes are all snowed in and I heard ‘bout one group of folks tryin’ to make pass…got stranded up near the summit and several of ‘em turned to cannibalism before they could force their way back down the other side. OH WAIT I’M SORRY THAT IS THE DONNOR PARTY OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. I always mix that up! Whoopsies. Actually it is just incredibly moist here, with increasing degrees of moist as the days go by. And it’s so damn hot, even my kneecaps sweat. My melon patch continues to explode all the place…I harvesting three cantaloupes today. Melon Day! And my yard just fills up with all kinds of lush, green plants…my landlords came over the other day and set their 12-year-old kid and his machete on ‘em, but I screamed and threw myself on top. NOT MY WEEDS, I screamed. ANYTHING BUT MY WEEDS. They tried to convince me I should machete them all to pieces because snakes will hide in them, but that is ridiculous because we all know where the snakes like to hide (my latrine; see previous blog entry for details). And after six months of living in a damn desert, excuuuuuuse me for delighting in the jungley-goodness that has finally descended upon my abode. The plants are even creeping into my bathroom!! All climbin’ up the walls with their little viney fingers…I’m thrilled. My landlords then decided I should not have to get my feet muddy whilst walking out back to the pila/wash/latrine area, so they paid to a guy to make several shoddy cement walk ways. I liked my yard when it was concrete free, but I guess it ain’t really my house anyways, it doesn’t matter. <br /><br />Other news…let’s see, Igor is now the laughing stock of all the dogs in Alubarén. Whenever he walks by they all snicker “Jajajaja you weenie, your Owner cut your eggs off!” (The Spanish slang for testicles is eggs, not nuts/balls as we say in English). Then they clutch their own spawn-heavy egg-sacks and make crude gestures at him as he slinks away. Yes, it’s true. I committed the Honduran un-thinkable and had Igor neutered. NO ONE in this country fixes their pets; in fact, I found myself defending my decision about 15 times a day, in the face of great moral dissent. People find it sick and cruel that I am “playing god” by taking away my dog’s manliness—what joy will Igor have in life now that he can’t chase bitches and walk around with a big ‘ol saggy sack? I got really good at my response: “How many strays are there in Alubarén, in Honduras? If we don’t spay and neuter the dogs, they leave all the female dogs pregnant, who have a million baby dogs who are abandoned in the street, and no one loves them, and they are sooo very skinny (at this point I hold up my pinky finger, the Honduran gesture to indicate skinniness), and they have diseases, that they can give to PEOPLE, and then THEY have babies, and it just goes on and on….” Sometimes the person I would be talking to would think about it, and then agree with me. You’re right. We should control the stray dog population that is totally out of control. Sometimes the person would say, Yes, but….poor Igor! (At which point, I am in agreement…poor Igor. I’m sorry I took away your genitals.) And then ONE TIME a dude replied, “Okay, I see your point, but they should just fix the female dogs instead. It’s not fair to take a male’s genitals away!” I was like “dude that is the most sexist thing ever but I gotta bus to catch so see ya later” (it’s true, I did). Anyway, Igor had to spend a terrifying night alone in a crate in the vet’s office, but his stitches are healing up nice and he doesn’t seem to miss a certain familiar weight he used to have dangling between his legs. And now PETA can’t shame us when we come back to the states.<br /><br />This past week was “Student Week,” a stupid “holiday” in which the kids don’t have to go to school, which is stupid because they barely have school anyway. It should be called “Teacher Week,” because they’re the only ones who want it. Anyway, since all my work is with the kiddies, I also had the week off, which I spent very productively. PSSSYYYCCCHH!! I didn’t really do anything, except hang out with the neighbors and drink lots of coffee. Also, I gave a 30-minute lecture to the folks waiting in the health clinic about the dangers of saturated fats and salt, because everyone and their mom here has high blood pressure. That was Friday morning…around noon, My Pretend-Site-Mate David (the fella who lives about an hour walking-distance from here) came over, and we packed a picnic (aka bought two plates of awful fried chicken and potatoes, plus a two-liter bottle of soda) and headed out to my favorite swimmin’ hole up in the mountains. He stayed the night ‘cause of the big late-afternoon rain storm, so I once again willingly submitted myself to all kinds of neighborhood gossip for the sake of companionship. Unfortunately, I got the ‘ol “2.5 Hour Dysentery,” and totally almost died for the majority of the night. I’d had the sass-gut all week, and it was just as burbly that day as any other, but right about 6:00pm, I basically just started POMB (Peeing Out My Butt, it’s a medical term for when you got craaa-aaazy diarrhea), with just the worst stomach cramps of all time ever. I actually though I was dying. I would come staggering back in and collapse in the hammock, only to spring up three minutes later, sprinting out the door and up the yard as David cries “What, AGAIN?” after me. Finally (after I totally pooped my pants with BLOOD on the way) I just stayed put in there, and sent several instructional text messages about what kind of soup and juice to buy me to David, who was amusing himself in the house by reading some Christopher Moore novel. At about 9:30pm, I was totally empty and feeling better so I had some Victory Soup and Victory Juice and we watched a movie on his computer. Now I’m totally healthy and fine, but with the 2.5 Hour Dysentery a recent memory, and the fact that the water coming out of my pila has become dirt-brown due to who the hell knows what, I’ve decided to start the Hayley Kercher Water Treatment Process, in which I tie an old pair of undies around the faucet to act as a filter (check) and add chlorine to my drinking water (double check). SO I’m feelin’ great! And my water has that great “Fruit of the Looms Found Floating in a Swimming Pool” taste we all know and love.<br /><br />HEY it’s summer in America! Happy Summer dudes!!<br />Love,<br />HayleyHayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-8356800567646725012009-06-07T07:46:00.000-07:002009-06-07T07:55:40.635-07:00i love that honduran chip bags come with stickers or pogs inside<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmunYwtI/AAAAAAAAAT8/XzStF6apB7g/s1600-h/IMG_4717.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344598045106946770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmunYwtI/AAAAAAAAAT8/XzStF6apB7g/s320/IMG_4717.JPG" border="0" /></a> Scumbag 2, before we kil't him.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmZqPUwI/AAAAAAAAAT0/q4KHvFc-yR0/s1600-h/IMG_4716.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344598039481766658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmZqPUwI/AAAAAAAAAT0/q4KHvFc-yR0/s320/IMG_4716.JPG" border="0" /></a> Obed looks so....excited!<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmf-xCmI/AAAAAAAAATs/RLBM2w511Lw/s1600-h/IMG_4713.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344598041178475106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmf-xCmI/AAAAAAAAATs/RLBM2w511Lw/s320/IMG_4713.JPG" border="0" /></a> a very deadly baby black coral snake, waiting to bite my ass in my latrine.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmNShqkI/AAAAAAAAATk/LKHBohIEXvQ/s1600-h/IMG_4706.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344598036161079874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTmNShqkI/AAAAAAAAATk/LKHBohIEXvQ/s320/IMG_4706.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor enjoys laying in the sand pile and scraping said sand into his crotch.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTUVevzBI/AAAAAAAAATc/61adCs2qgWY/s1600-h/IMG_4705.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344597729122176018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTUVevzBI/AAAAAAAAATc/61adCs2qgWY/s320/IMG_4705.JPG" border="0" /></a> "it's true."<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTTtMRZ8I/AAAAAAAAATM/VLUhYL2YPWg/s1600-h/IMG_4691.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344597718307268546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTTtMRZ8I/AAAAAAAAATM/VLUhYL2YPWg/s320/IMG_4691.JPG" border="0" /></a> hell YES i scored the only dang goal during donkey polo<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTTWEUksI/AAAAAAAAATE/TWhmBkio0EA/s1600-h/IMG_4674.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344597712099906242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTTWEUksI/AAAAAAAAATE/TWhmBkio0EA/s320/IMG_4674.JPG" border="0" /></a> oh, serafin. my noble steed.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTTLj3cgI/AAAAAAAAAS8/A5mh0iTBqF0/s1600-h/IMG_4667.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344597709279425026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTTLj3cgI/AAAAAAAAAS8/A5mh0iTBqF0/s320/IMG_4667.JPG" border="0" /></a> you can't really tell, but that kid is wearing GLOVES! cheater! thinking-ahead-cheater!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTUNN3POI/AAAAAAAAATU/mduzB3raDYQ/s1600-h/IMG_4702.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344597726903876834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SivTUNN3POI/AAAAAAAAATU/mduzB3raDYQ/s320/IMG_4702.JPG" border="0" /></a> someday, after his immigration to the states, im gonna make igor his very own giant sand-box in the shade.<br /><br /><div><strong>Dos de mayo 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos! Man I should come up with a new greeting, huh…that’s gettin’ pretty old, you know? Alright…from now on I shall be greeting this blog with a “Howdy, dudes,” or at least until that one gets boring, too. Case CLOSED. *gavel noise*<br /><br />Howdy, dudes,<br />I want you all to know that me writing this blog right now is an intense bodily sacrifice, because my butt was destroyed (literally, it might fall off!) in a recent Donkey Polo competition in which we kicked some ass and lost profoundly to a Honduran team of dudes on donkeys, playin’ polo. Those have got to be the BONIEST critters in the whole entire dang animal kingdom. I’m going to suggest tiny saddles for next year. So anyway, that’s why sittin’ in this here wooden chair is so ouchy. But that’s why god invented hammocks…they cushion one’s pompis in a way grounded seats never will. Blessed are the hammocks. I suppose this machine IS a laptop, I could conceivably take it me on a journey to the hammock in the other (the only other) room. But it’s kind of heavy and extremely burny (this is the Chubby Chunk 2001 of dell, 6 years ago)..the old guy is finally dying a slow and painful death, and in doing so has made himself very fragile. My butt doesn’t hurt so bad that I can’t stay here and write a bit more.<br /><br />So yeah, Donkey Polo was this past weekend in the little cobblestoney pueblo of Yuscuran, in the department of Danli (I think…or maybe it’s El Paraiso…anyway). It was beautiful, at least compared to certain parts of the south. Lots of pine trees, very hilly. Igor and I trekked up to Tegus Friday morning, and a certain somebody got his blood drawn, nuts inspected, ears washed, and endured an awful plastic stick up his poor little fluffy hiney. Once the vet was done, Igor and I hopped on a bus headed toward Yuscuran, plus several other gringos we’d hooked up with at the Secret Clubhouse aka the volunteer lounge at the PC office. Unlike previous encounters with city buses, in which a shake of my sassy gringa hair and a beaming smile of sassy gringa teeth was all the convincing necessary, the dudes on the bus were totally NOT interested in having Igor climb aboard. He’s not even that big! He only weighs 40 lbs, and that’s 40 pounds of LOVE. I had to plead and cajole the bus driver for like 30 seconds, walking alongside the moving bus and shouting into the folding door how “bien educado” (well behaved) and “super aseado” (super clean) little Igor is. They finally let us on, under the conditions that we “move immediately to the very last seat in this damn bus,” which we promptly did. It was weird, usually Igor is a hit on the buses, ‘cause he does cute things like stick his head out the window and guerilla-warfar-crawl on his elbows around under people’s seats, waggling his tail). But this bus was totally anti-dog…stupid city folk. The women were all fresa (prissy) about it, makin’ gross-out noises and dramatically yanking their elbows away from his wet, snuffling nose…the teenage girls in the typical navy-and-white school uniforms behind him would all scream hysterically if Igor turned his head toward them, and one lady kept yanking her kid’s feet away from Igor’s face, even though he was totally just sleeping on the floor. Needless to say I was relieved when we finally arrived and stepped down off the bus. The volunteer who lives here’s house was just 4 blocks down the hill, and the great gringo train chugga-chugged off for the first time in many that weekend. It was just a blasty-blast, a great big ol bunch of folks smushed into that tiny house, hangin’ out at nights on her concrete roof and spending the day hours hikin’ around the protected Park area, sleeping (Igor like to be the little spoon), eatin’, wandering around the pueblo, loitering by the central park, and engaging in general FunTimes. This weekend was also Yuscuran’s annual Mango Festival, so there were loads of people, dancing, and singing and selling tasty food and a jillion pounds of mangos. And, of course, there was the 13th Annual Donkey Polo Championship, which we lost for the 13th time in a row. It wasn’t fair, those Hondurans grabbed all the good donkeys first, and all the gringos (the other team) were left with the stationary, ornery ones. Unfair advantage, I say! But I did manage to steal a certain donkey “Serafin,” who was, according to the word on the street, “bueno.” In this situation, the word on the street was the group of four 4th grade kids who I met on the sidewalk and befriended over the course of 15 minutes. I then paid them a grand total of seven lollipops (bonbones) to hold Igor’s leash and keep up with the pack of donkeys, so he could see me and thus not freak the heck out (poor dude gets nervous when we’re out of the countryside, and doesn’t tolerate being separated from me). Those kids did a terrific job, scrambling after the pack of 40 donkeys walking, trotting and running (what they do is too jarring to be called a canter, if you ask me) around the central park, Igor nearly ripping their arms out of their sockets as he strained to run after me, while a dude shouted to the public about the impending game. We then “paraded” over to the old high school concrete soccer court, where we would be playing the game. We had three subbing periods, and lost like 30-1, but it was still a hilarious blast. Some people fell off! That “1” point we had, by the way, was scored by yours truly, aboard the good-ship Serafin. Ahem. NO BIG DEAL. After Peace Corps I may consider a career as a professional polo rider-person…what are they called? Polo players? That sounds right. Im’a become a Professional Polo Player. A PPP.<br /><br />Getting’ home from Yuscuran proved somewhat more challenging at first, as the only bus that would have taken me to Tegus in time to catch the bus to my pueblo refused to let me and my dog aboard…caninists. I almost cried for a second, then I realized “wait a minute, you can just get a sweet jalon dude,” and promptly lifted my chin and sauntered over to the nearest corner. A truck passed. I waved at em and jerked my head but they waggled their fingers at me to say “no we’re not going far,” and so I waited for the next. Drank some juice out of a bag. Igor peed. Another truck drove by, a shiny red double-cabin pick-up with a nice plastic lined bed, totally empty. Jalon jackpot. I waved at em…they pulled right over and rolled down their windows and smiled at me. Some young couple, obviously from Tegus, driving home from visiting the Mango Festival. I asked em where they were headed and they told me Tegucigalpa, at which point I totally turned on my smiley-gringa faucet full-blast and exclaimed, “Oh, WOW! Could you maybe give me a lift there?” They offered me a seat in the cabin but I gestured to my dog and said it’d be better if I rode in the truck bed (which I totally prefer). They said of course, I said you have saved my life, thank god, may little tiny god bless your souls, and then lifted Igor into the truck paila and then launched myself in as well. Just as they started to pull away, another dude from my Peace Corps group can running down the hill, screaming “WAIT! WAIT!” in English. I slapped the side of the car a couple times to signify “hey stop for a sec” and shouted that he better ask them first before he just jumps in. He ran around, gringo-charmed them, and then jumped in the bed with me and Igor. The three of us then sailed to Tegus in style, the sun warming our faces (which were lathered with sunscreen), the wind in our hair, the sky in our eyes and the trees in our noses (too much?). It took about an hour, exactly half the time it took to travel the same distance on bus (we actually passed the bus that had shunned me and I totally stuck my tongue out as rudely as possible). Then Igor and I took a cab to the market where my bus was waiting, and caught the 11:30am bus (last one of the day to my pueblo), arriving to the street where the buses are parked with enough time to peruse the market, buying random things (two spoons, a mug, a good kitchen knife, and two forks) as well as tasty things (cheese, big mangos, fresh, juicy pineapple slices). By 3:30pm that day we were home...after huggin’ the neighborhood posse I immediately stretched out in my hammock, while Igor dug and scratched about in the mud and wet sand until a nice and damp cool layin’ patch was created. He then flopped down in said patch and scooped wet sand onto his tummy and legs, as he loves to do.<br /><br />CRAP I just burned my beans! I started cookin’ em late today, like 6:00pm, and whilst I was waiting for them to cook I was fed other beans, by Tina, plus four tortillas and some avocado. So I’m not even hungry any more, and I figured I’d get some writing done while they finished…and dangnabbit they got all death-burny on me. Now my house smells like a butt. Sorry, Igor.<br /><br />Oh dudes, don’t worry, that earthquake didn’t hurt me none. I recall waking up at like 2am or so when it hit, and thought to myself: “Oh, an earthquake. That’s normal.” and promptly fell back asleep. When I awoke the next morning, I remembered what had happened but decided it must have been a dream. It wasn’t until I heard two ladies chattin’ about it in the street did I realize that it actually did happen. So yeah, no big deal here in the south…but our brothers up in the north of Honduras had it much worse, many people died and even more people lost their homes. I’m not sure on how many exactly.<br /><br />A Haiku:<br />Small snake, why you here?<br />All up in my latrine-face.<br />We machete’d you.<br /><br />Yes, that’s right, I was totally sittin’ on my toilet-seat-less toilet bowl in my little wooden latrine, havin’ me a delightful morning pee, minding my own business, when I noticed a strange loopy shape in the space between the concrete wall and the wooden doorjam. I got out and peered in from the other side, then poked a stick. When the loopy thing sloooowly began to slither out toward me, I realized it was a little snakey dude! At first I was delighted, as I rather like snakes, and he was so little and cute. I decided to fetch my neighbor Obed to assess the situation. Obed marched over and coaxed the little critter out of his hiding hole.<br />“Hayley, that’s a black coral snake,” he said.<br />“Soooo? You mean an itty-bitty coral-woral? With his widdle tonguey and teeny-weeny stripeys?” I said.<br />Then Obed informed me that coral snakes will kill you if they bite you, and that the littlest ones are the most dangerous and deadly. He then CAPTURED it in his bare freaking hands, totally Crocodile Hunter style, and posed casually while I took many pictures. Then he told me we had to kill it, because of all the kids always running around…it was too dangerous to let go. I had some moral difficulties with this, because Honduras is big enough for me AND my cutie-wutsie snakey-wakey…but he told me to fetch the machete, so I did as I was told. Definitely didn’t want any dead neighborhood kids haunting my soul forever after. Poor little Scumbag 2 (as I named him) was wasted with a few quick hacks to the neck. I’m sorry it had to end this way, Scumbag 2.<br /><br />I wish I had more Swedish Fish.<br />Love,<br />Hayley </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-51682945425254381892009-05-18T07:55:00.000-07:002009-05-18T08:53:23.083-07:00i reinvented the sandwich yesterday<div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShGB4_DvBXI/AAAAAAAAAS0/n9a-YnVKGvw/s1600-h/IMG_4610.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337189849410504050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShGB4_DvBXI/AAAAAAAAAS0/n9a-YnVKGvw/s320/IMG_4610.JPG" border="0" /></a> Gabe and Igor at the swimmin' hole</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShGBeVyVUUI/AAAAAAAAASs/WVi3F3Ml0IY/s1600-h/IMG_4525.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337189391655063874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShGBeVyVUUI/AAAAAAAAASs/WVi3F3Ml0IY/s320/IMG_4525.JPG" border="0" /></a> One of my colgate kids happily avoiding a lifetime of oral health problems<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShGA6j-wkZI/AAAAAAAAASk/TlYY1sbRhbQ/s1600-h/IMG_4643.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337188776989987218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShGA6j-wkZI/AAAAAAAAASk/TlYY1sbRhbQ/s320/IMG_4643.JPG" border="0" /></a> i brushed my teeth five times that day...these are my kindergarteners in town<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9PXWRPXI/AAAAAAAAASU/7bkwBByUYUM/s1600-h/IMG_4651.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337184736329678194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9PXWRPXI/AAAAAAAAASU/7bkwBByUYUM/s320/IMG_4651.JPG" border="0" /></a> he needs two hands</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9Pd_OtRI/AAAAAAAAASc/SuWqkARuafc/s1600-h/IMG_4653.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337184738112091410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9Pd_OtRI/AAAAAAAAASc/SuWqkARuafc/s320/IMG_4653.JPG" border="0" /></a> little ali<br /><div><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337184733143242530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9PLekFyI/AAAAAAAAASM/6JXI8CnBT5c/s320/IMG_4641.JPG" border="0" /> freaking claw-spiders, all over my house...this is held by alex, the Brave Neighbor<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9PPfe5lI/AAAAAAAAASE/AjfIL0LpKw0/s1600-h/IMG_4634.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337184734220838482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF9PPfe5lI/AAAAAAAAASE/AjfIL0LpKw0/s320/IMG_4634.JPG" border="0" /></a> view of alubaren from my sittin' hill...<br /><div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8kMnF0II/AAAAAAAAAR0/xE_YI1r7dZ8/s1600-h/IMG_4623.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183994713067650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8kMnF0II/AAAAAAAAAR0/xE_YI1r7dZ8/s320/IMG_4623.JPG" border="0" /></a> douglas checking kaiser for fleas<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8j8GrnnI/AAAAAAAAARs/sXJgA3y5EMA/s1600-h/IMG_4621.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183990282165874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8j8GrnnI/AAAAAAAAARs/sXJgA3y5EMA/s320/IMG_4621.JPG" border="0" /></a> do it igor!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8jojF7mI/AAAAAAAAARk/mrI8_SyS_wY/s1600-h/IMG_4619.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183985032621666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8jojF7mI/AAAAAAAAARk/mrI8_SyS_wY/s320/IMG_4619.JPG" border="0" /></a>bat dog! when the wind hits just right...<br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8kbMz1nI/AAAAAAAAAR8/3G-FwOc3oQ4/s1600-h/IMG_4625.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183998629369458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF8kbMz1nI/AAAAAAAAAR8/3G-FwOc3oQ4/s320/IMG_4625.JPG" border="0" /></a> wrasslin with my dude<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF77Lxfw3I/AAAAAAAAARU/n7b2Jc-e9aI/s1600-h/IMG_4609.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183290113639282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF77Lxfw3I/AAAAAAAAARU/n7b2Jc-e9aI/s320/IMG_4609.JPG" border="0" /></a> alison, contemplating<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF766juNTI/AAAAAAAAARE/JiRKdaNm9BE/s1600-h/IMG_4468.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183285492462898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF766juNTI/AAAAAAAAARE/JiRKdaNm9BE/s320/IMG_4468.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor sittin in the river.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF76u_lTUI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/TPerzpxoGPc/s1600-h/IMG_4385.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183282388094274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF76u_lTUI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/TPerzpxoGPc/s320/IMG_4385.JPG" border="0" /></a> me and douglas, sittin on my front steps<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF76Q-TIeI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/WBVIEjU-WnQ/s1600-h/IMG_4472.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183274329645538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF76Q-TIeI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/WBVIEjU-WnQ/s320/IMG_4472.JPG" border="0" /></a>the kids with alison's birthday surprise, a clifford pinata i imported all the way from tegus<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF77KONQ8I/AAAAAAAAARM/_PmlTHkhEkA/s1600-h/IMG_4604.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337183289697190850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF77KONQ8I/AAAAAAAAARM/_PmlTHkhEkA/s320/IMG_4604.JPG" border="0" /></a>alison and her uncle alex (nely's brother)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6de7r09I/AAAAAAAAAQs/NgWTRAi5KeU/s1600-h/IMG_4602.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337181680348943314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6de7r09I/AAAAAAAAAQs/NgWTRAi5KeU/s320/IMG_4602.JPG" border="0" /></a>patrick and igor at da swimmin hole<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6c9msI_I/AAAAAAAAAQc/u8EY2u7HMKs/s1600-h/IMG_4591.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337181671402513394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6c9msI_I/AAAAAAAAAQc/u8EY2u7HMKs/s320/IMG_4591.JPG" border="0" /></a> please note douglas is too rude to end his phone conversation for the picture (featuring nely and noel)<br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6dJU-hCI/AAAAAAAAAQk/P3Ls09lAt6Q/s1600-h/IMG_4592.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337181674549445666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6dJU-hCI/AAAAAAAAAQk/P3Ls09lAt6Q/s320/IMG_4592.JPG" border="0" /></a> noel, nely's son<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6clQDOhI/AAAAAAAAAQU/UfcWfcOiPZc/s1600-h/IMG_4573.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337181664865106450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6clQDOhI/AAAAAAAAAQU/UfcWfcOiPZc/s320/IMG_4573.JPG" border="0" /></a> hermanos! kaiser loves to give igor kisses on the face. they're very close.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6cuTddkI/AAAAAAAAAQM/qtomcqyIXEU/s1600-h/IMG_4557.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337181667295327810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF6cuTddkI/AAAAAAAAAQM/qtomcqyIXEU/s320/IMG_4557.JPG" border="0" /></a> this picture is hilarious.<br /><div><div><div><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337179576451157090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF4jBTXTGI/AAAAAAAAAP8/h6PalhpEGa8/s320/IMG_4524.JPG" border="0" /></div><div>one of my aldea kids </div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF4i6LZ6fI/AAAAAAAAAP0/9VePMDW0sN8/s1600-h/IMG_4503.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337179574538725874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF4i6LZ6fI/AAAAAAAAAP0/9VePMDW0sN8/s320/IMG_4503.JPG" border="0" /></a> the man loves mangos.</div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337179573726022050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF4i3JpCaI/AAAAAAAAAPs/49QnvZ3SFPE/s320/IMG_4500.JPG" border="0" /></div><div>reading a book (thanks Mrs. Kaufmann!) to my preschoolers<br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337179570905319202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF4ispIhyI/AAAAAAAAAPk/oVcmnRU9WT4/s320/IMG_4473.JPG" border="0" /></div><div>the whole gang, at alison's 5th birthday<br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337178937266566722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/ShF390J4dkI/AAAAAAAAAPE/oc44XkIlcBo/s320/IMG_4393.JPG" border="0" /> on our way to the regional championship!<br /><div><div><div><div><div><br /></div><div align="left"><strong>17 May 2009</strong><br />Hey, chochachos! Man do you guys ever get those zits in your armpits that hurt like the dickens? I totally got one of those things goin’ on right now. Armpit zits = not cool. I bet if a famous journalist was doing a story on Things That Ain’t Cool he or she would totally fly down to Honduras to interview me, cause of my armpit situation I got right now. The front-page picture could be a shot of me showing the camera the red bump and wincing painfully. If you guys know any famous journalists, send them down here. I got a story for em!<br /><br />Other than that, though, I’m pretty good. I got just ALL kinds of lonely last night, I don’t know why…I was just lying in my hammock, drinkin’ some crazy-delicious cactus tea (thanks, Mimi!!) and thinking about stuff when I just started feeling all lonesome. It’s not that I miss the States…I don’t. Really. Yes, I miss the ample and toasty sandwiches that are available at all hours of the day due to the natural abundance of supermarkets and toasters. And I miss delicious frosty beers of the fancy variety, all on tap, all served to me in a pint glass. And I miss pretzels. And chocolate. And dried fruit. And Swedish Fish (thanks again, Mimi!!). But those are all a) related to things I put in my mouth and chew up, and b) of trivial importance (after all, I can and will stuff myself when I get back to the land of delicious treats in September 2010). But I don’t miss the cars, and the stress, and the greed, and the self-centeredness, and the obsession with money and Things, and the constant need to be entertained, and all that stuff. I could live here in my little yellow concrete and adobe bungalow forever (can I call it a bungalow? I’m unsure of the actual definition of that term, but I’m rather fond of it, so whatever it’s a dang old bungalow as far as I’m concerned). I love my latrine and pila and bath barrel outside, and I love my mango groves all over the place, and my swimming holes, and hills all around my house, and my chirpy birds and blinky bugs (more on that in a bit) and all the little kids that own this town and are my most constant companions. And I love my dog. But even though my neighbors have become my family and the kids my gang of friends and drinking a cup of coffee in a plastic chair my idea of a bitchin’ Friday night…sometimes I just get hells of lonely for all you guys back home. I made a big poster the other day; glued like 15 pictures I’d brought from home glued to a sheet of poster board, colored it all up with crayons, framed it with sticks and hung it from the ceiling with hemp. So it’s not that I’m homesick, per se…just peoplesick. I think part of it has to do with the fact I don’t have much to do in the evenings here—after about 7 or 8:00pm, when the neighbors have turned in and I’ve eaten my dinner, I just lay in my hammock and pet Igor and think about stuff…you’d be surprised, with all one’s reading materials exhausted and no TV or iPod, you get really good at just thinking and thinking and thinking, flowing from one topic to another in your head without direction. It’s sort of like a silent conversation between myself and myself. I’m not crazy, though…just introspective. There’s a difference.<br /><br />I can’t complain though. A week ago, two fellow volunteers Gabe and Patrick came and visited me in my site, which was excellent fun. David, the volunteer who lives in the next pueblo over (like an hour walking), came over too and the four of us had a great old time, eating tasty foods and speaking in English and having adventures. With my neighbors Nely and the kids, we hiked out to these awesome little swimming holes carved out of the rocks by the water, surrounded by little caves and big trees. It was very beautiful, and the rust-colored water (due to the rotting leaves at the bottom of the pools) was delightfully cold. The next day just me and the gringos hiked back out and swam some more, ate a lot of guacamole and tortillas, and then had a crazy two-hour hike back home “as the crow flies,” as in tramping up and down vertical hills, weaving (very carefully) through farmer’s crops and stoppin’ at what I like to call Mango Town, where a thick carpet of freshly-fallen mangos cover the dirt under the canopy of green. (You gotta be sure and only eat the ones without worms, though…unless you’re into worms. Igor, for example, is not picky). Then we scrambled up to my favorite look-out spot, an isolated little perch on top of a rocky hill that gives you a view of the whole town. Later we made spaghetti, and each drank 4-5 “purple drinks,” which are these awesome popsicles in plastic tube-shaped bags (think short, fat, Otter Pops) that my neighbor, Nelo, sells as beverages. Drinking liquid popsicles = making a lot of my childhood dreams a reality.<br /><br />It’s the rainy season now! About two weeks ago, David came over to work on a project we were doing together. It was a hot Saturday afternoon, just like any other….when SUDDENLY, the sky turned chunky gray and the thunder boomed and it just RAINED like the dang old dickens, all that day, all night, and most of the morning the next day (David spent the night on my floor on my extra mattress, which provided a lot of fodder for my gossip-hungry neighbors). Ever since, it’s rained every other day or so. My backyard, which used to be pure dirt except for the small patches where I dumped pails of water, has transformed itself entirely. It looks like someone ate a bunch of green Skittles and then just barfed all over the place. EVERYTHING is growing! Everything is green! Everything is flowering! It’s crazy. I have a lawn where I used to have dust. Random seeds I’d thrown around casually have sprouted, resulting in a small watermelon patch by my front door (from the time I was too lazy to throw the seeds and rinds away properly) and a bean patch by my water spigot (from when I sit and sort through the good and bad beans for dinner). And my cantaloupe patch has taken over about half my yard now. I can’t get over how green and leafy and wonderful everything has become. At night, sometimes I just go and sit out in the darkness, and enjoy the blinky-ness of the night. Fireflies are crazy this time of year; the air is so thick with them it looks like a psychedelic light show. The lightening flashing over the mountains adds a distant layer to the blinky-blink. The waaaaap-waaaaap of the toads and the laser-gun frogs are like an auditory blinky-blink…and, since the lights usually go out if it’s raining, the flickering candles from people’s homes makes it all the blinkier. Basically I’m just delighted that we’re finally ending the dry season and beginning the wet season…we’ll have rain now until November. I get water in my pila almost every day now, and the torrential downpours make running and screaming in the water a neighborhood activity. Dang but man I love this rain!<br /><br />My butt is sweaty…I’m gonna go take a bath. Hooray!<br />Love<br />Hayley</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Hayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-59159662313593624152009-05-04T06:48:00.000-07:002009-05-04T06:50:00.950-07:00pig flu is just a conspiracy<strong>26 April 2009<br /></strong>Hey, chochachos! Dudes I just killed a tiny baby scorpion in my dang house! I was sweeping (yes I am domesticated in that sort of way) in the kitchen and I saw this little critter go scuttling across the floor. I bent down to see what the tiny thing was and discovered it was an itty-bitty arachnid of the stingy variety. I quickly shanked it to death with my broom and swept it outside, and then ran over to announce to Nely what I’d done. Of course she and Tina were duly impressed and then Tina became quite concerned, telling me the mom scorpion was surely nearby, giving birth (?) to many more tiny scorpions. Either way, I have to find her, but I’m not really interested in hosting a scorpion day-care center so she should probably find another place to birth her young (though obviously Tina is mistaken about the live-birth thing…everyone and their momma knows scorpions are marsupials).<br /><br />Well, last Saturday was the big regional baseball tournament, hosted with honor by non other than Alubarén. Originally, both Reitoca and Pespire (another town in the south) were supposed to come and play, but Pespire backed out at the last minute—their volunteer said he couldn’t wrassle up enough kids to play. Very disappointing for us, since the rules state that in order to win the tournament you MUST have two wins under your belt—aka we would have to play Reitoca twice, potentially three times in the event of a tie. Saturday morning came, and the 15 kids I’d selected to play, plus all the others that are part of the team but not old enough/too sucky/too bratty to be picked for the tournament team, showed up at my doorstep as planned at 8:00am. In their little yellow jerseys with marching black baseball pants and yellow caps, they looked very professional. We hoisted the Panteras flag that John (volunteer before me; he started the team from scratch!) made by hand and marched proudly through town up to the baseball field. The kids, wanted to make a good impression on Reitoca, who were beginning to arrive, quickly arranged themselves in two neat lines in the center of the field and began to play catch. Eventually, my program direction Ronaldo and his wife showed up, with a member of the National Baseball Federation of Honduras (yes they exist!) who would act as the main umpire. They dragged a cooler of water they’d brought for the kids over, we marked up the field with ashes the kid’s had brought in bags from their moms’ woodstoves, and got all the kids together to sing the national anthem and give a couple short speeches about how cool this whole deal was. Then, sweating profusely under the baking 9:00am sun, we headed to our respective sides of the diamond. Reitoca was up to bat first, so we headed out to our fielding positions…PLAY BALL! (I actually shout this all the time when we play, the kids love it and I feel like I’m in the movie A League of Their Own). I was a nervous wreck the whole time, leaping around and spazzing out to the point where the kids asked me to sit down. As it turned out, I had no reason to be nervous, because my kids were so determined to get back the loss we’d suffered to Reitoca last week in the scrimmage that they played their hearts out. Reitoca struck out without a single run! Our turn at bat…after two outs, Las Panteras had batted and walked until the bases were loaded, with 9-year-old Nuria, one of my two girls, crouching on third. Lisbeth, my other girl, a stocky little 8-year-old who reminds me of myself as an 8-year-old softball player (terrified of the ball, prefers to sit deep in the outfield where one can chew on one’s leathery glove in peace or play with the dirt) was up to bat. All the boys groaned…Lisbeth can only hit slowly lobbed balls, and has never, in my knowledge, made contact with a real pitch…there was no way she was going to bring Nuria home. Pitch one…she swings a strike. Pitch two…another strike. Pitch three…BAM! Well, maybe not “bam,” she only hit it slightly past the pitcher, but she hit the damn ball! She stood there dumbfounded for a minute until all out frantic screams “CORRE!! CORRE!!!” sunk in and she threw the bat down and dashed off to first. Fortunately, Reitoca’s fielding skills are not 100% yet and through many fumbles of her gentle grounder, Lisbeth made it to first safely and Nuria shot across home plate, our first run of the game. It was awesome…all the boys raced over and lifted Nuria up and carried her around chanting “Nuria! Nuria!” while she beamed ear to ear. Then they ran over and did the same to Lisbeth, until I had to pull them off because the next batter was waiting and they were all over the field. It was so awesome for them, as the only girls on the team and arguably two of my worst players…who says girls can’t play baseball? Hm?! Anyway, the game continued with Reitoca striking out or getting tagged out, and we scored two more runs before the 5-inning cap was up, finishing with a glorious 3-0 win. We screamed and leapt around while Reitoca shuffled around disappointedly. Then I lead the troops of 40 kids down the road to Dona Marta’s house, who sells tasty meals and had agreed to cook the teams’ lunches, paid for by the mayor’s office, thanks to a well-worded request for funding sent by yours truly. The kids sat under the trees by the riverbed and ate their chicken and rice and guzzled bags of water while I sat inside with David and the umpires. After about an hour rest, we headed back to the field for the second game. This time, Reitoca was in it to win, and my kids entered somewhat cockily, despite my many warnings that anything could happen. Reitoca played much better and beat our butts 4-0. By this time, it was 2:30, and the sun was deadly overhead (no shade at our field). The cluster of families that had come to watch were wilting under black umbrellas and the bags of water we’d bought were long gone. However, it was 1-1, and a tie-breaking game was needed. I huddled up my kids and we screamed LAS PANTERS! LOS MEJORES! and I knew we were going to win…their energy was incredible. Reitoca started off at bat, and the inning ended without a run scored. Then we came up to bat, and scored an incredible four runs in the same inning, which for us was insane. I’ve never screamed so hard….the game was in the bag. Unfortunately, there is a rule that no pitcher can pitch more than 5 innings or one complete game, and at the conclusion of this first inning, my two good pitchers Neil and Kevin were now through. I had to put in Junior, who has trained as pitcher since November but remains pretty terrible, probably because I don’t know how to help him…he throws hard but always slightly to the left, AKA the king of balls. To the horror of everyone watching, and to his own increasing frustration, he proceeded to walk everyone and their mom across home plate…by the third inning Reitoca had caught up, 5-5. By the time the fifth and final inning ended, they had somehow crept past us and won 7-5. At first, my kids were incredulous. “That’s it? We lost? It’s over?” They had won last year (with one game against another town) and gone to Tegucigalpa for the championship, and had assumed they would naturally go again. Reitoca was ecstatic, screaming and shouting and jumping all over the place. My kids burst into tears…I’ve never seen so many 13-year-old boys in tears. It was terrible. They were inconsolable. I felt the worst for Junior, who took off running for his house and never came to my place for the after party with cake and soda, supplied by my project director Sandra. We had a good long talk at my house, and while they were still sniffling, I tried to explain that the world of sports is about losing just as much as it’s about winning, and that they played their very best and that’s all they can do. They ate their cake and drank their coke, but it still wasn’t a very fun party. We took this past week off to recuperate, and starting tomorrow, we’re going to practice once or twice a week, just for fun, until the rainy season begins, when we’ll throw in our hats until November, which it gets dry again. <br /><br />To be honest, though, despite how much I hate losing (especially to freaking Reitoca, those cocky bastards…if David weren’t my dear pretend-site-mate I would never walk over there again…), it’s kind of a blessing in disguise that we lost, because my cessation of incessant baseball practicing has been seamlessly replaced by “tons of work,” at least in the Peace Corps sense. Tuesdays and Thursdays I have a two-hour English and teaching methodology class with about 40 teachers (20 each day) from my town and the surrounding villages, which is going excellently, thank you very much. They are all very eager to learn English and have great high spirits. I like it a lot more than I thought it would. Every Thursday I walk about half an hour up the mountain to reach a nearby aldea (village) called San Antonio, where I do Colgate-sponsored oral health with the 3-room school house of 1-6th grade (each teacher teaches two grades in one class). Starting this coming week, I’ll be doing the same project with the kindergarteners in my town, as well as another two-room schoolhouse in an aldea that’s about an hour away, called Santa Rita. It’s a great program; Colgate donated the toothpaste and toothbrushes and little posters for the kids to chart their progress, and they keep them at school in little labeled cups. Once a week I go in and do a little health chat and a project (usually an art-themed one, since they get no creative art at school). They we go outside and brush together, which is hilarious because the little kids dribbled all over themselves and the big kids are so embarrassed to be brushing their teeth in front of the opposite sex that they go through great lengths to hide themselves while brushing (squatting behind chairs, hiding in the outhouse, climbing trees, etc.). Igor comes with me, and keeps the kids in line by trotting around and jumping on them (trying to break this habit).<br /><br />I just left my computer and went on an adventure!! It’s about 6:20 right now and getting dark, but we left about 45 minutes ago, at like 5:30 or so. It’s the best time of day here in my opinion, cause it’s toasty warm but not burny like the fire-death of sun. Me and my baby posse, plus my best buddy Nely, tramped though the hills to the dry river bed to collect mangos and let the dogs romp. Igor is turning into quite the water dog, to the point where I can’t leave any containers of water bigger than a cereal bowl on the floor inside or out, because he will sniff it out and frantically try to squeeze himself into it, this making a huge mess (last night I came outside to find him sitting happily in a big paila of water I had left under the faucet to fill up for watering plants (paila = plastic container)). I take him out every day to romp through the mango groves and he’ll race toward the little pools in the deeper spots of the dry river, charge in gulping water and spinning around until he’s soaked. If it’s deep enough he’ll swim around and then charge out at full speed, disappear, and then come back at a full gallop two seconds later, thrash into the water, and repeat the process. Once he’s thoroughly soaked, he’ll sprint off down the path—though I discovered if I hide behind a tree or don’t immediately follow him, once he realizes I’m not racing behind him he’ll come trotting back to look for me. I can’t wait to take him to the ocean some day….probably in the states, though, cause he really is getting too big for bus travel, except for the ones the guys in my pueblo drive, and that’s only because I’m the gringa and I can basically get away with murder. <br /><br />That’s it for now…I’m excited because my parents sent me a great big box for my birthday filled with dried fruit, nuts, chocolate, and Newsweek magazines chock-filled with Obamamania…my favorite combination. Im’a gonna go lay in my hammock and indulge in said delights. I love you guys…Happy Spring to all you kids in Chicago that are finally thawing out.<br />Love,<br />HayleyHayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6759294634201966540.post-9192769320245307582009-04-20T07:09:00.000-07:002009-04-21T08:45:40.057-07:00picture time!<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyF_RFI0DI/AAAAAAAAAO0/03TgIwmC6ak/s1600-h/IMG_4370.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326779781235658802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyF_RFI0DI/AAAAAAAAAO0/03TgIwmC6ak/s320/IMG_4370.JPG" border="0" /></a> Garifuna kids swimming on a giant lobster in the ocean.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyF-zBcNcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/92ikUMj8Zvw/s1600-h/IMG_4354.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326779773167089090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyF-zBcNcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/92ikUMj8Zvw/s320/IMG_4354.JPG" border="0" /></a> alison and noel playing marbles<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDsw7CeI/AAAAAAAAAOc/VjBCkd_jJME/s1600-h/IMG_4343.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778757874911714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDsw7CeI/AAAAAAAAAOc/VjBCkd_jJME/s320/IMG_4343.JPG" border="0" /></a> las panteras!<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDfl2VyI/AAAAAAAAAOU/SacB5LeT_FQ/s1600-h/IMG_4327.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778754338805538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDfl2VyI/AAAAAAAAAOU/SacB5LeT_FQ/s320/IMG_4327.JPG" border="0" /></a> dorian!<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDE6id1I/AAAAAAAAAOE/qpf5ffwWItI/s1600-h/IMG_4318.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778747177826130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDE6id1I/AAAAAAAAAOE/qpf5ffwWItI/s320/IMG_4318.JPG" border="0" /></a> anner!<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDzfVPJI/AAAAAAAAAOk/lozaSaM8dM0/s1600-h/IMG_4347.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778759680179346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDzfVPJI/AAAAAAAAAOk/lozaSaM8dM0/s320/IMG_4347.JPG" border="0" /></a> some baseball kids at the after party, gettin crazy with puzzles<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDWPdwzI/AAAAAAAAAOM/MOwzBUaweiQ/s1600-h/IMG_4324.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778751829001010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyFDWPdwzI/AAAAAAAAAOM/MOwzBUaweiQ/s320/IMG_4324.JPG" border="0" /></a> antony has watched too much TV<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEfeUtw5I/AAAAAAAAAN8/BEb8At1-cq8/s1600-h/IMG_4315.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778135523214226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEfeUtw5I/AAAAAAAAAN8/BEb8At1-cq8/s320/IMG_4315.JPG" border="0" /></a> two bros chillin in the kitchen<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEfRGBLTI/AAAAAAAAAN0/2_hlNJGTEFI/s1600-h/IMG_4312.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778131971910962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEfRGBLTI/AAAAAAAAAN0/2_hlNJGTEFI/s320/IMG_4312.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor looooooves coke<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEfA09GHI/AAAAAAAAANs/cqvvMWAZ5Xw/s1600-h/IMG_4308.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778127605373042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEfA09GHI/AAAAAAAAANs/cqvvMWAZ5Xw/s320/IMG_4308.JPG" border="0" /></a> more crazy party funess<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEewcqa3I/AAAAAAAAANk/svBsSkMM2CU/s1600-h/IMG_4306.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778123208518514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEewcqa3I/AAAAAAAAANk/svBsSkMM2CU/s320/IMG_4306.JPG" border="0" /></a> word. i mean, palabra.<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEe3L4CbI/AAAAAAAAANc/Wg5unfgKRWc/s1600-h/IMG_4303.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326778125017156018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEe3L4CbI/AAAAAAAAANc/Wg5unfgKRWc/s320/IMG_4303.JPG" border="0" /></a> Las Panteras<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEDp4Y7KI/AAAAAAAAANE/q0jF2gISjYg/s1600-h/IMG_4282.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777657589296290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEDp4Y7KI/AAAAAAAAANE/q0jF2gISjYg/s320/IMG_4282.JPG" border="0" /></a> oow the sun burns my little eyeballs<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEEB6KZ_I/AAAAAAAAANU/q8eTFpCSUVE/s1600-h/IMG_4293.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777664039184370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEEB6KZ_I/AAAAAAAAANU/q8eTFpCSUVE/s320/IMG_4293.JPG" border="0" /></a> i am kaiser, igor's admittedly uglier brother<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEDyDlqEI/AAAAAAAAANM/OtUuFixBaAM/s1600-h/IMG_4290.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777659783751746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyEDyDlqEI/AAAAAAAAANM/OtUuFixBaAM/s320/IMG_4290.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor!<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyECukC48I/AAAAAAAAAM8/9HR21eYaAhE/s1600-h/IMG_4281.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777641666274242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyECukC48I/AAAAAAAAAM8/9HR21eYaAhE/s320/IMG_4281.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor!<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyECiQkzZI/AAAAAAAAAM0/8NWJlTdZx9E/s1600-h/IMG_4271.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777638363385234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyECiQkzZI/AAAAAAAAAM0/8NWJlTdZx9E/s320/IMG_4271.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor!<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDc8MuwiI/AAAAAAAAAMU/0OESGWdd77c/s1600-h/IMG_4217.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776992491553314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDc8MuwiI/AAAAAAAAAMU/0OESGWdd77c/s320/IMG_4217.JPG" border="0" /></a> little douglas decided to lay down on my kitchen floor without his pants during my birthday party. RUDE.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDc0q969I/AAAAAAAAAMM/_eCuaqECpLo/s1600-h/IMG_4211.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776990470892498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDc0q969I/AAAAAAAAAMM/_eCuaqECpLo/s320/IMG_4211.JPG" border="0" /></a> my posse<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDddPN-RI/AAAAAAAAAMs/hRaDVCzdAko/s1600-h/IMG_4270.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777001360357650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDddPN-RI/AAAAAAAAAMs/hRaDVCzdAko/s320/IMG_4270.JPG" border="0" /></a> igor pretending he's asian<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDdeqZA0I/AAAAAAAAAMk/6M1257FgWy0/s1600-h/IMG_4266.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326777001742762818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDdeqZA0I/AAAAAAAAAMk/6M1257FgWy0/s320/IMG_4266.JPG" border="0" /></a> god damn marinones are so gross<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDdA52IsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/qG8Hn0RFRv0/s1600-h/IMG_4265.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776993754522306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyDdA52IsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/qG8Hn0RFRv0/s320/IMG_4265.JPG" border="0" /></a> yuck! BUT DID YOU KNOW THIS FRUIT IS WHERE CASHEWS COME FROM?! they roast that seed on top and IT BECOMES A CASHEW, THAT IS MIND BLOWING !!<br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC2BgSx0I/AAAAAAAAAL0/Yb8drqk4OUM/s1600-h/IMG_4201.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776323900884802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC2BgSx0I/AAAAAAAAAL0/Yb8drqk4OUM/s320/IMG_4201.JPG" border="0" /></a> Tina loves her some chocolate banana smoothies<br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC1zwiiUI/AAAAAAAAALk/3R6sQ425co8/s1600-h/IMG_3974.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776320210929986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC1zwiiUI/AAAAAAAAALk/3R6sQ425co8/s320/IMG_3974.JPG" border="0" /></a> awwwwww remember when he was tiny?<br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC2q3JTzI/AAAAAAAAAME/DIFdRHOgPmQ/s1600-h/IMG_4204.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776335002586930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC2q3JTzI/AAAAAAAAAME/DIFdRHOgPmQ/s320/IMG_4204.JPG" border="0" /></a>these guys are very, very cool.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC2V7TiYI/AAAAAAAAAL8/QZlVF66GX_k/s1600-h/IMG_4203.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776329382889858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC2V7TiYI/AAAAAAAAAL8/QZlVF66GX_k/s320/IMG_4203.JPG" border="0" /></a> ruben, who likes hammocks.<br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC15lpsWI/AAAAAAAAALs/y4jFQ4D-00c/s1600-h/IMG_4200.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326776321775874402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_plZJUrf6LMo/SeyC15lpsWI/AAAAAAAAALs/y4jFQ4D-00c/s320/IMG_4200.JPG" border="0" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br />carefully arranged photo so his weiner isn't showingHayleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313983536584462289noreply@blogger.com0