summer is upon me, like the sweatiest wool blanket in the world

Lisbeth, reading one of the new books my grandma sent me. i wish i could turn this photo normally!

the gang, reading the awesome childrens books that my awesome mimi sent

tina and her hubby Ruben on his 74th birthday

ruben, attacking the rabbit-coyote with youthful vigor

nelly and douglas on his second birthday

douglas attacking the rabbit-coyote with even more youthful vigor (thats right, we reuse pinatas in alubaren)

looking down into the valley of one of the aldeas where I work

spank that pinata, ruben!

23 October 2009
Hey, chochachos!
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!!!!

Love,
Hayley

much like alex mac acquired super powers from slime, i now have electrical abilities from lightening.

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.

Hawk Waterfall! in the beautiful misty cloud forests of Parque Nacional Montana de Comayagua.

cascada!

Gabe doing his duty as a tour guide [note: this photo is definitely not staged.]

you may consider us the three musketeers.

tiny baby waterfall!

Gabe utilizing his sorry excuse for a pila...but it's okay because he has the sweetest view in the world.

Douglas chillin' in my hammock. That's his cousin Andri in my other hammock in the background.

My kindergarten buddies marching in the Independence Day parade of Alubaren.

Alison and her neighbor Yesica, her cousins Lisbeth and Andri, and her brother Noel.

Nina Independencia!! I guess I could have put her in front of something prettier than my clothesline.

Remember baby Javier, my old host mom Suyapa's youngest? He's a crazy monster baby now and runs around like a track star.

27 September 2009
Hey, chochachos!
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.

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.

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).

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Looove,
Hayley

i found another fat old snake in my bathroom today

locals paddling about in their wooden canoes. probably either fishing, or thinking about fishing.

look at how delighted we are!

manatees live here! ALLEGEDLY.

riverfront of where we stayed. the guy in the picture is the portuguese butthead.

path winding through the forest toward my treehouse.

sprinkle sprakle raindrops! that there's a cabin.

chops descending our awesome staircase.

dusk.

approaching dusk? everything is green.

just around the river bend (come on lets not pretend we havent all seen Pocahontas)

chops, t-bag, and our extremely sassy boat driver lady. note the cut-offs.

our jungle guide and me after the hike.

from inside the CAVE of TIGERS!

secret jungle island.

glowy leaves!!!!

amazing twisty vine. they call it the monkey ladder. it should be called the twisted glaze.

moss!!! which flakes off onto your skin in a delightful way when hugged.

chops eatin' breakfast at the beach.

7 September 2009
Hey, chochachos!
So one of the excellent things about Life here is the fact that people are constantly wandering around selling stuff, thereby often eliminating the need to actually enter a store to buy Items. Ride the bus, and more likely than not you will be able to purchase tomatoes, squirt guns, toothbrushes, bars of soap all taped together just the way you like ‘em, crappy flashlights, seasonal fruit, bags ‘o water, hot meals, belts, scrunchies, pills, God, and boiled corn—all before you even reach your destination. It is, like I mentioned earlier, Excellent—especially if you don’t particularly enjoy shopping, which I particularly do not. This type of business transaction is not only confined to the buses, either—the case in point being that about three minutes ago, some kids came to my door like they do every day at about 4:00pm selling fried doughnuts covered in sugar for two lempiras each (about a dime…I think). They are so tasty, a dog barks. How many of you guys get doughnut vendors selling hot fresh-baked items for a dime apiece a-comin’ to your door every dang ol day? JUST ME I WIN. Suckers!

Sorry, I ain’t tryin to be a jerk sandwich. I take it back. No one is sucker. No one with door-to-door doughnut service, that is.

I spent the day today scrubbing out a bunch of extremely nasty clothes in the pila and performing similar acts of “just got home from vacation, time to get hygienic again” activities. THAT’S RIGHT. I TOTALLY WENT ON A VACATION. AND IT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME. While I’ve had many an Adventure in the year I’ve been working here in Alubarén, I haven’t really taken a bigger trip since last New Years, when I went to El Salvador. So when my buddy from home, Chops, decided he wanted to come visit me in H-Town, I was like “hells yes dude lets do this thing,” which we subsequently did [do this thing]. We were GONNA go on said adventure back in June, but then Honduras got all wonky on me politically and we had to postpone. But no matter, because reschedule we did, and have spent the past bunch of days just runnin’ all over central America and havin’ 7 kinds of fun. We spent a day together in my site, wandering up and down our one road, sittin’ on my Sitting Hill, relaxing near but not in my Swimmin’ Hole (it was hosting the annual Algae and Gunk Convention of 2009), and otherwise enjoying the fruits that Alubarén has to offer. My house was a little crazy because Nely and the family were crashing there, their house in the midst of a desperately-needed re-roofing, but it was fine if not a cozy and chill way for Chops to get to know some local folks. Nely and I (mostly Nely) cooked up some beans and rice and fried bananas, bought a 3-liter bottle of Coke for the occasion, and had us a big ol’ Honduran meal. We chilled in plastic lawn chairs under my flowering cherry tree (crappy Honduran ones, not to be confused with what the rest of the world knows as cherries) and watched lightning flicker in the distance. Early the next morning, after a breakfast of eggs and leftover bananas, I handed the keys over to Nely (“stay as long as necessary but please don’t let the kids piss in my bed”), hugged Igor, and Chops and I tramped off into the rising sun (don’t worry I had a hat on).

The jalón (free ride) gods were smilin’ on us, because not five minutes into our trek to where the buses pass, a nice pick-up truck rolled by and offered us a lift all the way to the “desvio pavementado,” AKA where the dirt road meets the paved freeway. This journey is usually a two-hour bus ride, but in a jalon it is a delightful hour-ish ride, rollin’ up and down the green hills and carefully avoiding cows, chickens, and school children. Once we got to the freeway we grabbed a bus headed south and crossed the border into El Salvador. We spent a couple days at the same surfer lodge I’d stayed at in January, “Olas Permanentes,” not because I am afraid of change but because I was so enamored with its tasty sandwiches and awesome waves and beautiful beach and cheap rooms and plentiful hammocks I just couldn’t imagine staying anywhere else. The first thing I did upon arrival was run up the retaining wall/patio of the hotel to check out the beach, and was shocked and severely pissed to discover that the Ocean is a fickle mistress and had totally gotten a botched boob job in my 8 months of absence, which is to say that the open, wide stretches of black sand beach had been replaced by boulders and rocks and the beach was basically only existent during low tide—otherwise the water was violently bashing itself against the wall. Apparently the wet season = stronger waves, and the current is so strong it carries away much of the sand, thus exposing all those ugly rocks. It was still delightful, and swim/surf/boogie board we did, but only during low tide, and with much caution. On our last night, we were the ONLY guests in the joint, and a storm hit that was so forceful we hid in our bunk-beds and recorded a 2-minute electronic missive on my camera, bidding farewell to our respective families. It was pretty good…I might go ahead and save it in case I am ever in any sort of hostage situation and don’t have a pen handy.

Our thirst for the beach quenched like a gringo with a mouthful of dry sand, we headed north-west and spent the last leg of our adventure fulfilling my personal life-long dream, which as many of you may know is “live in a tree house in the jungle.” Technically, TECHNICALLY, it wasn’t actually a tree house, but it was a small, rickety, thatch-roofed structure that had to be entered via a psychedelic twirly-whirly staircase, and it was engulfed in trees and vines and all sorts of drippy verdant vegetation, so I am willing to make a small fib when I tell people about it (feel free to do the same). And it was most certainly and delightfully a rain-foresty jungle, all filled with jaguars and monkeys and crocodiles and birds and spiders bigger than my freaking face (though the latter was the only creature I actually saw). Chops and I only planned to stay a night, but due to the extreme Awesomeness of the whole ensemble, we ended up staying for three. This little hideaway lodge was tucked into the jungle along a wide, warm river, and on the boat ride over we met two delightful Aussie brothers, AJ and Tristan, who were on an adventure of their own. They decided to come with us, and two became four for the next couple days. I dare say Chops and I could not have asked for better companions, and I was rather sad to leave ‘em behind when the time came for us to go home. Sometimes I just feel so happy that the world is constantly producing wonderful people for me to befriend. Thanks, world.

The lodge was powered by solar energy, and the folks that run it were extremely laid-back and friendly (except for the douchey Portuguese guy, who I invite to sit on a tarantula and SPIN). Every night everyone eats dinner all together, inhaling fresh pita bread and tasty green garlic goo and carrot/squash soups and fish casseroles. When not eating, Chops, Tristan, AJ and I passed the time by going on Adventures all day. We kayaked to a biotope a couple of hours down the river and hiked around in the Protected Zone one day, which was beautiful jungle with equally beautifully-maintained trails. It was interesting because many of the locals filled us in on the current struggle going on between the people who live on the protected area and the conservationists who are trying to maintain it as such. Land must be protected, but when it comes at the cost of seizing the land from the locals who live on it, things get as hairy as the eight-legged, many-eyed fellas who inhabit the bathrooms at night (I spent a lot of time peeing in the bushes…but that’s unrelated to anything except my metaphor). Eco-tourism is obviously a great way for the locals to earn money and protect their land at the same time, but unfortunately the common pattern is that all the eco-lodges and such are owned by foreigners. A nice NGO/volunteer-based scaffolding support-system would be a good start, but I didn’t see much of that in this particular area.

Our final kayak destination was a rather elusive restaurant tucked into a small cove, which was ironically not serving food on that particular day, because everyone had gone to town. The four of us pleaded the two women who had stayed behind with hungry eyes (I dramatically wiped rivulets of saliva from my chin with a shaky hand; Chops quietly chewed coca leaves to stave his hunger), and finally one of the ladies made us four mediocre papaya smoothies served in impressive glass margarita goblets. Off we kayaked back down the river, only to be caught—no, wrong word—only to be delightfully involved in a sudden late-afternoon down-pour. We alternated between gliding through the sheets of water and floating with arms outstretched, letting the warm drops slide down our faces like a bunch of joyous eight-year-olds, lubed up with Banana Boat, sliding belly-down on a hosed-off plastic tarp. Seriously, that is exactly the way in which the water ran down my face. I even heard tiny little voices screaming “yaaaay!”, but that might have been my imagination or perhaps a hunger-induced hallucination. After whooping and grinning through the storm, we paddled past a rainbow and arrived a couple hours later at a small river-side restaurant and hot springs. We relaxed in the steamy, farty-smelling water while this delightfully functioning restaurant fried us up a mess o’ fish and fries. We ate dinner as the sun set, and paddled the last half an hour to our lodge as dusk made itself at home on the glassy water.

The next day, we hired a local guide to take us on a sweet hike through the jungle, which was totally worth it—he took us to a delightfully cold swimming hole and a muggy cave and pointed out the local plants and bugs, and also brought us through a couple small villages, which were beautiful. It was sweaty as the dang Dickens but I’ve never hiked through such eyeball-explodin’ awesomeness before (sorry, Erika—too soon?). That evening was our last, and we risked the crocodiles by goin’ off the rope swing into the river after dinner. Sing-alongs were had with an Israeli guy and his guitar and egg-shakers, cold beers were consumed and many a special moment was passed listening to the frogs holler at each other. I peed under a tree next the bathroom-turned-tarantula-hotel one last time, clamored up the wooden staircase like an albino spider monkey, crawled into my squishy, mosquito-netted bunk, and fell asleep listening to the sprinkle-sprankle of jungle night-life one last time. The next morning, after breakfast, Chops and I hugged our buddies goodbye and headed home.

Brief summary for those of you who only have time for the Cliff Notes edition: Chops and I had a blasty-blast in various bodies of water and/or trees. We made lots of rad friends and it was the best time ever and that is what I did on my summer vacation the END.

Love,
Hayley

man my bowels be TIGHT today

sittin' on our sittin' hill

lookin down toward Alubaren from my Secret Area

igor pretending he is a greyhound

oh man this is so Purina

for those of you familiar with the Sexy Bear Pose, this is the Sexy Igor Pose.

hunting moths.

me and the fam

oh, just indians and i (anner and eliezer)

goofy Lempiras

you can't shoot me with an arrow! barack obama will bring the pain.

sassy indian maidens.

waiting for the parade AKA lap around the park.

this little guy won the boys' fashion show. because of his excessive soot, i believe.

some of my little buddies marching around, pretending to be indians.

9 August 2009
Hey, chochachos!
So I am extremely pissed at Igor, because I just spent like 20 minutes looking for my camera, which I was sure I’d left sitting in its little case on the plastic lawn chair I have for such purposes (storing items/bottoms). After searching all two rooms in my house extensively, I glanced outside and saw the telltale silver glint, nestled gently in a heap of dried grass and burned garbage that Igor likes to nap in. Two feet away was the black carrying case, neatly shredded—Igor made sure to ruin all the zippers so it no longer closes. Even though I know you’re not supposed to punish the dog unless you catch him in the act, I still spanked Igor like three times with a flip-flop, which is our usual method of behavior control. Fortunately, the camera seems to work just fine…otherwise I probably would still be spanking Igor. IGOR. HOW DARE YOU TOUCH THINGS ON MY SPECIAL LAWN CHAIR.

I forgive him, though, because he is but a nine-month-old puppy face and doesn’t know about things such as “electronics” and “warranty” and “respecting Hayley’s property.” He’s much more hyper now than he used to be (maybe because we finally nicked that blood parasite) and also more mischievous…he has yet to ruin anything valuable of mine but he loves to take things outside and leap around with them in his mouth, most especially brooms and plastic soda bottles. Oh, how Igor loves brooms. He grabs them right in the middle of the broomstick and then prances all over the yard like a tightrope freak. One time he was galloping around with his favorite broom and tried to race into the doorway. Totally t-boned himself. It was extremely hilarious. Yesterday was a lazy Saturday afternoon, so I decided to take Igor on one of our late-afternoon Adventures. We had just had a 20 minute thunderstorm so everything was nice and drippy and there was great cloud cover, which means one can traipse about in the out-of-doors and not risk bring fried to death. We head out behind my house, cross a little creek, scramble up a steep slope for like 15 minutes, and then it’s a sweet hike through scrubby bushes and moss-covered rocks to my favorite sitting place, which is a great open hill. I can sit there and look down at the whole little valley, look at my pueblo and listen to everything around me. Sitting up above a town means that if you listen carefully enough you can hear hells of different layers of noises and sounds. And since the hill is surrounded by mango groves and a heavily-forested river gully, there is a whole other dimension of natural noises. So Igor sprints around and flattens himself in the grass and explodes out like a lion and does other puppy things while I sit on the very highest point of the hill and chill out under the warm drippy clouds and listen. Whinnying horses, grunting pigs, crowing roosters, thumping soccer balls, pulsing reggaeton, roaring motorcycles, chirping and singing birds, barking dogs, shrieking or crying or shouting kids, and nagging mothers…plus all the buzzing and humming bugs that live in the grass. This is probably the closest to meditating I will ever get. I like to practice what I call “light yoga,” which basically involves me sitting down and occasionally sipping from a can of guava juice I’d brought.

After our adventure, Igor and I hiked back home and headed to the plaza, because Alubarén is currently in feria, which is a tradition every municipality of moderate girth practices. Think of the summertime country fairs of America, and remove everything except mobile vendors offering crappy food and plastic jewelry, and you’ve basically got a Honduran feria. Of course, bigger and richer communities often have really awesome ferias, but Alubarén’s is completely lame (and I say that with love). Basically it’s just a yearly opportunity for all the drunks to go on a four-day bender and for people to sell fried tacos and grilled meat. But they have little activities every day, like folk dancing and live music (I got to lay in bed and listen to a Garifuna punta band cover Mexican mariachi artist Vicente Fernandez songs until 2:00am last night), and other typical Honduran feria events, such as “catch the greased-up pig” (the prize is the pig), “climb the greased-up pole” (the prize is being totally greasy afterwards), and my favorite, “El Toro Fuego,” which involves no grease and lots of pyrotechnics. Basically a dude puts a giant metal cage on his head designed to look like a bull’s head, and packs it with fireworks and shooting sparks and then chases the village children around while exploding all over the place. Totally insanely dangerous. I love it. Last time I saw a Toro Fuego was in Reitoca’s feria, and I totally punched a dude in the face during the panic. This time, I was in the park with Nely and the kids when the Toro Fuego guy burst out of no where. Everyone took off screaming and I tripped on and nearly trampled to death an 8-year-old boy. Whoopsies! That was last night, and tonight they’re going to have another favorite of mine, El Rifeo, in which all the men in town cross-dress and strut around in borrowed skirts and tube tops with socks stuffed into the bras. I’m as shocked as you are that this type of gender-bending occurs in Machismo-Land, but apparently it’s a big deal and the sexist man gets a prize. For the rest of the feria, they have a bunch of activities lifted from any American high school’s social calander, such as a night of karaoke, a dance off, several modeling competitions for both genders, and the selection and crowning of the Queen of the Feria.

So basically, I have not been wanting for entertainment these days. A couple weeks ago Honduras celebrated National Indian Day, in which they commemorate their tribal roots by forcing all the kids to come to school half-naked and march around town while doing the stereotypical Indian war-whoop, which is exactly the same in America (you know, the woo-woo-woo thing with the open hand and the mouth). I say forced, but the kids under 10 really do love it. The all come in skimpy little outfits made of grasses, corn husks, banana leaves, or, in the cases of more technologically-advanced Indians, cardboard and plastic. Chicken feathers are stuck in braids or headbands, and the girls often carry little baskets of squash or corn. The boys totally lucked out on accessories, because they get to carry sweet bows and arrows, many of which actually work. Also, soot is a very popular cosmetic—most of the boys have sooty moustaches or beards, as well as a liberal application all over the body (thus teaching the young folks that Indians are filthy and maybe slept in ovens). I was wandering around the school taking pictures when the principal saw me and asked me if I’d like to be a judge in the post-parade fashion show (the best Indian got like 100 lempiras as a prize), which I most certainly DID. It was adorable, though some of the little kids were too scared to model their outfits (one unfortunate first grader’s mom had made her a mermaid-esque bra thing with round gourds covered in chicken feathers, and the boys kept shouting TITTIES! at her until she ran home crying). For my judging services, they paid me in an ice-cold coke, which was extremely tasty. Oh, how I love soda.

This past week was also special because John, The Prince of Alubarén, aka the volunteer who lived here before me, came back for a brief two-day visit. Even a year after his departure I still hear stories and affectionate reflection about him almost every day. I can honestly say I don’t think there is a person who lives here who doesn’t consider him a good friend…he is so LOVED. It’s beautiful. So it was rad to see him back in town, interacting with all his old friends and neighbors. It was also really fun getting to know him, because I’d only really met him once and he’s maybe the nicest dude in the world. He and his college buddy Brice had been backpacking around Central America for a couple weeks and Alubarén was one of their last stops…so they tramped around the town saying hello-and-goodbye to everyone, while I went about my merry ways of stopping teen pregnancy and teaching English. They bought me dinner at all three of the little eateries in town and we spent our two nights chilling in my hammocks, drinking illegally purchased beer, and playing Fart Tennis (they mopped the floor with my ass). It makes me excited for when I come back to visit in a couple years. I hope the volunteer here when I return has ample hammock space and a talent for pedos.

In case anyone is wondering what exactly is happening with our whole military coup/political crisis thing, my advice is to check google, ‘cause I got no idea. After several weeks of relative chill-ness, things have started to heat up again—this week, some pro-Mel demonstrators burned a public city bus and a huge Popeye’s restaurant (yes, the fried chicken chain). A couple weeks ago, Zelaya tried to enter the country through a Nicaraguan border and failed, and then camped out there for several days, hollering at his supporters through a bullhorn. Micheletti is still in power and Zelaya still wants to come back, but they’ve resolved nothing. They’re still involved in peace talks with the Costa Rican President Arias as a mediator, but it doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere, especially since word on the street is that Arias now has the pig flu (excuse me I mean H1N1). Honestly, the general elections for the new president are in three months…at this point the easiest solution would be to let Micheletti stay in power until then. But I guess that ain’t exactly fair or legal…maybe they should make a chart and take turns. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Micheletti gets to be prez, and Tuesday, Thursday, and the weekend, Zelaya is in charge. I will email this idea to the Government.

And finally, in the Bowels News of the day, I recently went to Tegus following a nasty three-week bout of POMP and was given serious antibiotics for the intestinal infection I had acquired. I am now healthy for what seems like the first time in hella days, and I must say, this whole “being hungry” and “being able to eat food without immediately expelling it into my latrine with the force and cadence of a trumpet corp” is a pretty sweet deal. Hooray and hot damn for health.

Well my my will you look at that, it is 12:30pm AKA TIME FOR SOME TORTILLAS AND BEANS AND CHEESE!
Loooooove,
Hayley

today i saw a dead armadillo on the road!

Two sixth grade girls in my "I Derseerve" abstinence workshop, making the "Chain of Abstinence"....very inspiring.
My neighbor Rubio, with his banjo (this one goes out to you, dad!)

18 July 2009
Hey, chochachos!

Sorry, I can’t hack ‘howdy dudes’ anymore. It just makes me think of “Hey, dude!”, 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. 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’ outside, on picnic tables…hilarity all ensuing when the experienced ranch-hands let the excessively-fringed greenhorns take the toughest stallions EVER on a trail ride…man. I hope that show was as awesome as I remember it. 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.

Meanwhile, back at the non-1990s/non-horse ranch ranch, things are...semi-crisis like. Think of your typical political crisis as a delicious sirloin hamburger. 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. This non-deadly, but certainly non-tasty burger, is essentially the state of the union down here in H-Town (if I may). The past couple weeks have been a delightful exercise in what happens when a country decides to oust its own leader. Following the coup, Honduras was surprised to discover that no one outside of Honduras (except Thailand, I think…random) supported their decision to get rid of Zelaya. 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.” Most people are indignant that any other country (especially Venezuela) should stick its nose in their business regarding their political issues, and continue to organize politically in a way I’d never have expected. 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!” (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.) The government issued a country-wide curfew and was constantly interrupting the normal television programs to update the public on what was going on. 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. 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. Tegucigalpa and San Pedro Sula, however, continue to remain off-limits. 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. One person was killed in the struggle. 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 Costa Rica’s president. Nothing has been resolved yet, but things seem to be calmer and I expect life will return to normal relatively soon. 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. However, that’s flexible—even Micheletti said he will step down if people want him too—people seem to be saying “ANYONE but Zelaya!” At first, everyone I spoke to was very vehement that Zelaya not even be allowed to return to Honduras, because “he’s a corrupt thief” and it will just bring more disruption. Now, however, people seem willing to allow him to return to Honduras—just not as President. I expect a conclusion will be reached in the next couple of weeks. 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?). 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). 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. But it was for the best, because I was totally POMB (Peein’ Out My Butt) anyway and traveling would have been extremely gross. So Chops is gonna come in August and I ain’t gonna have any diarrhea and we’re gonna have a great ol time. Hells of hooray!

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. 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. 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. SUCCESS!! It’s just a tiny room attached to the school, with four huge shelves stuffed with incredibly dusty books. 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. 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. 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. Once school lets out in November I’m going to start a “summer vacation literacy project,” but that’s a ways off. The library still needs a lot of work and supplies. 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. 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. 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. 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. We can also use more Spanish books, so if anyone has any (especially children’s books), send ‘em my way. I just received a shipment of 30 pounds of books from the Darien Book Aid organization, which is located in Darien, Connecticut (what up, Brickmans!). They were amazing and sent me the box free of charge. Unfortunately, their Spanish section is limited, so the majority of what I received was in English. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I am very thankful for their support and generosity. Yay for NGOs!

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. I bought like 20 of them (20 for a dollar, can’t beat that price) and fashioned a grill over Nely’s woodstove. We diced up lettuce and tomatoes and served the dogs on toasted buns with ketchup. Everyone drank a butt-load of soda and had at least two hotdogs, so it was excellent. Then I handed out firecrackers to the kids (good influence, I know) and we had a great ol time. They asked me to sing the national anthem, which was brutal. 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? Then David came over, and we ate a ton of chips and drank more soda. On July 9^th, I hit my one-year mark of being in-country, and will celebrate my halfway-through-service mark in September. It feels like I’ve been living in Alubarén forever.

I’m sweating. Time to go.

Love,
Haylz