Apologies

I have been remiss in posting about my new life in Honduras, and for this I apologize. I will attempt to provide justification for my absence here.

After the initial novelty and nervousness of living in a third world country dissipated, once school had started, I found it really hard to put my feelings into words. My experiences have been so foreign to me, how could I even begin to convey them to others? But other than that, I was trying to live by the maxim "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all". This is not an entirely fair representation of my life here, by any means. There are some wonderful things about Honduras. But recently, they have been mostly overshadowed by the intense frustrations I've encountered. I debated about writing about my struggles, not wanting to seem ungrateful for this wonderful opportunity I've been given. But this is meant to be about my real life, not life how I would choose it to be. So here it is: my real life in Honduras.

The weather: It is always hot here. Hot and humid, beyond anything I've experienced in the States. Yes, Minneapolis can be hot and sticky. So can Tennessee, where we went this summer. But it's relentless here; the sun seems so much stronger, even the wind is hot. The only relief we get is at night when it pours down rain and turns the gravel roads into streams of dirt. It wasn't so bad at the beginning when I knew the weather wasn't so different back at home, but now, when the leaves are beginning to change and the days are cooling off and instead of going thinking about drinking apple cider wrapped in a sweater, all I want is ice cold water, it's getting harder to appreciate the tropical climate. The green is lovely, but I'm missing the variety of colors autumn at home offers.

The house: Our house is, by Honduran standards, quite luxurious. We have internet, a fully-functioning kitchen, a sort of yard in front and a patio out back with a hammock and washing machine. But the bugs. There are so many bugs. We've sprayed for cockroaches and wood-eating ants. We've had ants in our beds and food, spiders and roaches in the showers, and the flies come in droves. For the first several weeks I woke up every morning with bites from what I hoped were mosquitoes, but had no way of knowing that was the case. I've gotten used to it for the most part, but they still have their moments. Today for instance, I opened a box of macaroni that had been on the shelf for several weeks; when I pulled out the cheese packet it was covered in tiny little ants. Literally covered. I stuck my hand into the noodles and it came out with more swarming insects. Needless to say, that box went into the garbage.

The school: I'm going to try to step carefully here. Some of my frustrations with the school are not the fault of the administration. Some of it comes from the government, some from Honduran culture. But whatever the causes, there has been very little about the school I have really appreciated. The administration is resistant to change, discipline seems lax where it sorely needs to be enforced, bureaucracy and micro-managing are the order of the day, and they expect nearly impossible things considering the resources they provide us with. How, for example, is one meant to teach a two hour chemistry lab every week when the only lab equipment provided is 8 microscopes (and one outlet) and a box of slides? Many of the teachers had to wait several weeks for textbooks to teach from and some of the students still don't have the books they need. The students themselves have proved to be sometimes absolute delights but mostly difficult and resistant to our efforts. Some of the younger ones barely speak or understand English. My students at least know what I'm saying. Whether they choose to listen is another story.

The food: This is a biggie. Even bigger than the school. I knew before I left that I would have to at least try and like beans because of their prevalence in Latin American cuisine. This has proved true, but the larger problem is how much more of their diet revolves around chicken. The first night in town we all went to a restaurant and I had to ask for a salad without chicken because that seemed like the only item on the menu that could be easily adapted to a vegetarian palate. Things have gotten slightly but not significantly better. While I can find peanut butter, which has been a life-saver, there is very little good dairy here. Fruit and vegetables can be found both in the grocery store and from stalls along the street, but they are not always good and the variety is incredibly limited. I cannot count on finding spinach or any leafy green that's not iceberg lettuce. My eyes are never going to have trouble because the carrots here are numerous and gigantic, but my iron levels are another story.      On top of my individual concerns with not eating meat, I have trouble accepting the Honduran diet in general. Everything is overly processed and full of artificial flavoring and sweeteners. Coke bottles are more numerous and just as cheap as water. The candy aisle is twice as big as the produce section in the grocery store. There are restaurants selling fried chicken everywhere you look. The level of obesity here is quite high, especially in kids, because that kind of food is cheap. Coming from a city like Minneapolis, with it's co-ops and farmer's markets, and reams of veggie and vegan friendly options, this is quite a change. I didn't even have this much trouble in Slovakia, because it didn't cost nearly as much to import things. In order to find spinach, oatmeal, and (hallelujah!) veggie burgers last weekend, I had to take a four hour round trip bus ride into San Pedro Sula, then fork over $45 for three plastic bags of groceries. I'm really struggling and am beginning to notice the effects, I think.

Other random things that bother me: None of us, but especially the girls, can go out without being stared or whistled at. It's not considered rude, like it is in the States, but it's still uncomfortable, and makes walking alone through town unappealing. There are chickens and roosters wandering around the streets, the roosters crowing at all hours. We frequently have canine (hopefully) visitors who knock over our trash cans and spread garbage around our yard. This goes along with the heat, but I am always sticky, always dirty. I feel like so much more of an outsider here than anywhere else I've ever been.

Please do not get the wrong impression. I've spent time here complaining about everything I'm frustrated with. This is not my whole life. My hope in writing this is that I will no longer feel like I have to pretend that I absolutely love it here and that everything is perfect, because it's not. Now that I've gotten all this off of my chest hopefully I'll be able to spend more time focusing on the joys of living here, which do exist, as few and far between as they seem sometimes.

La Cascada Pulhapanzak

 On our first weekend after starting school Nick, knowing we sorely needed some stress relief, brought us to the Pulhapanzak waterfall, one of the 30 natural wonders of Honduras, at least according to the sign. He had told us to wear bathing suits and good walking shoes, and asked if everyone was all right jumping into the river from a ledge, but not much else about what we were going to be doing. After we had all clambered out of the back of his pick-up truck, we walked along the river above the falls and watched some zip liners soar over our heads. We waded across a shallow dam, killing time before the guide for our waterfall tour showed up. It was a perfectly idyllic place, with campsites and cabins for rent, smack dab in the middle of the jungle. We didn't have any idea what was in store for us, but I at least was excited.


We slowly made our way down to the falls themselves, and once there it was absolutely stupendous. The falls are about 140 meters high and because we're in the middle of the rainy season right now, they were thundering over the rocks and spraying water high into the air. I basked in the mist; despite living near a lake, the amount of water I encounter on a daily basis is not enough for my taste. Soon, out guide came to get us. He unlocked a gate at the end of the observation platform and we filed through.
      Edging along the bank, with the river rushing by about 10 feet below us, anticipation was running high. Soon we had to jump into a pool. I had expected to be at least a little nervous, but when it came time for me to take the leap, I was completely fine. Not a nerve in sight. The pool was deep and the current stronger than I was expecting, but everyone made it across ok. Slowly, in single file, we made our way to the foot of the waterfall, ducking under ledges and paddling across pools.
     Our final destination was a cave a little ways up the waterfall itself. Lord knows how anyone found this hollowed out rock under the rushing water, but they did, and getting there was an exhilarating experience. The last little leg involved a relatively steep slope, a single cable with a rubber grip, and lots and lots of water. Climbing up this incline, you could literally see nothing but water, and it was so hard to keep your eyes open that it was even hard to see that. With pounds of water crashing down on your head, and your only hand hold the narrow cable on the left, you had to put blind faith in your feet and trust that they were going to find solid places to stand.
     I have no idea how far up the waterfall we went. It probably wasn't that high. We rested in an alcove before shimmying down one last ledge then squirming through a narrow opening into the cave. Honestly, it was a little underwhelming. It was just a cave, and a small one at that. The attraction of this tour is definitely the journey, not the destination.
     Climbing back down the waterfall was only slightly easier for knowing what was in store. The inability to see was more nerve-wracking going down than up, and the leap into the pool even higher. It was so much fun. No company in the entire United States would allow you to do what we did that day, but it was absolutely incredible.