Quick Notes

On Friday I head to Tegucigalpa for our program's midterm medical reviews, which will consist of the following:

• Pooping in a cup
• The dentist telling me my teeth are rotting away, and me retorting, "Have you seen how Hondurans use sugar?!"
• Enjoying a hot shower. 
• Trying not to get ripped off by some cab driver in Teguz.
  
• Suffering through a 7 hour bus ride. 

An interesting opinion piece was published about Tegucigalpa this past week by Honduras Weekly, which discusses the city's need for better urban planning and decisive action. I couldn't agree more by the way. Although, I feel that better governance, public (NOT PRIVATIZED) transportation, and a more cohesive long term planning strategy incorporating inevitable future development are more important than the suggestions the author makes. He does, however, make some good points, especially about the need for green space in the city, and cites good examples from other Latin American cities. Although, I have to say at times it is hard to see the connections between Honouduras and some of it's South American brethren.  Tegucigalpa: A City Stuck in First Gear

Tegucigalpa at night looks a ton better than Tegucigalpa during the day

I got new neighbors last week. It's a small family with a newborn. (So much for the raucous parties I've been throwing with me, myself and I).  I've tried to introduce myself numerous times, but the wife is painfully shy. I am not surprised, since married Honduran woman, as a general rule, are very quiet, but still the situation is somewhat depressing. I was hoping to make some new friends, or at least find someone to watch Norte, my junkyard cat, haha, since we're the only two people living in our building. On the positive side, since they are living in the apartment sencillo (simple) I was given the fridge and the gas oven from the other apartment (Awesome). 

A close family friend and handyman, Kelvin, was shot dead outside of my apartment the past week at 6:30 in the morning on Sunday. I knew him pretty well, since he had helped me fix up numerous things in my apartment. He was a really talented guy when it came to metal work, and he had designed new bars for my windows, along with a new iron door for my balcony. Perhaps the most depressing aspect about the entire event was the ambivalence that people, even my host family,  held towards his death. When I asked people, "Do you know who did this?" "Who would want to do this?" "Why at 6:30 AM?" People responded with an answer I've become all to familiar with, "No sé, pero eso es Honduras. No hay orden."/"I don't know, but this is Honduras. There is no order." It is a sad, but true statement, and after being down here for a year I've begun to appreciate their fatalistic attitude, since they have no way to control what is happening.  In Honduras, most practically all crimes go unpunished. I've heard that something along the order of only 2% of crimes are successfully prosecuted here. 2%!! In the US, even bad police departments have a solve rate of about 80%.

Our soccer field project remains on schedule, but at times getting small things done feels like pulling teeth. Setting up meetings and making sure people follow through on their work are perhaps the most frustrating things I do in Honduras. There have been some positives though. In a few weeks we will receive a shipment of 115 pounds of sports equipment to be given to at risk youth in the community. Working with multiple organizations including Sports Gift, Casa de Roc Orphanage, NaviVan, and the Orange County Peace Corps Association we were able to take a simple question from a counterpart about getting soccer jerseys for the kids into a reality. It was complicated, but we are in the home stretch now. Gracias a dios.

Getting Visual

Mapping International Development Aid and Assistance



Look how aid in Honduras jumps immediately after 1998, the year Hurricane Mitch destroyed the country. Also, you can see the impact of American involvement in Nicaragua and Honduras during the 1980's, demonstrating US intervention in regards to the contras of Nicaragua. Much of Nicaraguan aid today can be sourced to Venezuela, due to the country's involvement in the Alianza Bolivariana para los Pueblos de Nuestra América, or ALBA under the initiative of President Daniel Ortega. 

Loss of Forest Coverage



In this one there are no spectacular shifts, just the slow and steady decline of forest coverage. This is a problem throughout Latin America due to increasing use of slash and burn agriculture for coffee and other crops, as well as for new areas for cattle grazing.

Remittances in Latin America



The importance of remittances in Honduras and other Central American countries cannot be understated. In 2009, Honduras sent home approximately $2.5 Billion. There are approximately 1 Million Hondurans living in the US and abroad, including some of the country's best and brightest.

Population Growth Rates in Latin America



Honduras has maintained one of the highest population growth rates, not just in LA, but in the world.

AIDS/HIV Prevalence



One area where Honduras has made substantial progress is in AIDS prevention and reduction. Obviously, the country still has a long way to go, as stigmas regarding condoms and sexual education are still prevalent, but at least progress is being made.

Big Changes in PC Honduras... Or, Wow that kind of sucks

We are currently in the midst of major cutbacks and downsizing in Peace Corps Honduras (As well as PC world wide). PC Honduras has been forced to cut three projects (including Municipal Development, my program), slash the budget, and are currently in the process of seriously downsizing the staff (including all of the administrative staff for my program, as well as those of another project). This means that those of us in the programs that were cut are going to be left with significantly less administrative support. While the country administrative staff claim otherwise, it is logistically impossible that with more responsibilities landing on their plates, and less support staff to help them with these new duties, that they will be capable of offering us the same support as our previous project administrators. This is not to say that I hold them responsible for this change, they are receiving these cutbacks from Washington, and trying to adapt s best they can. I am simply pointing out that they have limits to how far they can extend themselves, and that these limits are going to be shy of those that existed before, with a fully staffed office and more disposable funds.

Adding to this anticipated lack of logistical support is the fact that there are currently rumors going about, that in the coming year SPA grant program will be cut, effectively taking away the only access to government funds that were available for us as volunteers to enact projects in our communities. This will leave us with the option of effectively asking for donations from our friends and family via the Peace Corps Partnership program, or searching for funds elsewhere (a process made difficult by the fact that we never received a single training on grant writing or how to solicit funds from NGOs). Even if these rumors prove to be false, it is a fact that this year the SPA funds ran out around July, meaning that any projects planned for the second half of the year had to be put on hold. This means that in the coming year we are likely to run out of funds again, though likely even more quickly due to the back up of last year’s projects.

So for the second half of my service it looks like I will be making due with less administrative support from Tegucigalpa, as well as less disposable funds for projects that I might hope to undertake. But really this suits me just fine. I live 12 hrs away from the capital and have only seen PC staff in my town one time. I also am a relatively independent person and am not one to ask for much in the way of help or guidance from higher ups anyway. If anything, by discarding my program like so much refuse, PC has given me the go ahead to pick my own project areas and work on what I feel my community needs, without the burden of fitting it into specific project guidelines. I have been using this freedom to concentrate on more youth and business related programs and move away from traditional Municipal Development areas of focus. Also I am fortunate enough to be from a middle class background, and from an extremely liberal and socially conscious suburb of DC. Meaning that my social contacts have disposable income to donate to projects I undertake, and are disposed to doing so.

The problem now, is that PC Washington has not stopped at just cutting our funding, (A decision that was made for them, when congress decided that it was better to slash our already meager worldwide budget, rather than say cut one air force jet.) they have also seen fit to begin enacting more restrictions on us as volunteers.

In the interest of our safety, they have decided that volunteers must now spend their full 27 months in country living in host family dwellings rather than being able to transition to independent housing after the first 6 months in country. This is a decision that I guarantee will lead to a lot more volunteers throwing in the towel early. This is because, while some volunteers find great host families and decide to stay with them for the duration of service, this is only the case about 2% of the time. Overall I believe that in Honduras, currently less than ten % of volunteers stay in host family dwellings the whole time, but I would argue that in a majority of the cases which I have encountered this is because no other suitable housing can be found in the community, not because the volunteers do not wish to live independently. This is not to say that the host families Peace Corps picks are in some way lacking (though in some cases this is true). More often than not the problems with host families are a result of the stress of living under someone else’s roof, essentially as a guest or a boarder for 27 months. This is extremely stressful, for those of you who have not experienced it, to be an adult living with curfews, meal times, a diet dictated by someone else, as well as to be under constant scrutiny by the family. Because let’s face it, everything that we do differently from host country nationals will always be seen as both strange and wrong. I cannot tell you how often someone in my host families would tell me that I was doing something wrong or just pointedly watch me do some daily task. I can say without a hint of a doubt, that had I been forced to live with my host family for the duration of my service I would have quit by now (And I would have been deeply saddened by the decision to do so, since I enjoy my community immensely and love living as an independent member of it).

In addition to the changes in housing rules, the regional authorities have also seen fit to ban all large volunteer gatherings. This mean that we are no longer allowed to come together to celebrate American holidays, like Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. While they feel that this will keep us safer by preventing us from partying and possibly putting ourselves in harm’s way by drinking to excess, I feel they have overlooked the negative ramifications of this decision. They seem to forget that while we dedicated people, willing to put aside our lives for two years so as to help out in underdeveloped parts of the world, we are still people (and in the majority of cases young people). By taking away the only real opportunities we had to enjoy a semblance of American social lives, put aside our work for a few days a year, and just be American young people, they are robbing us of one of our only outlets for stress relief. It is incredibly hard to live in an isolated mountain village, hours from the nearest American, and for many of us, a way of dealing with this is to a few times a year cut loose among good friends and just be young 20 something Americans again.

El Día de Los Niños... Or why old Nissan pickups suck

So last Saturday was “El Día de Los Niños” (National Children’s Day) here in Honduras. To celebrate I went out to one of the most distant and least developed caserios, Los Trapiches, with some of my friends from the casco urbano, who are teachers out there. I have been working out there a few times a month recently, enacting a Project Colgate initiative, teaching the children how to brush their teeth.

(As a side not: They are definitely in need of this program, since none of the kids, ages 4-12, had ever brushed their teeth before I got there. This lack of brushing, coupled with a high soda intake, and no access to dentists, means that many of these kids have baby teeth that are literally rotting out of their mouths. Some have teeth that would rival those of Gollum in the Lord of the Rings movie, no exaggeration. )

Overall the children’s day celebrations were very cute, and the kids seemed to have a blast. They got to eat candy (again with the sugar), do various races, play musical chairs, do some scavenger hunt like activities, compete in soda chugging races (seriously, with the sugar), and of course bust open piñatas (filled with… you guessed it more sugary candy). After a few hours of this the kids were burnt out from all the running around (and finally coming down off of their sugar highs) and we were exhausted from setting up all of the events and trying to keep 45 screaming monsters… I mean adorable children, in order (This is how I know I am not ready to have kids of my own yet). After saying goodbye to the parents and students we climbed into the two pickups we came in to head back to the casco, a trip that should take about 45 mins on a good day.

Two hours later we were still only about a 5 min walk from the school. This happened because in order to get out of the village, you have to drive up a ridiculous incline (think like Everest, with less snow and more dudes in cowboy hats). One of the pick ups (an early 90s Toyota) made it up just fine, the other (an early 90s Nissan) got half way up the slope then started sliding uncontrollably backwards and rammed into the ditch on the side of the road (Guess which one I was in?). So after we got out of the cabin and assessed the damage (thankfully none, since the embankment was made of dirt), we called the other truck back and tied them together with some rope we had. After a few minutes of dragging with the Toyota and pushing from behind, we were able to dislodge the Nissan from the embankment. We then tried again to drive it up the incline, with similar results (and similar dragging and pushing afterwards). I’ll save you the details but we basically were at this for about two hours trying various techniques to get the car up the hill (My least favorite of which involved all of us piling in the back of the pickup truck to add weight for traction. Thankfully we just stalled that time rather than sliding back down the incline.). Success finally came when we borrowed some heavy duty cable from the village and used the Toyota to haul the Nissan up the hill, and even this took two tries, as the cable snapped the first time and rubber banded itself into the front of the Nissan (I was really glad that it snapped that way and not the other, since I was again being used as ballast, this time in the bed of the Toyota). So I guess everything worked out in the end since we eventually got home safe and sound (and I came away with another solid Honduras story). I guess the take away lesson from this experience is that old Toyota pickups seriously kick ass (old Nissans, not so much).

How Honduras Handles Cuban Beer

In Honduras there are 4 types of national cervezas, and understandably people are quite proud of them, which is quite puzzling because....well let's just say they aren't the most original tasting beers in the world. Honestly, they all taste similar to Busch Light, which isn't bad if you're willing to consume a lot of it. Occasionally, you can find Heineken, Corona, or Miller products, but it's more rare. Otherwise, that is the extent of your choices in Honduras as far as beer goes. Because of the country's limited selection it makes the following story pretty understandable.

An Aerocaribbean Avion de Transport Regional ATR-72-200, registration CU-T1547 performing flight 7L-862 from Managua (Nicaragua) to Havana (Cuba) with 57 passengers, was enroute over Honduras near San Pedro Sula (Honduras) when cabin crew discovered a bag containing ice and 12 oz. aluminum cans imprinted with a label saying "Cristal." It apparently contained some unknown gaseous substances. Flight crew unable to rule out that it was a bomb decided to divert to San Pedro Sula for a safe landing.

Bomb sniffing dogs indicated explosives two times. A bomb squad removed the bag, supposedly a bag of ice with beer cans, from the aircraft and using C4 plastic explosives detonated the bag. The destruction of the bag prevented identification whether the bag indeed contained inflammables or explosives.

The passengers were taken to hotels for an overnight stay in San Pedro Sula, the aircraft continued to Havana the following day after it was established that none of the passengers had brought the bag on board.

The bomb in question.

http://avherald.com/h?article=442cff70

Important Questions

- Did the Honduran police and security forces just spend a lot of money to destroy some perfectly good beer?
-Did one of the pilots sneak a nice cool six-pack of beer onto the flight only to get too embarrassed to admit it when questioned?
- Or is there a Cuban mechanic somewhere wondering where he left his beer?
- Did no one recognise the word "cerveza"? Not the passengers, the crew, the police?
- Do Honduran police dogs have difficulty distinguishing beer from C4, or do they just really like beer? Or do they have a preference for Imperial, Salva Vida, Barena, or Port Royal? 
-Are terrorists now targeting flights from the internationally renowned cities of Managua to Havana? Talk about high profile.
- Have terrorists figured out a new way to disguise bombs as a bags of mid-range Cuban beer?

We may never know. 

September 11th, 1919

Honduras Weekly

This coming Sunday will mark the 10th anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks in New York City and Washington, DC. It will also mark the 92nd anniversary of the invasion of Honduras by the United States. In 1919, Honduran President Francisco Bertrand Barahona, who whose was elected to serve from 1916-1920, was reluctant to allow free elections to select his successor. President Bertrand faced opposition from the governor of Tegucigalpa, and General Rafael López Gutierrez, who organized a force and sought support from the governments of Nicaragua and Guatemala. Bertrand countered and sought support from the government of El Salvador.

Determined to avoid a revolution and protect US economic interests (including banana holdings by the Cuyamel Fruit Company, Vacarro Brothers and Company, and United Fruit Company and the mining concessions of New York's Rosario Mining Company), US President Woodrow Wilson ordered a contingent of US Marines to land in Honduras.*

The US Envoy to Honduras, Thomas Sambola Jones of Louisiana, offered to mediate the conflict and threatened to intervene militarily. Bertrand soon resigned and left the country. Jones then arranged for the installation of Francisco Bográn as interim President, who promised free elections. Following a series of negotiations to agree on an election formula, general elections were held during October 26-26, 1919. López Gutierrez of the Liberal Party won with a total of 79,068 (81 percent) votes over Alberto Membreño of the National Democratic Party with 18,582 (19 percent). López Gutierrez took office in October 1920.

Jones, left his post on October 17, 1919. The US Legation in Tegucigalpa reported on January 1, 1920 that Jones was no longer persona grata to the government of Honduras, and he did not return. 

 Honduras Weekly
______________________________________________________
*As part of the so-called Banana Wars all around the Caribbean, Honduras saw the insertion of American troops in 1903, 1907, 1911, 1912, 1919, 1924, 1925 and separately in 1988. You know, only a couple of times. 

*Besides Honduras, Wilson also ordered invasions of Russia, Nicaragua, Panama, Haiti, Cuba, and the Dominican Republic during his term.

Invasion of the Gringos... or WTF? Really? Another gringo in Fraternidad?

As I have mentioned I am the first Peace Corps volunteer to be stationed in my town, and am the only American within two hours of my town. Well this all changed the other day. I was sitting across from the park shooting the breeze with some of my Honduran friends (I have forgotten the conversation but, like all conversations in my town, it was probably about 1980’s Toyota pickup trucks, coffee farming, futbol, or just a bunch of dudes alternately calling each other gay in repetitive and uncreative ways), when it came to my attention that I am not the only gringo living in La Fraternidad. This occurred when a woman walked by with her 4 year old son (pretty normal except that she wasn’t breast feeding him, like a normal Honduran woman would be doing with a child of that age), and I clearly heard her speaking in English. This surprised the hell out of me because I only know of one person in my town besides me who speaks English, a guy who spent three years in the states, mojado (or without papers), and learned English from his gringa girl friend. Well, as my friends informed me, it turns out this was the gringa girl friend, with her son from a previous marriage.

I got my chance to surprise her as well later in the day when she entered the corner store by my house, where I was conversing with some friends. When she walked in I turned and said hello in English, which basically made her jump. She immediately asked where I had learned English (but she asked me in a slow, “talking to non-english speakers” voice). This was kind of hilarious that I was mistaken for Honduran, considering that there are not a lot of 6 foot pale, blue eyed, Hondurans running around.

After having conversed with her, I can’t help but be struck by the absurdity of the situation. I was sent to this town as part of Peace Corps, precisely because it is a backwoods underdeveloped village on the outer fringe on a developing country. I was given three months of intense, in country language, cultural, and technical training, and was selected to go to one of the most remote villages in the country due to my high level of Spanish and my perceived ability to cope with adversity. Once there I have been backed up with all of the medical support and security backing of the US government. And yet here I am running into a middle aged mother of 3 from Hershey Pennsylvania, who speaks not a word of Spanish, and has had no preparation culturally for what she is getting involved in. I guess we shall see how she handles life in La Fraternidad, and this will be a meter of how important the PC training really is.

Shaq and Big Baby... or The day the giant came to town

So I recently had a friend visit me in my tiny mountain village (something that only happens once in a blue moon, since I live far as heck from anywhere else, and because there is not much to do once you do make it to my town), and in order for you to understand the impact this visit had I my town I will lay it out first as analogy. Imagine you live in Boston. One day Big Baby Davis (6’9”, 289 lb) gets signed by the Celtics and moves into your neighborhood. When he shows up, he is the biggest human being that you have ever been in close contact with, he is taller and heavier than you by a ridiculous amount. Now imagine that he stays living in your neighborhood for a few years, attending block parties, playing basketball with the kids and such. No matter how outlandish he seemed at first, you get used to him. You even get used to how big he is and that just becomes your new measurement for a big person. Then one day Shaq (7’1”, 325 lb) signs with the Celtics, and he also decides to move into your neighborhood, and you suddenly have a new definition of what a big person is. Seeing him next to Davis seriously blows your mind. All you can do is stare and point and giggle uncontrollably, unable to fathom how a person that large exists.

Well this is what happened when I (5’11”, 185 lb) brought my big Scottish friend Tom (6’6”, 215 lb) to come visit my tiny mountain town (average size: 5’5”, 150 lb). Add to this the fact that he wears size 15 shoes, and people straight up lost it. They were seriously unable to grasp that people bigger than me existed, as I am literally the tallest guy in town. Even when my brother and cousin visited who both have a few inches of height on me it wasn’t as bad (Probably because they are both string beans and when we are in a group it is not immediately evident that they are a little taller than me). I’m pretty sure that for generations people will be telling their kids stories of the time that giant came to town… now if I could only get the real Shaq to come down here, I could really mess with people’s heads.

The bus, the bus, the bus is on fire... or Holy crap the bus is on fire

I was recently on a bus in which the engine caught on fire…

So I meant to write this entry months ago but got side tracked, any way here it goes. A few months back I had the scariest moment of my PC career. It started out like a normal day. I went for the day to Santa Rosa (the closest city to my site), to have lunch and do some shopping. I met up with some of the new volunteers in the area, and everything went well until the ride home.

We got to about the half way mark in the journey when suddenly screams and shouts started emanating from the back of the bus. After a year in country without a bus assault (which is kind of a miracle in a country where bus assaults are basically the second biggest national past time after futbol) I figured my time had come. Just when I was about to try to hide all of my valuables in my shoes and poop my pants preemptively (our security officer actually presented this as something to do if they start to take you hostage, apparently hijackers tend to have an aversion to stinky hostages) I turned and saw a wall of smoke headed my way from the back of the bus, preceded by a stampede of Hondurans. Oddly enough this was actually a welcome sight, in so much as none of the people rushing my way was holding a gun (you know you’ve been in Honduras too long when…). Despite my monetary relief I realized that it was probably still a good idea to get the hell out of the rapidly filling with smoke bus, and so I stood up grabbed my bag and headed for the door. This was surprising easy, despite the onslaught of people surging past my seat, primarily because as a big American guy I had a serious size advantage on everyone there. I figured I would use this to my advantage and calmly walk to the front of the bus despite the people panicking and trying to shove me forward onto the people in front of me. This strategy was working well, until full on panic set in, in the heard and guys trapped in their seats by the wall of people began kicking out the windows with their cowboy boots and diving out onto the ground (like a good six foot drop). This served to ratchet up the panic a few notches as well as spray glass shards around the bus.

This is the point when I lost my calm and collected demeanor and made a break for the front of the bus. For some reason all I could think at that moment was “Holy Crap this bus is going to explode,” (I think part of this is that I read an article in the paper a few months before about how a mini-bus had gotten in a crash and then exploded and most of the people inside had burned to death). Anyway, I’m honestly not sure how I got there so fast but somehow I ended up being like the 5^th guy out of the bus, despite having started like mid way back. I’m not saying that I trampled anyone on the way out, but at the end there I may have picked up an old lady and front of me and run off the bus with her rather than wait for her to make it down the steps on her own.

Once outside breathing fresh air and away from the panicked shouts inside I realized that my final surge may not have been necessary ( but hey hind sight is 20-20, and it is better to be a little over zealous in your escape than to get burned to death on an old American touring bus from the 1970s while traveling in rural Honduras). As I was regaining my breath I realized that one of the new volunteers still hadn’t emerged from the bus, which was now spewing smoke from numerous broken out windows (the other had followed in my wake and emerged right after me). This is when I heard a panicked English speaking voice and looked up to see her standing in one of the blown out windows. It seems she had started to climb out of it then looked down and thought better of the 6 foot drop and was stuck half way out of the window, pretty much in full on panic mode. I quickly rushed underneath her and reached up to help her down, as I talked soothingly to try to calm her down. It’s at about this point that she started climbing down me like a human ladder (conveniently stepping on my head) and then slipped and fell. I had to catch her and lower her to the ground. It was pretty awesome to get to be the hero saving the woman in distress (though I was far less composed and graceful than in the movies), and it also helped redeem me a bit after all of that old lady trampling on my way out of the bus.

What Are You Waiting For?

"I want to move to a bigger city
I want to live in a smaller town
I want to make up my mind so I can stop moving around
So let's hitch a ride out of here
And find some place where we can breathe
Where I can line up my thoughts in order
Of when they came to me


And you'll say
Yeah, what are you waiting for?
You can leave anytime that you want
Yeah, are you waiting for something more
to pull your face from the floor tonight?"
Yeah, what are you waiting for?

Paper walls in a stale apartment
Spilling thoughts on a crowded street
In one voice I can hear them asking, "what's become of me?"
-Sherwood

Why Jutiapa is Actually Pretty Great

I realize that in my last post I came down pretty hard on Jutiapa, which was not entirely fair. Jutiapa shouldn't be judged for one specific month, no matter how loud things got. So I decided to start writing a list of all of the things that I think make Jutiapa pretty incredible, and not too bad of a place to spend 24 months of my life.  Jutiapa has a lot of natural beauty. This is definitely the most gorgeous place I've ever lived in. Sorry Milwaukee.

Nombre de Dios- Is the mountain range that serves as the Jutiapa's backdrop. When coming home from La Ceiba I always try to sit on the right hand side of the bus, since it offers the best views. The range looks even better when seen from the back of a pickup truck, but that could be said about the entire country. I've been lucky enough to do a couple of day hikes into the mountains, and it only gets better the further in you get. When the sun becomes orange around dusk the mountains become especially neat as the green peaks contrast really well with the darkening sky.

Day hike to survey water source

Foothills near the border of Atlántida and Colon

Nombre de Dios mountains from the beach in Grandita

Looking West from the lookout point above Jutiapa

El Cacao Lagoon-Is another really interesting natural feature that is only a few miles from my house.  I'm working there with a few local tourism guides who are trying to diversify the town's economy. The lagoon is a smaller version of  Cuero and Salado. It is an area of unique confluence, where salt water from the Caribean and fresh water from local streams meet. During the rainy season the lagoon connects to the ocean giving many sea fish the sanctuary to spawn young. The lagoon is also home to a number of spider monkey families. The lagoon's namesake used to have a thriving cacao/coco industry, before it was devastated and effectively wiped out by a plant virus ten years ago.

Heading into the lagoon via canoe (Adam D.)

Boardwalk that leads into the lagoon (Adam D.)

Delmer, one of the guides at El Cacao.

Hot Springs-The hot springs throughout this part of the north coast are pretty extensive. In Sambo Creek there is a jungle zip line and hot spring waterfall operation run by some American expats, where for $45 you can do an hour long zipline through the jungle with views of the Caribean, followed by working your way down and enjoying a 9 level hot spring waterfall, which is also pretty great. Did I mention the whole thing comes with a fruit platter and an aloe massage? My host family's finca also contains a small thermal fed stream, which they've managed to utilize for a natural steam sauna and hot pools. Not a bad way to start your day.

Steam sauna and pool in the background in Jutiapa

Start of the hot spring waterfall in Sambo Creek.

Culture- The north coast is already distinctive from the rest of Honduras because it contains the majority of the country's Garfinua population. The Garifuna are descendants of Carib, Arawak and West African people. Today the Garifuna live primarily in Central America mainly along the Caribbean Coast in Belize, Guatemala, Nicaragua and Honduras including the island of Roatán.

Their history, culture and language are pretty unique and amazingly well preserved. I've had the ability to work and interact with Garifuna in the towns of Sambo Creek, Nueva Armenia, Río Esteban, East End and Chachuate out on Cayos Cochinos. Not to generalize, but they are among the most welcoming people I've ever encountered, and the food is delicious. The guifiti isn't too bad either. Guifiti is basically Garifuna moonshine, since every family has a slightly different recipe for their batch. It's claimed to be medicinal, and very well could be, but it also mixes really well with Ginger Ale. The taste is like a smoother and more flavorful shot of jager. It warms the chest on the way down and the spices really come out after it's finished. Food really revolves around Cassava bread, but pan de coco is also really great as well. The Garifuna really deserve their own post, and a ton more recognition for what they bring to the table for Honduras. If it weren't for them, Honduras wouldn't have punta dance.

A Garifuna woman from Río Esteban (Justin H.)

Dancing and drums are huge part of Garifuna culture (Justin H.)

History-The history of Jutiapa is another component that makes this area stand out. The history, role and presence of Standard Fruit (Dole) along the north coast of Honduras and in Jutiapa is standard teaching for any Latin American history class. Many of the company's old railway lines still exist, a number in Jutiapa. It's not hard to find their locations around town, since many maps still show them, but most were torn out years ago when Dole consolidated operations.

Of course when discussing Honduran history you can't leave out the Catholic Church, since they're pretty pivotal to just about everything that has and is happening here. Their role in the recent coup is still fiercely debated.  While Jutiapa is not as steeped in history as Trujillo, Olanchito, or even La Ceiba for that matter, it still holds it's own.

The town's Catholic Church

An old railway bridge converted into pedestrian use (Adam D.)

Location-Jutiapa is the access point to a number of fishing communities with connections to Cayos Cochinos. Jutiapa's location, while isolated from other volunteers, is actually pretty convienent, because of it's proximity to La Ceiba, and because of it's connection the the main coastal highway. I can get anything that I would ever need in Ceiba, which is a 40 minute bus ride on a good day, and the beach is only 10-15 minutes away from town.


Cayos Cochinos

Doesn't really need a caption

Only an hour away.

So while feria got pretty rough. I'm definitely happy with where I am at. At the end of the day Jutiapa is not too bad place of a place to live and become part of for a few years. Todo cheque.

Groundhog Day/Feria

Groundhog Day (1993) was on TV last week, in Spanish of course, so I decided to sit back and watch it. In case you haven' t seen, the movie follows Phil Connors, an egocentric Pittsburgh TV weatherman who, during a hated assignment covering the annual Groundhog Day event in Punxsutawney, finds himself repeating the same day over and over again.

I've always loved this movie. It was filmed in Woodstock, IL, which is only a few miles from where I grew up, and because it plays on the really interesting idea that you would be able to relive the same day over and over again, which for the character Phil turns out to be more of a curse than a blessing.

Anyway, the month of August was basically my Groundhog Day. Everyday was an inescapable, torturous repetition of the day before. I found myself losing track of time, assuring myself that weeks had passed, when in reality it had only been a day. What made me descend into this repetitious life? One word, feria. 

Not quite a groudhog, but this Agouti found in Copan would be a decent substitute

Feria is the term generally used for the annual town celebration in Honduras, which would be the equivalent of a town fair in the US. Here in Honduras ferias are held in honor of community's patron saints. In the case of Jutiapa, that patron saint is la Virgen del Tránsito. Supposedly, feria is only a week-long affair, but it often lasts longer or is combined into other festivals. Such is the case in Jutiapa where the annual feria was combined with the town's Carnival. Including set up, the two combined to last 22 days. (Yep I counted.)

Typically, Honduran ferias could best be described as a continuous party where the town comes together to eat, dance, crown a King and Queen (much like a homecoming in the US), sell and buy stuff, and revel in the good company of one another. All of this sounds great on paper, and people in Honduras need a break, no doubt about it. I have no doubt that before the onslaught of large sound systems  that ferias in Honduras were probably great experiences. They were probably a smaller, more confined, featuring a live band rather than an DJ with a 15 track cd, the mind of a hamster and ears of an WWII veteran. Feria and I didn't get along so well this year.

My Groundhog Day

*I live in the center of town across the street from all of the activity, which obviously has lead to a pretty extreme bias regarding these events.

I didn't sleep for nearly a month. The glass in my apartment would rattle from 8 AM-4 AM (yeah...not exaggerating). Music was played at all of the time to the loudest possible volumes. I'm pretty sure I learned the words to over a dozen Spanish rap songs, although don't ask me to repeat them. Worse, the music never changed and was constantly replayed. It was always the incessant droning of reggaeton or the terrible monatany of ranchero, or both at the same time. (I dare you to play those two songs over and over non-stop for one day and not go crazy.)  I swear sometimes there were competitions to see who could play their music the loudest.

Trash. Everywhere. Since Jutiapa has no regular trash service the situation became pretty desperate, pretty quickly. While walking around the center I was cushioned by the crushing of cardboard beer cups beneath my feet, and when it rained all of this trash would soften to become part of the mud, creating a festering pit of joy. Really fun stuff.

Ferias are known to bring out the bolos/drunks of the municipio. During the past year the bolos have come to learn that I won't give change for booze (a monumental step, ask any volunteer), but the out of town bolos have no such knowledge, and would routinely hit me up for cash. I couldn't even eat outside or walk to work without a bolo, whom I didn't know and who didn't live in my town, coming up to me slurring, "gringo, gringo dame cinco lempiras." Frustrating as shit, especially after working so hard to get past it.

All work ground to a halt. Instead of being able to finish work on the soccer field and park we were forced into hiatus, as the park and area around the soccer field became inundated with people. Most of our work as of late has just been cleaning up the soccer field from all of the trash collected during feria and repairing areas of the parquecito damaged by all of the people here. Basically catch-up. I wasn't the only one though, employees of the municipality were more or less on vacation this past month, since roughly 1/3 of them were on the feria planning committee.

I guess my biggest complaint about feria, however, was that there was just nothing unique about it. It was always the same loud music blasting, the same street vendors only selling the same cheap plastic knockoffs and junk that you can buy at any street corner or market in Ceiba. Even the food was the same french fries and tacos that you find at every restaurant and comedor country wide. I really did expect there to be differences in the food and traditions amongst the various ferias I've been to, especially in a country as differentiated as this. Not one vendor or person took advantage of our closeness to the Caribbean to grill up some seafood on the cheap, or use connections to the Garifuna communities surrounding Jutiapa to bring just an inkling of culture and uniqueness to this event.

I understand that there are parts about my time here that I won't enjoy. Things like littering, machismo  and fijese ques will eventually get to you and wear you down, without a doubt, but now, for me at least, I have to add feria to this list. Maybe if I didn't live in the center of town, I would feel differently about this experience, but that's not the reality. I understand now why New Yorkers flee Times Square for NYE, why those living in DC flee for the 4th of July, and those in New Orleans flee for Mardi Gras. They just don't want to put up with crap they know is coming. There's no fun to the thing. I can't flee though, at least not for 3 1/2 weeks, or even a couple of nights to a finca outside of town. It's just not feasible, and I'm just too broke. Instead I am forced to stay and interpret ranchero songs.

Regardless, it is all over now. Although a few vendors still linger, things have at least quieted down...substantially. For now, it is February 3rd, and time to get back on with life.