The Best and Worst Jalons. Or... Pig Urine Smells Terrible

Best

So in this last week I have received my best and worst jalons of my year in country. For those of you who have not been keeping up with the spanglish I use in this blog, a jalon is a hitch-hiked ride. The best one came Friday afternoon when I was on my way to the closest city to me, Santa Rosa, to hang out w some friends and do some shopping. My friend with whom I was supposed to get a ride to the international high way (a two lane road in terrible repair, but still better than every other road in the this country) with at 4 pm (in time to catch the bus that passes at 5:30) didn’t end up getting his act together until 5:20 (not in time to catch said bus). So as it turned out I was left standing on the side of the international highway at 5:50, with little hope of making it to Santa Rosa in a timely manor (the next bus passes at 11:00 pm). So it was as I stood there at the top of a mountain amid freezing winds and heavy fog contemplating my next move that I saw a solitary four door car approaching (as a side note, when one is trying to catch a jalon it is usually best to try to flag pickups, since people rarely offer you rides inside their cars). I figured it was worth a shot and half heartedly flagged it down. By some awesome chance the driver stopped and picked me up, and by another it turned out he was headed most of the way to my destination. Then after chatting it up a bit, I realized that he was actually headed all the way to the north coast and was just looking for a place to spend the night and continue his trip in the morning, and I was able to convince him to continue on to Santa Rosa. To top it off, after driving me all the way to my destination, he refused to accept any money for the ride. Overall a great experience.

Worst

So after that awesome last jalon, a few days later I encountered the very worst jalon of my peace corps life (or really my life in general since I never hitch-hike in the US, really I don’t think any one does any more, since we all assume we will get murdered and robbed, which is interesting that I never have that worry in a country with a murder rate around 50 times that of the US). I was returning to my site after a brief visit to Cucuyagua a town about an hour from my desvio (where my road meets the international high way) and had missed my towns only bus of the day. Thus I was left sitting at the desvio waiting for a jalon back to town (15 kms of mountainous road away). After about 20 mins a flat bed truck passed by loaded with house hold furniture (I think they were moving to Fraternidad) and stopped so I could hop up in the back. With me back there were three men and a pig, which was tied up and at first hidden under a big tarp. I quickly noticed the pig however when it started to get restless and squirm and squeal. This was initially not too bad since one of the guys was holding it down and was able to quiet it after a bit. The real trouble started when it began to rain heavily and they stopped to pull the giant tarp aver all of the contents of the truck, including us. This meant that we were trapped in an enclosed space with stale air and an agitated pig. It was at this moment that the pig decided to make his escape from his bonds and began writhing, screaming (for those who haven’t heard one scream, it is horrible since it sounds much like a person suffering some unimaginable harm), and voiding its bowels and bladder (for those who haven’t smelled pig urine, it is horrible and literally burns your nostrils, especially when you are trapped under a small tarp with it). As if this wasn’t enough, the tarp was full of holes and since we were headed up hill at this point all of the water that entered the truck bed began to pool up at the back where we were sitting, so we were left sitting in a good 3 inches of stagnant pig pee-water. It was at this point that I thought to myself, “wow how could this terrible situation get any worse”, and as if on cue, the tarp began to fill with exhaust fumes from the trucks engine. It seems that when they put up the tarp, they managed to cover the exhaust pipe and thus funnel all of the fumes and carbon monoxide into the tarp. After what seemed like an eternity of fumbling and tugging on the tarp we were able to free ourselves from our watery-pissy-fumy tomb. After said ordeal I decided to just sit up on the back ledge of the truck and take my chances with the rain and the possibility of being bounced off the my perch by a bump in the road, rather than re-enter the previously mentioned hell that existed under the tarp (pretty much the best decision of my life). After a while more bouncing along in the pouring rain I finally reached my destination (I have never been so happy to see Fraternidad). Sadly to top off this terrible ordeal, I returned to find that we didn’t have water and thus I was unable to wash myself till later that night (I truly feel sorry for my coworkers who were forced to sit near my pig pee and diesel fume smelling self).

Greeting Cards

So, I have a friend who currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia, but who used to fly all of the time a few years back for delta. It was during these flights he would turn himself into whatever he wanted to be. My personal favorite was when he pretended to hold a job as a greeting card writer for Hallmark, and while doing so spouted off  spontaneous one liners fit only for those mass produced cards.

Over time, during long flights or while waiting on the tarmac in MKE for the ice pellets to pass, I´ve been tempted to create my own character to pass the time, or just see if I could get away with pretending to be someone i'm not. Why not? The life of a broke 20 something, college kid can only be so interesting, right? However, the next time I fly somewhere I don´t think I´ll feel like I have to create a story to impress the person trapped next to me or just entertain myself. After exactly one year of living in Honduras I love where my life is at. I mean.... I don´t think you can make up some of the stuff that I´ve seen and done over the past year. From taking a "refreshing" midnight swim in the Atlantic during Semana Santa in Trujillo, to riding in the back of pickups with strangers, to having the ability to visit Cayos Cochinos multiple times, life has been incredible. To go from walking into Honduras not even being able to correctly say, "My name is....", to working in another language has been a fantastic experience.

I probably repeated the stories of my time in honduras over a dozen times during the past week, but it's been great to share what I've seen and done with my friends back in the US. I'll try to post some more over the next few weeks as the time presents itself, but i just wanted to say how excited I am to return to honduras and continue the work that I've started over the past year.

In the future, I especially want to talk about the differences I noticed while being back in the United States, but for now it's time for one last hot shower and get a few hours of sleep before taking off for Guatemala to go backpacking. I honestly can't wait to get back to honduras, back to Jutiapa, and back to the life that honestly, at this point, feels the most like home.

"I am going to make it through this year if it kills me..."

I'm coming home from my hardest year
I'm making plans not to make plans while I'm here
And this life has been no holiday, a complicated situation
And it's hard to ignore that it feels like summer all the time 
I'm coming home to the lights and buzz
Streets look the same, still nothing's as it was
I've gotten lost here once before
Inside a good vibration-Andrew McMahon

That was Wisconsin that was yesterday
Now I have nothing that I can keep
Cause every place I go I take another place with me
Love is loves critique-Bon Iver

And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born
Then it's time to go
And define your destination-Death Cab

I guess that’s why I’m here and I can’t come back home
And guess when I heard that when I was back home-Kanye West

Because America shines yes it does 
In between the white lines where I found love 
All alone on a road going nowhere
Going nowhere
At full speed
I have traveled far
And I've seen things that I'd rather not say
But when you're traveling it's better that way
The darker the secret the harder you keep it
But it's no victory
And should the canyons burn 
I'm catching a ride off the coast-Andrew McMahon

The enemy of my enemy, or… Holy crap there’s a snake in my kitchen

So last week I was washing dishes in my kitchen, (and by kitchen I mean side room of my house with dirt floor and a cement water tank) when I heard a rustling on the other side of the room. As you know I have had my share of mouse problems, so I instinctively turned with the intention of trying to stomp on a mouse. When I turned I was confronted with the biggest scaliest mouse ever (well either that or a 3 foot long brown snake). Needless to say I was pretty freaked out and instead of acting fast, I ened up just staring and standing dead still. By the time I thought to grab a two by four and take a swing at it (yeah that’s right, I keep a large board on hand for just such occasions) it had already made its escape down a mouse hole. In retrospect I guess it is for the best that I didn’t kill it, seeing as it isn’t poisonous (according to my biologist friend, though one of my neighbors assures me that is), and it is clearly in there hunting mice (my sworn blood enemies). After giving it some thought I have decided that it is better to keep him around as an ally in my war on the rodents (though I hope this doesn’t back fire, with today’s muja-hasnake becoming tomorrows snake-quida).