dance: (v) to move one's feet or body, or both, rhythmically in a pattern of steps, esp. to the accompaniment of music.
One month from today will be our school's annual Christmas program. The details of this I am still not sure of. Up until last week the only thing I knew about this program was that it is on Friday December 17th. Then, at our staff meeting last Thursday, I was told that each grade was to learn a choreographed dance to a predetermined song. GREAT! We spent the majority of our staff meeting scanning through the DVD recording of all the dances sent to us from our school headquarters in Tegucigalpa. I saw a 20 second clip of my dance which was just long enough to stress me out over the thought of my 5th graders being disciplined enough to pull this off. I will be needing a miracle for sure. And when are we going to practice?
Monday morning I overheard talk between some of the teachers, in Spanish, about the Christmas program dances. I only caught the tail end and the few words of Spanish that I knew. I quickly asked Andrea, who speaks fluent Spanish, what was going on with the dances. The look on her face matched my emotions exactly after she told me that we are to take 2 class periods every day, from now until Christmas, to practice for the dance. I'm sorry? I just had parent teacher conferences this weekend where loads of parents insisted that I spend more time on subjects such as History and Science, because their students are struggling in those classes. So I asked the principal, just to be sure. He said Science, History and Reading aren't the important classes, Math and Language are what really matter. Right. So after I told parents that I would spend more time on those classes, you are telling me to cut them so we can dance? Sometimes... the way things are done here in Honduras...
ANYWAY. I spent the next few mornings frantically rearranging my schedule for the rest of the semester, in order to have enough time to dance and still give these kids an education. That meant EVERY class would take a hit, the important ones and the "not as important" ones.
Bryony and Holly used their Penmanship time on Tuesday to start teaching the dance to the 5th graders. I was amazed, when I used Art class later that day to work on the dance with them, to see that they had actually learned something. Miraculously by the end of the day Wednesday half the dance was finished. Sure my voice is sounding a bit froggy and I never want to count to 8 again, but the 5th graders, MY 5TH GRADERS are learning a dance! I never thought I'd see the day. Let's just hope the second half of the dance goes just as well. :)
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
run
run: (v) to go quickly by moving the legs more rapidly than at a walk and in such a manner that for an instant in each step all or both feet are off the ground.
Yesterday I had a very rude awakening. I am severely out of shape. I went for a run, for the first time since July. YIKES. I thought my lungs were going to collapse. A natural feeling after going 3 and a half months without running, or really any regular exercise.
Before moving here this was not something I had expected. When I lived here in the summer of 2009 I was in great shape. My job all summer was to hike. Yes, I had to conduct surveys and take pictures and explain our research, but the hiking was background music. We took a truck to whatever village we were working in that day and hiked from there. Houses in these villages are spread out all across the mountains, and up and down the mountains we went. From 7am until 7pm every day, my job gave me great exercise.
This year I am a different employee. I teach all day. Spanish is my background music and the most strenuous part of my day is the 20 walk to and from school.
I recently had another rude awakening. A few weeks ago Andrew came down on a business trip from the States. He was able to bring a bag of goodies from home that my Mom had packed for me ahead of time. Among the goods was my bathroom scale. Stepping onto that for the first time in months was terrifying and the results were nothing short of alarming. Since living here I have put on a significant amount of weight. I knew by the way my clothes fit and just by looking in the mirror that weight had been put on, but the number made it real. Lack of exercise and the Honduran diet, where all food is prepared with loads of salt, oil and sugar, is definitely to blame.
A few weeks ago I began preparing my own meals and buying my own food, as opposed to eating the food prepared for the family. The reason for this decision has less to do with the amount of weight I've been gaining, and more to do with the health hazards the food has inflicted upon me. But, I have no doubts that the diet I choose for myself will benefit me in more ways than one.
The other key ingredient in the weight gain has been the lack of exercise. Solving this problem is a bit more complicated than the food issue. It is not socially acceptable to go running here, nor is it acceptable to wear shorts. As a female, any time I step outside of my house I run a high risk of being verbally harassed in Spanish by any male age 8-80, I kid you not. And to top it all off, I am a Gringa. Running through town is not an option for all of these reasons. Running on a path out to a small village would eliminate the exposure to verbal harassment and town gossip, but would increase my vulnerability to physical harassment or kidnapping if someone decided to do something stupid. Stuck.
Recently, a discovery had been made at our school. Up the mountain that sits behind our school is path of stairs that leads to 2 platforms. At the beginning of this school year a decision was made to expand the path upward and beyond the front face of the mountain. The path is now complete and not only climbs to the top of the mountain, but there is also a path that wraps around the back of the mountain rising and falling with the landscape. The discovery is that it is a wonderful place to run. The terrain is killer. Up and down very steep inclines with a few less steep inclines, stairs, windy curves, and flat runs thrown in the mix. The elevation takes you far beyond the highest hill in La Union and offers great vistas all around. The mountain is littered with woods and other vegetation, which offers pleasant shade and shelter from onlookers below. The best part of it all is that the path is part of school property, school property which is fenced in and under 24 hour security. So I can come up to the school whenever I choose, wear shorts and run all up and down the mountain without a problem. Well, without any social problems. I have plenty of physical problems running that path, it's an ass kicker.
Yesterday I had a very rude awakening. I am severely out of shape. I went for a run, for the first time since July. YIKES. I thought my lungs were going to collapse. A natural feeling after going 3 and a half months without running, or really any regular exercise.
Before moving here this was not something I had expected. When I lived here in the summer of 2009 I was in great shape. My job all summer was to hike. Yes, I had to conduct surveys and take pictures and explain our research, but the hiking was background music. We took a truck to whatever village we were working in that day and hiked from there. Houses in these villages are spread out all across the mountains, and up and down the mountains we went. From 7am until 7pm every day, my job gave me great exercise.
This year I am a different employee. I teach all day. Spanish is my background music and the most strenuous part of my day is the 20 walk to and from school.
I recently had another rude awakening. A few weeks ago Andrew came down on a business trip from the States. He was able to bring a bag of goodies from home that my Mom had packed for me ahead of time. Among the goods was my bathroom scale. Stepping onto that for the first time in months was terrifying and the results were nothing short of alarming. Since living here I have put on a significant amount of weight. I knew by the way my clothes fit and just by looking in the mirror that weight had been put on, but the number made it real. Lack of exercise and the Honduran diet, where all food is prepared with loads of salt, oil and sugar, is definitely to blame.
A few weeks ago I began preparing my own meals and buying my own food, as opposed to eating the food prepared for the family. The reason for this decision has less to do with the amount of weight I've been gaining, and more to do with the health hazards the food has inflicted upon me. But, I have no doubts that the diet I choose for myself will benefit me in more ways than one.
The other key ingredient in the weight gain has been the lack of exercise. Solving this problem is a bit more complicated than the food issue. It is not socially acceptable to go running here, nor is it acceptable to wear shorts. As a female, any time I step outside of my house I run a high risk of being verbally harassed in Spanish by any male age 8-80, I kid you not. And to top it all off, I am a Gringa. Running through town is not an option for all of these reasons. Running on a path out to a small village would eliminate the exposure to verbal harassment and town gossip, but would increase my vulnerability to physical harassment or kidnapping if someone decided to do something stupid. Stuck.
Recently, a discovery had been made at our school. Up the mountain that sits behind our school is path of stairs that leads to 2 platforms. At the beginning of this school year a decision was made to expand the path upward and beyond the front face of the mountain. The path is now complete and not only climbs to the top of the mountain, but there is also a path that wraps around the back of the mountain rising and falling with the landscape. The discovery is that it is a wonderful place to run. The terrain is killer. Up and down very steep inclines with a few less steep inclines, stairs, windy curves, and flat runs thrown in the mix. The elevation takes you far beyond the highest hill in La Union and offers great vistas all around. The mountain is littered with woods and other vegetation, which offers pleasant shade and shelter from onlookers below. The best part of it all is that the path is part of school property, school property which is fenced in and under 24 hour security. So I can come up to the school whenever I choose, wear shorts and run all up and down the mountain without a problem. Well, without any social problems. I have plenty of physical problems running that path, it's an ass kicker.
Monday, October 11, 2010
pres-i-dent
president: (n) the highest executive officer of a modern republic
October 8, 2010
Rumors circulated through our tiny school yesterday that the President of Honduras, Porfirio "Pepe" Lobo Sosa, was coming to La Union on Friday. By the time lunch rolled around, not only was the President of Honduras coming, but some of our students were going to see him. At our afterschool teacher's meeting and devotional, not only were some students going to see the President who was coming on Friday, but they were going to sing the country's national anthem for him as well. These words came directly from Mr. Perdomo, making it as official as it can be here in La Union. I walked home from the meeting and completely forgot about it all.
Today was freezing cold. Winter began a few weeks back here in the mountains, though it is not like winter at home in Michigan. I would say that winter in La Union, Honduras is much like March and April in Michigan, or at least so far. Cold, cloudy, and that misty rain that just chills you to the core. Heaters, like street names, are non-existent here which means there is no escaping the cold. Knowing that there was a hot shower waiting for me was my only motivation throwing off my cold covers and walking into the even colder bathroom at 5:00 in the morning. Brr! I bundled up as much as I could with the few cold weather clothes I brought here from home before walking to school.
During our morning staff gathering, the President story had changed again. This time we were ALL going to see the President. Right. Wasn't told when, wasn't told where, wasn't told how, though I assumed we would be walking. Perhaps I was told, in Mr. Perdomo's rapid fire Spanish which I have an impossible time keeping up with. Either way, I had no idea what was going on. Later I was told we were leaving after lunch. Perfect. Shortly after 11 a.m., the President's helicopter landed on the town's soccer field, the only flat place in any town around here. We were no longer leaving after lunch, we were leaving now. I lined up my 5th graders at the door and waited for further instruction… which never came. Everyone just started leaving, so we followed the crowd. It turned out to be a very familiar walk, we walked almost the entire way back to my house on the opposite side of town.
A platform was set up in the street outside the internet café down the hill from the Catholic Church. It was decorated in blue and white, the national colors, and surrounded with people. Thousands of people from La Union, and thousands more from all the villages in the municipality, were gathered in the street. A semicircle of a few hundred plastic chairs was set up for the audience, which of course was completely swallowed up. People stood on roof tops, on pick-up trucks, and all along the street. Somehow we were able to get our students up to the corner of the stage, where we stood, and waited, and waited. I realized I did not have my camera, and that now would probably have been a really good time to have it. Nelsy, now a 9th grader, and I broke away from the crowd and ran up the street to my house. On the way back down the hill I finally realized, and was able to see, just how many people were here. I noticed all the security personnel for the first time as well. Snipers, police, military, and of course the media. The Honduran media was the easiest to spot with their huge DSL cameras and video cameras, designer sunglasses and polo shirts. I laughed to myself and continued down the hill, pushing my way through the crowd to find my fifth graders again. When I finally reached them I was greeted with, "Miss Klos, we're hungry!" "Miss Klos, can I go home?" "Miss Klos, they've played this song at least a hundred times." Yes, the President had scheduled his arrival just in time for our kids to miss their lunch. Town is small, and most kids could see their houses from where we stood, but we could not let them leave. I tried my best to keep them hydrated and entertained. In an attempt to drown out the song on repeat blaring through the town, I started singing "Wade in the Water" a song I had taught them earlier this year, my voice unfortunately could not out-sing the loud speakers.
After an hour and a half of standing in the street a cheer erupted from down the hill. The President was finally coming. His caravan drove up the road as far as it could before the sea of people no longer allowed its motion. President "Pepe" stepped out of the car and started waving and shaking hands with everyone. I stuck my camera in the air and started snapping as many pictures as I could. As he made his way up the hill he walked right through our group, and by group I mean our entire student population. He stopped by Miss Melindez, who was further down the hill with some of the kids. He put his hands on her shoulders and seemed to talk to her forever, are you two friends? I was somewhere between confused and amazed. The smile on her face could not be contained and erupted into laughter when he turned from her and continued on his way up the hill. He was walking straight toward us. Some pushy media guru started yelling at my kids to make an aisle for him to walk through. As their teacher I was amazed on how quickly they responded and had created a perfect walkway for the President. I put as many of my kids to the edge of the aisle as I could and stood behind them still snapping pictures. He was SO CLOSE. Closer, closer, and then he was right in front of me with his back turned, waving at the crowd and shaking hands with my students on the other side of the aisle. He turned around, just as I held my camera out over the heads of the kids in front of me to get a closer shot, and held out his hand to me. I felt like a fool scrambling to get the camera out of my hand so I could shake his. Everyone around me was cheering and yelling, squealing came from the seventh graders standing behind me. It was so loud that when President "Pepe" spoke to me I could not hear him, so I responded deafly with, "I'm their teacher at the bi-lingual school," nodding to the boys in front of me. He laughed and grabbed my arm saying, "Do you want a picture?" Before I could even respond he was pulling me through the three rows of fifth grade boys in front of me. I stumbled out into the aisle and he put his arm around me. When I looked up there was a HUGE media camera in my face and without thinking I shoved my point and shoot Cannon in his hand and said, "Here, take one with mine." The President chuckled, smiled for MY camera, and the media camera, shook my hand again and pushed forward.
I could feel my jaw hanging from my own face when I turned around, the kids were wearing the same expression. "MISS KLOS! You got a picture with the president! Let me see, let me see!" I couldn't help laughing as I knelt down to show my students the picture. Mr. Valdez and Mr. Perdomo came up behind me, having no idea what had just happened, and asked me if I got a picture of the president walking by. I laughed and showed them my camera. Their reaction was about the same as mine.
The President made his way to the stage followed by a generous group of Honduran leaders. They assembled around a table set up on the stage and were welcomed by a speech from both the Catholic priest and Pastor Wilson, the pastor from the Vida Abundante church in La Union. Afterward, Miss Ponce led the selected singers from our school to the front of the crowd, stood in front of the stage, and sang the national anthem of Honduras for the President and the entire La Union community. It was beautiful. I felt a deep sense of pride, these students, these teachers, these people, are a part of my life, and I am a part of theirs. The most important man in this country was standing 25 feet from me and shaking hands with the people in this town who have become my friends. The tug on my shirt broke my trans. It didn't matter that the President of Honduras was here in their town, my kids were hungry. I gathered up as many of my students as I could find in the crowd and began the walk back to school. All I heard the entire way was, "Miss Klos, we're SO hungry, I don't think I can make it!" "Miss Klos, I'm starving!" "Miss Klos…" And suddenly, after dragging feet and whining, they were running down a road that was not the road back to school. The helicopters. On the soccer field stood the Presidential helicopter, and another helicopter. Both were guarded by men with machine guns, but they were no match for our kids. They surrounded the helicopters, ooo-ing and ahh-ing, some students were even allowed to climb aboard. This was way cooler than the President, and way more important than lunch, at least for now. The excitement wore off after about 10 minutes then it was back to nagging and complaining.
After scarfing down my lunch I stood at the railing staring out over La Union. What a day. Who knew? I just met the President of Honduras. He was still there, speaking to the thousands who came to see him. The bell rang at 2:00 for the last class of the day, seventh grade science for me. I grabbed my books and walked into the classroom. "Good afternoon Miss Klos!"
The links below are the reports I found about the President's visit to La Union. They are from the Honduran press, and in Spanish, but are easily translated with Google.
http://www.hondudiario.com/l/content/presidente-lobo-realiz%C3%B3-vig%C3%A9sima-entrega-del-bono-10-mil-en-lempira
http://www.laprensa.hn/Pa%C3%ADs/Ediciones/2010/10/11/Noticias/Pepe-Lobo-llega-a-Lempira-con-el-Bono-Diez-Mil
http://www.presidencia.gob.hn/presidente/presidente-lobo-sosa-realiza-vigesima-novena-entrega-del-bono-10-mil-en-lempira
October 8, 2010
Rumors circulated through our tiny school yesterday that the President of Honduras, Porfirio "Pepe" Lobo Sosa, was coming to La Union on Friday. By the time lunch rolled around, not only was the President of Honduras coming, but some of our students were going to see him. At our afterschool teacher's meeting and devotional, not only were some students going to see the President who was coming on Friday, but they were going to sing the country's national anthem for him as well. These words came directly from Mr. Perdomo, making it as official as it can be here in La Union. I walked home from the meeting and completely forgot about it all.
Today was freezing cold. Winter began a few weeks back here in the mountains, though it is not like winter at home in Michigan. I would say that winter in La Union, Honduras is much like March and April in Michigan, or at least so far. Cold, cloudy, and that misty rain that just chills you to the core. Heaters, like street names, are non-existent here which means there is no escaping the cold. Knowing that there was a hot shower waiting for me was my only motivation throwing off my cold covers and walking into the even colder bathroom at 5:00 in the morning. Brr! I bundled up as much as I could with the few cold weather clothes I brought here from home before walking to school.
During our morning staff gathering, the President story had changed again. This time we were ALL going to see the President. Right. Wasn't told when, wasn't told where, wasn't told how, though I assumed we would be walking. Perhaps I was told, in Mr. Perdomo's rapid fire Spanish which I have an impossible time keeping up with. Either way, I had no idea what was going on. Later I was told we were leaving after lunch. Perfect. Shortly after 11 a.m., the President's helicopter landed on the town's soccer field, the only flat place in any town around here. We were no longer leaving after lunch, we were leaving now. I lined up my 5th graders at the door and waited for further instruction… which never came. Everyone just started leaving, so we followed the crowd. It turned out to be a very familiar walk, we walked almost the entire way back to my house on the opposite side of town.
A platform was set up in the street outside the internet café down the hill from the Catholic Church. It was decorated in blue and white, the national colors, and surrounded with people. Thousands of people from La Union, and thousands more from all the villages in the municipality, were gathered in the street. A semicircle of a few hundred plastic chairs was set up for the audience, which of course was completely swallowed up. People stood on roof tops, on pick-up trucks, and all along the street. Somehow we were able to get our students up to the corner of the stage, where we stood, and waited, and waited. I realized I did not have my camera, and that now would probably have been a really good time to have it. Nelsy, now a 9th grader, and I broke away from the crowd and ran up the street to my house. On the way back down the hill I finally realized, and was able to see, just how many people were here. I noticed all the security personnel for the first time as well. Snipers, police, military, and of course the media. The Honduran media was the easiest to spot with their huge DSL cameras and video cameras, designer sunglasses and polo shirts. I laughed to myself and continued down the hill, pushing my way through the crowd to find my fifth graders again. When I finally reached them I was greeted with, "Miss Klos, we're hungry!" "Miss Klos, can I go home?" "Miss Klos, they've played this song at least a hundred times." Yes, the President had scheduled his arrival just in time for our kids to miss their lunch. Town is small, and most kids could see their houses from where we stood, but we could not let them leave. I tried my best to keep them hydrated and entertained. In an attempt to drown out the song on repeat blaring through the town, I started singing "Wade in the Water" a song I had taught them earlier this year, my voice unfortunately could not out-sing the loud speakers.
After an hour and a half of standing in the street a cheer erupted from down the hill. The President was finally coming. His caravan drove up the road as far as it could before the sea of people no longer allowed its motion. President "Pepe" stepped out of the car and started waving and shaking hands with everyone. I stuck my camera in the air and started snapping as many pictures as I could. As he made his way up the hill he walked right through our group, and by group I mean our entire student population. He stopped by Miss Melindez, who was further down the hill with some of the kids. He put his hands on her shoulders and seemed to talk to her forever, are you two friends? I was somewhere between confused and amazed. The smile on her face could not be contained and erupted into laughter when he turned from her and continued on his way up the hill. He was walking straight toward us. Some pushy media guru started yelling at my kids to make an aisle for him to walk through. As their teacher I was amazed on how quickly they responded and had created a perfect walkway for the President. I put as many of my kids to the edge of the aisle as I could and stood behind them still snapping pictures. He was SO CLOSE. Closer, closer, and then he was right in front of me with his back turned, waving at the crowd and shaking hands with my students on the other side of the aisle. He turned around, just as I held my camera out over the heads of the kids in front of me to get a closer shot, and held out his hand to me. I felt like a fool scrambling to get the camera out of my hand so I could shake his. Everyone around me was cheering and yelling, squealing came from the seventh graders standing behind me. It was so loud that when President "Pepe" spoke to me I could not hear him, so I responded deafly with, "I'm their teacher at the bi-lingual school," nodding to the boys in front of me. He laughed and grabbed my arm saying, "Do you want a picture?" Before I could even respond he was pulling me through the three rows of fifth grade boys in front of me. I stumbled out into the aisle and he put his arm around me. When I looked up there was a HUGE media camera in my face and without thinking I shoved my point and shoot Cannon in his hand and said, "Here, take one with mine." The President chuckled, smiled for MY camera, and the media camera, shook my hand again and pushed forward.
I could feel my jaw hanging from my own face when I turned around, the kids were wearing the same expression. "MISS KLOS! You got a picture with the president! Let me see, let me see!" I couldn't help laughing as I knelt down to show my students the picture. Mr. Valdez and Mr. Perdomo came up behind me, having no idea what had just happened, and asked me if I got a picture of the president walking by. I laughed and showed them my camera. Their reaction was about the same as mine.
The President made his way to the stage followed by a generous group of Honduran leaders. They assembled around a table set up on the stage and were welcomed by a speech from both the Catholic priest and Pastor Wilson, the pastor from the Vida Abundante church in La Union. Afterward, Miss Ponce led the selected singers from our school to the front of the crowd, stood in front of the stage, and sang the national anthem of Honduras for the President and the entire La Union community. It was beautiful. I felt a deep sense of pride, these students, these teachers, these people, are a part of my life, and I am a part of theirs. The most important man in this country was standing 25 feet from me and shaking hands with the people in this town who have become my friends. The tug on my shirt broke my trans. It didn't matter that the President of Honduras was here in their town, my kids were hungry. I gathered up as many of my students as I could find in the crowd and began the walk back to school. All I heard the entire way was, "Miss Klos, we're SO hungry, I don't think I can make it!" "Miss Klos, I'm starving!" "Miss Klos…" And suddenly, after dragging feet and whining, they were running down a road that was not the road back to school. The helicopters. On the soccer field stood the Presidential helicopter, and another helicopter. Both were guarded by men with machine guns, but they were no match for our kids. They surrounded the helicopters, ooo-ing and ahh-ing, some students were even allowed to climb aboard. This was way cooler than the President, and way more important than lunch, at least for now. The excitement wore off after about 10 minutes then it was back to nagging and complaining.
After scarfing down my lunch I stood at the railing staring out over La Union. What a day. Who knew? I just met the President of Honduras. He was still there, speaking to the thousands who came to see him. The bell rang at 2:00 for the last class of the day, seventh grade science for me. I grabbed my books and walked into the classroom. "Good afternoon Miss Klos!"
The links below are the reports I found about the President's visit to La Union. They are from the Honduran press, and in Spanish, but are easily translated with Google.
http://www.hondudiario.com/l/content/presidente-lobo-realiz%C3%B3-vig%C3%A9sima-entrega-del-bono-10-mil-en-lempira
http://www.laprensa.hn/Pa%C3%ADs/Ediciones/2010/10/11/Noticias/Pepe-Lobo-llega-a-Lempira-con-el-Bono-Diez-Mil
http://www.presidencia.gob.hn/presidente/presidente-lobo-sosa-realiza-vigesima-novena-entrega-del-bono-10-mil-en-lempira
Sunday, October 3, 2010
ruins pt. 3
part 3: the return
After writing part 2 of this blog, the reason for the post in the first place, I cannot say that the last part of our vacation is really blog worthy.
In short, we made it as far a Santa Rosa on Saturday night. Due to the bus schedule we were obligated to leave Copan a day early and spend the night in either Gracias or Santa Rosa. DeWit was already in Santa Rosa for the weekend and insisted we stay there. Jake also met up with us in Santa Rosa later that night on his way back from La Ceiba and brought with him 3 girls he met on HIS vacation. We all went out to pizza for dinner at a great restaurant then slept at the most filthy hotel I have personally ever stayed in. Overall, Santa Rosa was a disappointment, thus why it is not worth blogging much about. It did, however, have an Espresso Americano. Eager to get out of the city Sunday early morning, we grabbed coffee for breakfast and walked down the mountain and boarded the first bus to Gracias. Holly, Bryony and I found refuge at Guancascos, which has become a "home away from home" for us, until the bus for La Union left at 12:30. For some reason the bus was PACKED! Not just full, I'm talkin' 3 adults per seat, children on laps, every bit overhead storage space occupied and the isle full of passengers, full, the WHOLE WAY HOME. Quite possibly the most unpleasant bus ride of my life. And that ended my Honduras Independence Day vacation to the ruins.
I wish to leave everyone with one last word. GO, go to Copan and go to the ruins. Absolutely one of the best vacations I have ever had. The ruins themselves are astonishing and the city is quite charming. So go.
After writing part 2 of this blog, the reason for the post in the first place, I cannot say that the last part of our vacation is really blog worthy.
In short, we made it as far a Santa Rosa on Saturday night. Due to the bus schedule we were obligated to leave Copan a day early and spend the night in either Gracias or Santa Rosa. DeWit was already in Santa Rosa for the weekend and insisted we stay there. Jake also met up with us in Santa Rosa later that night on his way back from La Ceiba and brought with him 3 girls he met on HIS vacation. We all went out to pizza for dinner at a great restaurant then slept at the most filthy hotel I have personally ever stayed in. Overall, Santa Rosa was a disappointment, thus why it is not worth blogging much about. It did, however, have an Espresso Americano. Eager to get out of the city Sunday early morning, we grabbed coffee for breakfast and walked down the mountain and boarded the first bus to Gracias. Holly, Bryony and I found refuge at Guancascos, which has become a "home away from home" for us, until the bus for La Union left at 12:30. For some reason the bus was PACKED! Not just full, I'm talkin' 3 adults per seat, children on laps, every bit overhead storage space occupied and the isle full of passengers, full, the WHOLE WAY HOME. Quite possibly the most unpleasant bus ride of my life. And that ended my Honduras Independence Day vacation to the ruins.
I wish to leave everyone with one last word. GO, go to Copan and go to the ruins. Absolutely one of the best vacations I have ever had. The ruins themselves are astonishing and the city is quite charming. So go.
ruins pt. 2
part 2: the ruins
I suppose I should have provided a better introduction as to the purpose of this blog.
The 15th of September is Independence Day here in Honduras. As is in the United States, this national holiday is observed by all schools and public institutions. For our school, Independence Day usually provides an extended weekend for teachers and students alike. This year the 15th fell on a Wednesday. There was question as to how our time off of school would fall. After contacting his superiors in Tegucigalpa, Mr. Perdomo, the principal of our school, confirmed that Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday would all be taken off of school, thus providing us with 5 days in which to travel.
It was discussed amongst the 4 of us girls in our first weeks here in La Union that we all desired to travel as much as possible. On the long bucket list of travel destinations within Honduras was Copan Ruinas. Honduras sits on the edge of the area of ancient Mayan settlements. The ancient ruins of Copan are the most famous of the ruins in this country. We agreed early on that if we were indeed awarded an extended weekend for Independence Day that the city of Copan would be our travel destination.
Which brings us back to Posada de Bellsy.
At the hotel we split up into two rooms, each with its own private bathroom, a television, which we never used, a double bed and a single bed. Too anxious to be clean to check out the rest of our accommodations, I jumped at the opportunity to take a CLEAN shower, something that is indeed hard to come by at my current residence. Dressed, ready to go, and feeling ever so clean, we set out for town in search of a coffee shop I had spotted earlier upon our arrival. Espresso Americano, a chain, apparently, here in Honduras, is the closest thing to Starbucks I have experienced since leaving the States. My beverage of choice: a Caramel Granita, which I would compare to a Caramel Frappacino. A delicious and COLD caffeinated treat, perfect for a hot Honduras day. Not one of us could pass up the pleasure of this outing and were all in a very happy state afterwards. Anticipating our time at the ruins now only a day away, we continued through town in search of a grocery store in which to purchase the necessary ingredients for a sack lunch. While browsing the isles I happen to come across a package of cookies entitled "Amelia". Delighted in my discovery, I was sure to snap a photograph before leaving the store. While looking for one of the girls to be my photographer, I overheard a dialogue between a cashier and another gringo who was stumbling over his Spanish words. I chuckled to myself and, after Bryony took a picture of me with MY cookies,
the 4 of us left the store with all the ingredients for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Our mission complete we decided to browse the town's artisan markets and tourist shops. More gringos again, which was weird for us, but typical for this town. One of them was indeed the same guy I had seen in the grocery store not 20 minutes prior. Unable to deny the awareness of one another, our two groups of gringos emerged to inquire as to our origins as well as our happenings here in Honduras. And what do you know, they are both teachers at a bi-lingual school in the very city we stood in. We spotted them for a third time at Via Via where we girls had decided to dine and celebrate Bryony's 19th birthday which had passed only the day before. The evening provided a heavenly meal for each, accompanied by delicious drink specials, great photo opps and a very happy birthday to our English friend. A wonderful beginning to a wonderful vacation.
The next morning was planned for an early rise and hike to the ruins, but not before breakfast. Inspired by the number of restaurants in town and driven by our desires for even more variety, we agreed to spend each meal at a different eatery. Welchez, situated kiddy corner from the central park, served only us for breakfast that morning. After enjoying every bite of my French Toast, the others their dish of choice, and a shared plate of fresh fruit, we set out on our walk with only the general direction of the ruins in mind.
The walk to the ruins was beautiful. Along the way we were encouraged when we passed by a display of Mayan statues. At least we knew we were headed in the right direction. Not far up the road on the opposite side was the entrance to the park. Immediately upon entry, we were approached by tour guides who eagerly explained to us the services they offered. A guide is something we had already decided we were going to do before we got to the park, and were fortunate enough to have chosen Mauricio. A good humored, middle-aged man and might I add well traveled. After passing the tropical birds upon entering the park, he began telling us stories of his travels pausing only to fulfill his tour guide duties by pointing out and explaining the significance of this tree or that animal. Our first REAL stop however, was the Plaza Occidental. Mauricio's words were no longer audible, for my mind was elsewhere. I was in absolute awe at the site before me. To be standing here, in Copan, Honduras, in what remains of an ancient Mayan civilization, it was incredible, to say the least. To know such a place exists or to see pictures, in no way gives justice to what is. The structure, the sculpture, the landscape, the history, completely took my breath away. It took me a while to remember that I indeed had feet capable of walking and caught up to the girls who were listening intently to what Mauricio had to say. Still in wonderland, I took out my camera and started photographing everything in sight, only to be greeted with the wonderful red blinking battery icon on my camera screen. Of course. Worry not, I was able to take plenty of pictures, though not as many as I'd hoped. Anyway, while leaning over a sculpture to pose for a picture, Mauricio assured me it was ok to touch it, or sit on it, or whatever. Excuse me? In the United States, or even Europe, no such thing would be allowed. Rather, I would be stuck on a narrow walk path behind a sticky guardrail no less than 10 yards away from anything interesting. The beauty of Copan is that you can pretty much do whatever or go wherever you please with very little restriction. The further into the park we walked, the more I embraced this freedom. We spent the rest of the morning with Mauricio, who acted partly as our tour guide and partly as our photographer, exploring the ruins. He spent far longer than the allotted 1 1/2 hour time with us, and we were sure to tip him extra at the end of the tour. Still, the entire morning was not at all enough time to take it all in. We sat for our picnic lunch, peanut butter and jelly, before re-entering the park to do our own exploring. Andrea and Holly set off to do the nature trail that surrounded the park, while Bryony and I opted to retrace the steps of our morning tour. It was here that we met yet another gringo. He was trying to take a picture of the tropical birds we had passed earlier and was having little luck obtaining the action shot he desired, a bird in flight. I tried my best to help him achieve his goal and consequently made an absolute fool of myself. Laughing at my hopeless attempt, the 3 of us set off down the path engaged in the typical "Where are you from?" conversation we foreigners often find ourselves in. He was from Switzerland, in the midst of traveling all of Central and South America by himself and was set to finish in December, ambitious. Wishing him the best, we parted ways when we reached the end of the path. The nature trail hike was cut short for Holly and Andrea due to an overabundance of large spiders along the way. They found Bryony and me in the Plaza de los Jaguares. Observing the threatening weather overhead and anticipating our walk back to town, we terminated our stay at the ruins.
Was that a dream? I was still in absolute awe the entire walk back to the hotel. After freshening up we headed out for Caramel Granitas and to browse the markets. Not feeling well, I returned to the hotel to rest while the girls headed to Twisted Tania's for drinks in the evening. I met up with them for dinner a few hours later at Vamos A Ver, a quiet little eatery where, of course of all places, our Swiss friend showed up to dine. It would have been awkward, seeing how we were the only other people at the restaurant, not to have invited him to join us. Though, he may have regretted his decision to accept our invitation when Holly and Bryony struck up a 7 1/2 minute conversation with each other about anything and EVERYTHING two intoxicated British girls could think of. This included, but was not limited to, Cornas and Texwell, St. Patrick and the invention of the color green, rain, and Holly on a bridge. After that comedic highlight, I called it a night early, still not feeling 100%.
It was good to wake up feeling completely refreshed the next day. Friday was my shopping day. I had been extremely disciplined since arriving on Wednesday NOT to spend any money other than what was necessary for meals and the ruins. After breakfast though I intentionally set out to do some damage to my newly funded foreign bank account. My mission was to find goods made here in Copan. Copan Ruinas is very close to the Guatemalan border, so there are LOADS of Guatemalan goods in all the shops, their specialty being textiles. It took a lot of conversations in Spanish, which I am improving on, though still not fluent, to get a sense for what was actually made here Copan. Satisfied with the information I had gathered, I started spending. Jade is believed to have been mined in Copan by the ancient Mayans. It is still mined there, though larger mines exist just across the border as well. Anything Mayan, or displaying Mayan symbols, is obviously made in Copan, my favorite being the Mayan calendars. There are also these dolls made out of corn husks that little girls from the surrounding villages sell in the street. These dolls are only made in the villages around Copan. You will have no problem finding them, the girls are very eager to sell to you, especially if you are a gringo. I made frequent stops back to the hotel to unload my bag and record my spendings. Yikes! By the end of the day I had spent an alarming amount but decided not to worry about it, this was a once in a lifetime vacation. I opened up my daily planner and set a date the following week to write myself a budget for the year.
I spent my last morning enjoying a hot caramel latte at Espresso Americano overlooking the small city as it slowly came to life. Perhaps I gave myself too much time to sit, before I knew it I was off spending more. Hotel check out at 11 am saved me from myself. None of us wanted to leave, we had one last meal down the hill at a restaurant near the bus station. I finished eating early with the intention to run up the hill for one last Caramel Granita. Savoring every last drop of my frozen beverage, I reluctantly boarded the bus to La Entrada with the girls. Goodbye Copan…
I suppose I should have provided a better introduction as to the purpose of this blog.
The 15th of September is Independence Day here in Honduras. As is in the United States, this national holiday is observed by all schools and public institutions. For our school, Independence Day usually provides an extended weekend for teachers and students alike. This year the 15th fell on a Wednesday. There was question as to how our time off of school would fall. After contacting his superiors in Tegucigalpa, Mr. Perdomo, the principal of our school, confirmed that Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday would all be taken off of school, thus providing us with 5 days in which to travel.
It was discussed amongst the 4 of us girls in our first weeks here in La Union that we all desired to travel as much as possible. On the long bucket list of travel destinations within Honduras was Copan Ruinas. Honduras sits on the edge of the area of ancient Mayan settlements. The ancient ruins of Copan are the most famous of the ruins in this country. We agreed early on that if we were indeed awarded an extended weekend for Independence Day that the city of Copan would be our travel destination.
Which brings us back to Posada de Bellsy.
At the hotel we split up into two rooms, each with its own private bathroom, a television, which we never used, a double bed and a single bed. Too anxious to be clean to check out the rest of our accommodations, I jumped at the opportunity to take a CLEAN shower, something that is indeed hard to come by at my current residence. Dressed, ready to go, and feeling ever so clean, we set out for town in search of a coffee shop I had spotted earlier upon our arrival. Espresso Americano, a chain, apparently, here in Honduras, is the closest thing to Starbucks I have experienced since leaving the States. My beverage of choice: a Caramel Granita, which I would compare to a Caramel Frappacino. A delicious and COLD caffeinated treat, perfect for a hot Honduras day. Not one of us could pass up the pleasure of this outing and were all in a very happy state afterwards. Anticipating our time at the ruins now only a day away, we continued through town in search of a grocery store in which to purchase the necessary ingredients for a sack lunch. While browsing the isles I happen to come across a package of cookies entitled "Amelia". Delighted in my discovery, I was sure to snap a photograph before leaving the store. While looking for one of the girls to be my photographer, I overheard a dialogue between a cashier and another gringo who was stumbling over his Spanish words. I chuckled to myself and, after Bryony took a picture of me with MY cookies,
the 4 of us left the store with all the ingredients for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Our mission complete we decided to browse the town's artisan markets and tourist shops. More gringos again, which was weird for us, but typical for this town. One of them was indeed the same guy I had seen in the grocery store not 20 minutes prior. Unable to deny the awareness of one another, our two groups of gringos emerged to inquire as to our origins as well as our happenings here in Honduras. And what do you know, they are both teachers at a bi-lingual school in the very city we stood in. We spotted them for a third time at Via Via where we girls had decided to dine and celebrate Bryony's 19th birthday which had passed only the day before. The evening provided a heavenly meal for each, accompanied by delicious drink specials, great photo opps and a very happy birthday to our English friend. A wonderful beginning to a wonderful vacation.
The next morning was planned for an early rise and hike to the ruins, but not before breakfast. Inspired by the number of restaurants in town and driven by our desires for even more variety, we agreed to spend each meal at a different eatery. Welchez, situated kiddy corner from the central park, served only us for breakfast that morning. After enjoying every bite of my French Toast, the others their dish of choice, and a shared plate of fresh fruit, we set out on our walk with only the general direction of the ruins in mind.
The walk to the ruins was beautiful. Along the way we were encouraged when we passed by a display of Mayan statues. At least we knew we were headed in the right direction. Not far up the road on the opposite side was the entrance to the park. Immediately upon entry, we were approached by tour guides who eagerly explained to us the services they offered. A guide is something we had already decided we were going to do before we got to the park, and were fortunate enough to have chosen Mauricio. A good humored, middle-aged man and might I add well traveled. After passing the tropical birds upon entering the park, he began telling us stories of his travels pausing only to fulfill his tour guide duties by pointing out and explaining the significance of this tree or that animal. Our first REAL stop however, was the Plaza Occidental. Mauricio's words were no longer audible, for my mind was elsewhere. I was in absolute awe at the site before me. To be standing here, in Copan, Honduras, in what remains of an ancient Mayan civilization, it was incredible, to say the least. To know such a place exists or to see pictures, in no way gives justice to what is. The structure, the sculpture, the landscape, the history, completely took my breath away. It took me a while to remember that I indeed had feet capable of walking and caught up to the girls who were listening intently to what Mauricio had to say. Still in wonderland, I took out my camera and started photographing everything in sight, only to be greeted with the wonderful red blinking battery icon on my camera screen. Of course. Worry not, I was able to take plenty of pictures, though not as many as I'd hoped. Anyway, while leaning over a sculpture to pose for a picture, Mauricio assured me it was ok to touch it, or sit on it, or whatever. Excuse me? In the United States, or even Europe, no such thing would be allowed. Rather, I would be stuck on a narrow walk path behind a sticky guardrail no less than 10 yards away from anything interesting. The beauty of Copan is that you can pretty much do whatever or go wherever you please with very little restriction. The further into the park we walked, the more I embraced this freedom. We spent the rest of the morning with Mauricio, who acted partly as our tour guide and partly as our photographer, exploring the ruins. He spent far longer than the allotted 1 1/2 hour time with us, and we were sure to tip him extra at the end of the tour. Still, the entire morning was not at all enough time to take it all in. We sat for our picnic lunch, peanut butter and jelly, before re-entering the park to do our own exploring. Andrea and Holly set off to do the nature trail that surrounded the park, while Bryony and I opted to retrace the steps of our morning tour. It was here that we met yet another gringo. He was trying to take a picture of the tropical birds we had passed earlier and was having little luck obtaining the action shot he desired, a bird in flight. I tried my best to help him achieve his goal and consequently made an absolute fool of myself. Laughing at my hopeless attempt, the 3 of us set off down the path engaged in the typical "Where are you from?" conversation we foreigners often find ourselves in. He was from Switzerland, in the midst of traveling all of Central and South America by himself and was set to finish in December, ambitious. Wishing him the best, we parted ways when we reached the end of the path. The nature trail hike was cut short for Holly and Andrea due to an overabundance of large spiders along the way. They found Bryony and me in the Plaza de los Jaguares. Observing the threatening weather overhead and anticipating our walk back to town, we terminated our stay at the ruins.
Was that a dream? I was still in absolute awe the entire walk back to the hotel. After freshening up we headed out for Caramel Granitas and to browse the markets. Not feeling well, I returned to the hotel to rest while the girls headed to Twisted Tania's for drinks in the evening. I met up with them for dinner a few hours later at Vamos A Ver, a quiet little eatery where, of course of all places, our Swiss friend showed up to dine. It would have been awkward, seeing how we were the only other people at the restaurant, not to have invited him to join us. Though, he may have regretted his decision to accept our invitation when Holly and Bryony struck up a 7 1/2 minute conversation with each other about anything and EVERYTHING two intoxicated British girls could think of. This included, but was not limited to, Cornas and Texwell, St. Patrick and the invention of the color green, rain, and Holly on a bridge. After that comedic highlight, I called it a night early, still not feeling 100%.
It was good to wake up feeling completely refreshed the next day. Friday was my shopping day. I had been extremely disciplined since arriving on Wednesday NOT to spend any money other than what was necessary for meals and the ruins. After breakfast though I intentionally set out to do some damage to my newly funded foreign bank account. My mission was to find goods made here in Copan. Copan Ruinas is very close to the Guatemalan border, so there are LOADS of Guatemalan goods in all the shops, their specialty being textiles. It took a lot of conversations in Spanish, which I am improving on, though still not fluent, to get a sense for what was actually made here Copan. Satisfied with the information I had gathered, I started spending. Jade is believed to have been mined in Copan by the ancient Mayans. It is still mined there, though larger mines exist just across the border as well. Anything Mayan, or displaying Mayan symbols, is obviously made in Copan, my favorite being the Mayan calendars. There are also these dolls made out of corn husks that little girls from the surrounding villages sell in the street. These dolls are only made in the villages around Copan. You will have no problem finding them, the girls are very eager to sell to you, especially if you are a gringo. I made frequent stops back to the hotel to unload my bag and record my spendings. Yikes! By the end of the day I had spent an alarming amount but decided not to worry about it, this was a once in a lifetime vacation. I opened up my daily planner and set a date the following week to write myself a budget for the year.
I spent my last morning enjoying a hot caramel latte at Espresso Americano overlooking the small city as it slowly came to life. Perhaps I gave myself too much time to sit, before I knew it I was off spending more. Hotel check out at 11 am saved me from myself. None of us wanted to leave, we had one last meal down the hill at a restaurant near the bus station. I finished eating early with the intention to run up the hill for one last Caramel Granita. Savoring every last drop of my frozen beverage, I reluctantly boarded the bus to La Entrada with the girls. Goodbye Copan…
Saturday, September 25, 2010
ruins
ru-ins: (n) the remains of a building, city, etc., that has been destroyed or that is in disrepair or a state of decay
part 1: the journey
To get anywhere by bus from La Union you must wake up before dawn. There are two buses from our small town to the nearest "cities". Albin, who we live with, and his father, who lives next door, run the transportation system here in La Union. One bus travels from here to Santa Barbara and the other to Gracias. Both leave around 5 a.m.-ish. Your best bet is to be outside at 4:55 a.m. and wait.
We all woke up at 4 a.m. to take showers and pack before our long journey. The door to the kitchen downstairs was locked, of course, so breakfast would have to wait.
This was at least the 3rd time I had left our house before sunrise. Each time the early rise becomes totally worth the sacrifice of sleep the moment I step outside and look up at the sky. At 5 a.m. the evening rain clouds are long gone and the stars are clearly visible, Orion is directly overhead and shining bright. Behind the cross at the top of the hill, the sun begins to paint the sky with the most beautiful colors as it climbs up from behind the mountain.
Bus number 1 fires up its engine and sounds it's horn in the distance, which one will it be? "GRACIAS!" That's us. We took the Gracias bus from La Union along the dirt and rock windy mountain roads to THE fork in the road down the hill from Leparea. The fork is pretty well known, though nothing stands there but a shack that houses a family and their pulperia. It was sometime around 8:30 a.m. when we arrived and I was STARVING. I opted to run across the paved road to grab a snack. Every bus that passes this fork stops to drop off and pick up passengers. The second bus that stopped was ours. "SANTA ROSA! SANTA ROSA! SANTA ROSA!" We jumped on the bus happy to be on our way and riding on smooth pavement.
Upon stepping off the bus in Santa Rosa we were bombarded by drivers of taxis and other buses, all calling out the city they were driving to in rapid fire Spanish, all at the same time. The experience was no less than overwhelming. This will happen in almost every city bus station. The key is to push through and act like you have already arranged for transportation elsewhere. Breaking out of the crowd we all took a deep breath and began casually looking for our next bus to La Entrada. When looking for a bus you must know exactly where you want to go, and what time you want to leave. If you are careless, you COULD end up on a bus leaving in 6 hours back to the place you just came from. Being a blonde hair, blue eyed, light skinned freckled girl of 23, I stick out like a sore thumb in this Central American country. I had stepped away from our group of 4 for only a second before a bus driver had approached me and in broken English said to me, "Hey mommy, you go to San Pedro?" With a stern face I responded with, "La Entrada." Thankfully he was kind enough to show us to the next bus leaving for La Entrada and so the journey continued.
By the time we reached La Entrada, restrooms were a must. Restrooms anywhere in Honduras are always a gamble. It is more than likely that you will have to pay to use the bathroom and even extra if you want toilet paper. 3 Lempira (about 15 cents) was our charge. It wasn’t so bad either considering we were at a bus station, which consisted of a small dirt parking lot surrounded by small pulperias and comedors. Believe me when I say I have experienced far worse. Our final bus from La Entrada to Copan Ruinas was set to leave at noon. It was only 10:30 in the morning, but our stomachs told us it was time for lunch. We sat down at one of the comedors to eat. 56 Lempira (a little less than 3 dollars) bought a cold soda, in a glass bottle, and a giant plate of food. Fried chicken, rice, beans, eggs, avocado, tortillas, salad and potatoes. YUM! Fully satisfied with our meal we joined a small group of people sitting in the shade waiting to board the same bus. The heat of the day was already in full swing in the late morning hours. When the bus finally moved I gravitated toward the window as much as possible to feel the relief of the moving air as we drove through the valley. It was strange being in the "flat lands" of Honduras, after spending so much time in the mountains it is easy to forget such a place exists in Honduras.
This final bus ride brought us to Copan around 2 in the afternoon, our final destination. I thought it would be bigger. All the hype we had heard about Copan prior to traveling, I think we all expected it to be a bigger city. While the population of the municipality may be large, the actual down town area is quite small. I might even say smaller than Gracias, though much prettier. We 4, hot, sweaty, dirty and smelly gringas made our way up the hill to find the city center. We busted out the guide book like true tourists and made our way to Via Via hotel and restaurant, a hot spot for gringos. Beautiful place, but booked for the night. We wandered around town some more, looking like fools, and came upon Posada de Bellsy. At 150 Lempira a night per person, or $8, we happily settled into our rooms. And so our vacation began…
part 1: the journey
To get anywhere by bus from La Union you must wake up before dawn. There are two buses from our small town to the nearest "cities". Albin, who we live with, and his father, who lives next door, run the transportation system here in La Union. One bus travels from here to Santa Barbara and the other to Gracias. Both leave around 5 a.m.-ish. Your best bet is to be outside at 4:55 a.m. and wait.
We all woke up at 4 a.m. to take showers and pack before our long journey. The door to the kitchen downstairs was locked, of course, so breakfast would have to wait.
This was at least the 3rd time I had left our house before sunrise. Each time the early rise becomes totally worth the sacrifice of sleep the moment I step outside and look up at the sky. At 5 a.m. the evening rain clouds are long gone and the stars are clearly visible, Orion is directly overhead and shining bright. Behind the cross at the top of the hill, the sun begins to paint the sky with the most beautiful colors as it climbs up from behind the mountain.
Bus number 1 fires up its engine and sounds it's horn in the distance, which one will it be? "GRACIAS!" That's us. We took the Gracias bus from La Union along the dirt and rock windy mountain roads to THE fork in the road down the hill from Leparea. The fork is pretty well known, though nothing stands there but a shack that houses a family and their pulperia. It was sometime around 8:30 a.m. when we arrived and I was STARVING. I opted to run across the paved road to grab a snack. Every bus that passes this fork stops to drop off and pick up passengers. The second bus that stopped was ours. "SANTA ROSA! SANTA ROSA! SANTA ROSA!" We jumped on the bus happy to be on our way and riding on smooth pavement.
Upon stepping off the bus in Santa Rosa we were bombarded by drivers of taxis and other buses, all calling out the city they were driving to in rapid fire Spanish, all at the same time. The experience was no less than overwhelming. This will happen in almost every city bus station. The key is to push through and act like you have already arranged for transportation elsewhere. Breaking out of the crowd we all took a deep breath and began casually looking for our next bus to La Entrada. When looking for a bus you must know exactly where you want to go, and what time you want to leave. If you are careless, you COULD end up on a bus leaving in 6 hours back to the place you just came from. Being a blonde hair, blue eyed, light skinned freckled girl of 23, I stick out like a sore thumb in this Central American country. I had stepped away from our group of 4 for only a second before a bus driver had approached me and in broken English said to me, "Hey mommy, you go to San Pedro?" With a stern face I responded with, "La Entrada." Thankfully he was kind enough to show us to the next bus leaving for La Entrada and so the journey continued.
By the time we reached La Entrada, restrooms were a must. Restrooms anywhere in Honduras are always a gamble. It is more than likely that you will have to pay to use the bathroom and even extra if you want toilet paper. 3 Lempira (about 15 cents) was our charge. It wasn’t so bad either considering we were at a bus station, which consisted of a small dirt parking lot surrounded by small pulperias and comedors. Believe me when I say I have experienced far worse. Our final bus from La Entrada to Copan Ruinas was set to leave at noon. It was only 10:30 in the morning, but our stomachs told us it was time for lunch. We sat down at one of the comedors to eat. 56 Lempira (a little less than 3 dollars) bought a cold soda, in a glass bottle, and a giant plate of food. Fried chicken, rice, beans, eggs, avocado, tortillas, salad and potatoes. YUM! Fully satisfied with our meal we joined a small group of people sitting in the shade waiting to board the same bus. The heat of the day was already in full swing in the late morning hours. When the bus finally moved I gravitated toward the window as much as possible to feel the relief of the moving air as we drove through the valley. It was strange being in the "flat lands" of Honduras, after spending so much time in the mountains it is easy to forget such a place exists in Honduras.
This final bus ride brought us to Copan around 2 in the afternoon, our final destination. I thought it would be bigger. All the hype we had heard about Copan prior to traveling, I think we all expected it to be a bigger city. While the population of the municipality may be large, the actual down town area is quite small. I might even say smaller than Gracias, though much prettier. We 4, hot, sweaty, dirty and smelly gringas made our way up the hill to find the city center. We busted out the guide book like true tourists and made our way to Via Via hotel and restaurant, a hot spot for gringos. Beautiful place, but booked for the night. We wandered around town some more, looking like fools, and came upon Posada de Bellsy. At 150 Lempira a night per person, or $8, we happily settled into our rooms. And so our vacation began…
Sunday, August 29, 2010
flood
August 26, 2010
flood: (n) a great flowing or overflowing of water, esp. over land not usually submerged.
"Where have you been?!" he asked tiredly. I was supposed to call Andrew hours ago. "Well, have I got a story for you! You are never going to believe what happened tonight…"
The rain started just as we were leaving school. Of course every day is sweltering hot while I'm stuck in a classroom and as soon as I can leave to go home and enjoy the rest of the day, the clouds tumble down the mountain and release their weight on the town. It sprinkled and bit and let up so the walk home wasn’t bad.
Tonight was my night to call Andrew. We talk twice a week now, not a bad system. I checked my phone to see how much Lempira I had left. The phones here are pay as you go. You put money on your phone and when the money's gone you can't make any more phone calls until you put more on again. As far as cost per minute, it's anyone's guess. All I knew tonight was that I needed money on my phone. The rain had stopped but the sky still lingered black and it wouldn't be long before dark. I took a trip down the hill to buy more "minutes". The very moment I stepped outside to begin my walk the sky opened up and began to pour. I contemplated taking a left and hiding at the boys house on my way home. La Union was being swallowed by the thundercloud, I could feel the static in the air. It's actually amazing that I didn't get struck by lightning, this storm was different than storms in the past. I made it to the apartment downstairs, where Albin and Osiris now live.
When the wind began to blow, I raced upstairs to close my windows. Windows here do not have seals like in the states, I closed them as tightly as I could and listened as the air howled through the gaps. Andrea and Dilcia, one of the hired hands at the house, were outside at the stove making tortillas for tonight's Baliadas. On my way to say hello I was awestruck by the light show in the sky. Under the shelter of the porch roof outside our front door I sat on the dining room chair and gazed at the sky. Even though I love living here, there are thing about home that I miss, thunderstorms being one of them. Tonight's violent weather was a comfort and reminder of home. In what seemed like slow motion, I watched as a lightning bolt squiggled out of the sky and struck the cell phone tower in town. The sparks from the sky illuminated the town and blinded me. The explosion of the thunder crack brought me back to reality and I let out a scream. My body was tightly curled into a ball on the chair. Bryony, who was also helping with tortillas, came running around the corner into the house, Holly emerged from her bedroom. "What was that?!" Apparently in England they don't have storms like this. I encouraged them both to pull up a chair and enjoy the show. Some time later Karen, the other hired hand in the house, came upstairs looking for the broom. In her hurried Spanish I was pretty sure she said there was a lot of water downstairs. Curious, I left the girls and went downstairs to see what was going on.
The stairwell was dark and I couldn't find the bottom step. I lowered my foot to feel around and was met with water. I withdrew my foot and tried to see when a lightning flash lit up the driveway where the stairs let out. Water, brown water, everywhere. Both pick up trucks' tires were half submerged. Around the corner Karen was in the apartment desperately trying to sweep out the water which had already flooded the living room about an inch. Josue and Josaline were crying out for their parents. To the right I saw the silhouettes of Albin and Osiris in the street which had become a river and the river was flowing down the driveway into the house. Quickly I ran upstairs and jumped into my rain boots. I ran back down the stairs and joined Albin and Osiris. They were digging a trench to defer the water from their house while simultaneously building up a barrier with what rocks they could move. This image is something I will never forget. Osiris, in flip flops, was on her hands and knees in the road digging with her bare hands as hard as she could at rocks to build a barricade. In water up to his knees, Albin was digging and kicking at the dirt beneath the river to alter its course away from the house. The rain could not have been coming down any harder. Thunder and lightning were all around, cracking and flashing in every which direction. The danger of the storm was no match for the determination of this couple to protect their home and family.
My raincoat and rain boots were no match for this storm. I knelt down beside Osiris and started grabbing at anything I could that would hold up against the water. We dug up some broken tiles and used them as shovels. Bryony and Holly came down to check what was going on and immediately jumped into action. We started carrying things out of the flooded rooms to use as barriers, old shelves, cupboard doors. Our efforts seemed successful enough after some time. We left the street and Albin had already begun draining the water from the driveway. I don't even know if Osiris was aware of the two rooms at the bottom of the stairs until I asked her what we should do about them. Buckets, bowls and pots were our tools to get the water out of these rooms. Each room was being used for storage and was full, floor to ceiling, of their belongings. Now, it was also full of about 2 feet of water. We spent the rest of the night bailing water out the doors and windows of both rooms. Brown dirty flood water splashed into my eyes and mouth with every sweep of the bucket, while the rain outside continued to pour.
"We can see the floor!" Holly cried out from the other room. Our efforts had paid off and all that remained was a few inches of water that was nearly impossible to bail out with a bucket. About this time some friends of Albin showed up with a pump. A man set the pump down on the water covered floor of the room I was standing in and took out the chord that is suppose to plug into the wall. There was, however, no prong for an outlet at the end of this chord, only bare wires. I decided quickly that it was time for me to go. Osiris suggested that we all had to eat at some point and the women, soaked to the bone with muddy flood water, retreated to the house for some food. The flood interrupted cooking dinner big time. Baliadas was the plan, which we sort of had. Just beans and tortillas, but after what we went through we were all just happy to be eating. On full stomachs we mingled back over to where the men were causing flickering in the electricity with their pump. Most all of the water had gone and what was left behind was utter disaster. For tonight, getting rid of the water was all that could be done. It was time to rest now, everything else would wait for morning.
flood: (n) a great flowing or overflowing of water, esp. over land not usually submerged.
"Where have you been?!" he asked tiredly. I was supposed to call Andrew hours ago. "Well, have I got a story for you! You are never going to believe what happened tonight…"
The rain started just as we were leaving school. Of course every day is sweltering hot while I'm stuck in a classroom and as soon as I can leave to go home and enjoy the rest of the day, the clouds tumble down the mountain and release their weight on the town. It sprinkled and bit and let up so the walk home wasn’t bad.
Tonight was my night to call Andrew. We talk twice a week now, not a bad system. I checked my phone to see how much Lempira I had left. The phones here are pay as you go. You put money on your phone and when the money's gone you can't make any more phone calls until you put more on again. As far as cost per minute, it's anyone's guess. All I knew tonight was that I needed money on my phone. The rain had stopped but the sky still lingered black and it wouldn't be long before dark. I took a trip down the hill to buy more "minutes". The very moment I stepped outside to begin my walk the sky opened up and began to pour. I contemplated taking a left and hiding at the boys house on my way home. La Union was being swallowed by the thundercloud, I could feel the static in the air. It's actually amazing that I didn't get struck by lightning, this storm was different than storms in the past. I made it to the apartment downstairs, where Albin and Osiris now live.
When the wind began to blow, I raced upstairs to close my windows. Windows here do not have seals like in the states, I closed them as tightly as I could and listened as the air howled through the gaps. Andrea and Dilcia, one of the hired hands at the house, were outside at the stove making tortillas for tonight's Baliadas. On my way to say hello I was awestruck by the light show in the sky. Under the shelter of the porch roof outside our front door I sat on the dining room chair and gazed at the sky. Even though I love living here, there are thing about home that I miss, thunderstorms being one of them. Tonight's violent weather was a comfort and reminder of home. In what seemed like slow motion, I watched as a lightning bolt squiggled out of the sky and struck the cell phone tower in town. The sparks from the sky illuminated the town and blinded me. The explosion of the thunder crack brought me back to reality and I let out a scream. My body was tightly curled into a ball on the chair. Bryony, who was also helping with tortillas, came running around the corner into the house, Holly emerged from her bedroom. "What was that?!" Apparently in England they don't have storms like this. I encouraged them both to pull up a chair and enjoy the show. Some time later Karen, the other hired hand in the house, came upstairs looking for the broom. In her hurried Spanish I was pretty sure she said there was a lot of water downstairs. Curious, I left the girls and went downstairs to see what was going on.
The stairwell was dark and I couldn't find the bottom step. I lowered my foot to feel around and was met with water. I withdrew my foot and tried to see when a lightning flash lit up the driveway where the stairs let out. Water, brown water, everywhere. Both pick up trucks' tires were half submerged. Around the corner Karen was in the apartment desperately trying to sweep out the water which had already flooded the living room about an inch. Josue and Josaline were crying out for their parents. To the right I saw the silhouettes of Albin and Osiris in the street which had become a river and the river was flowing down the driveway into the house. Quickly I ran upstairs and jumped into my rain boots. I ran back down the stairs and joined Albin and Osiris. They were digging a trench to defer the water from their house while simultaneously building up a barrier with what rocks they could move. This image is something I will never forget. Osiris, in flip flops, was on her hands and knees in the road digging with her bare hands as hard as she could at rocks to build a barricade. In water up to his knees, Albin was digging and kicking at the dirt beneath the river to alter its course away from the house. The rain could not have been coming down any harder. Thunder and lightning were all around, cracking and flashing in every which direction. The danger of the storm was no match for the determination of this couple to protect their home and family.
My raincoat and rain boots were no match for this storm. I knelt down beside Osiris and started grabbing at anything I could that would hold up against the water. We dug up some broken tiles and used them as shovels. Bryony and Holly came down to check what was going on and immediately jumped into action. We started carrying things out of the flooded rooms to use as barriers, old shelves, cupboard doors. Our efforts seemed successful enough after some time. We left the street and Albin had already begun draining the water from the driveway. I don't even know if Osiris was aware of the two rooms at the bottom of the stairs until I asked her what we should do about them. Buckets, bowls and pots were our tools to get the water out of these rooms. Each room was being used for storage and was full, floor to ceiling, of their belongings. Now, it was also full of about 2 feet of water. We spent the rest of the night bailing water out the doors and windows of both rooms. Brown dirty flood water splashed into my eyes and mouth with every sweep of the bucket, while the rain outside continued to pour.
"We can see the floor!" Holly cried out from the other room. Our efforts had paid off and all that remained was a few inches of water that was nearly impossible to bail out with a bucket. About this time some friends of Albin showed up with a pump. A man set the pump down on the water covered floor of the room I was standing in and took out the chord that is suppose to plug into the wall. There was, however, no prong for an outlet at the end of this chord, only bare wires. I decided quickly that it was time for me to go. Osiris suggested that we all had to eat at some point and the women, soaked to the bone with muddy flood water, retreated to the house for some food. The flood interrupted cooking dinner big time. Baliadas was the plan, which we sort of had. Just beans and tortillas, but after what we went through we were all just happy to be eating. On full stomachs we mingled back over to where the men were causing flickering in the electricity with their pump. Most all of the water had gone and what was left behind was utter disaster. For tonight, getting rid of the water was all that could be done. It was time to rest now, everything else would wait for morning.
dec-o-rate
August 21, 2010
decorate: (v) to furnish or adorn with something ornamental or becoming.
Technically this was my first full week of work, a warm up week if you will. We reported to school at 8 am every school day in half uniform, jeans and a white polo, and worked until 3 pm. Monday we began with a welcome meeting, introductions and brief overview of school policies, again all in Spanish. But for the most part we spent the week decorating our classrooms.
I was not told to bring classroom decorations from the states, even after asking I was told that everything would be provided for me. Perhaps I should have asked what "everything" meant. To say resources here in La Union are limited would be an understatement. While other teachers had decorations they purchased over the summer or in years past from bigger cities such as Tegucigalpa or San Pedro Sula, I had construction paper and scissors. I was given a list of requirements as to what needed to be up on my walls and started cutting. Requirements: A bible verse (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18); "Welcome"; a birthday calendar of sorts; monthly calendar; class schedule; name tags on the desks; cursive letters; "Honduras Heroes" (pictures of important national figures such as presidents, national tree, etc.); classroom rules (speak English, respect others, listen carefully, ask permission); borders for my whiteboard. Pink, orange and yellow were my colors of choice, of course. Bryony and Holly, the Project Trust volunteers from England who also live with Andrea and I, saved my life. They must have cut out hundreds of traced letters for my walls. I literally could not have done it without them. The entire week was a blur of cutting, pasting and taping. None of us really thought it would take more than a few days to cover the walls, how wrong we were. We finished up on Friday just in time for parent orientation. "I think you have the happiest classroom in the whole world," Holly said as we stood proudly looking around the 5th grade classroom.
decorate: (v) to furnish or adorn with something ornamental or becoming.
Technically this was my first full week of work, a warm up week if you will. We reported to school at 8 am every school day in half uniform, jeans and a white polo, and worked until 3 pm. Monday we began with a welcome meeting, introductions and brief overview of school policies, again all in Spanish. But for the most part we spent the week decorating our classrooms.
I was not told to bring classroom decorations from the states, even after asking I was told that everything would be provided for me. Perhaps I should have asked what "everything" meant. To say resources here in La Union are limited would be an understatement. While other teachers had decorations they purchased over the summer or in years past from bigger cities such as Tegucigalpa or San Pedro Sula, I had construction paper and scissors. I was given a list of requirements as to what needed to be up on my walls and started cutting. Requirements: A bible verse (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18); "Welcome"; a birthday calendar of sorts; monthly calendar; class schedule; name tags on the desks; cursive letters; "Honduras Heroes" (pictures of important national figures such as presidents, national tree, etc.); classroom rules (speak English, respect others, listen carefully, ask permission); borders for my whiteboard. Pink, orange and yellow were my colors of choice, of course. Bryony and Holly, the Project Trust volunteers from England who also live with Andrea and I, saved my life. They must have cut out hundreds of traced letters for my walls. I literally could not have done it without them. The entire week was a blur of cutting, pasting and taping. None of us really thought it would take more than a few days to cover the walls, how wrong we were. We finished up on Friday just in time for parent orientation. "I think you have the happiest classroom in the whole world," Holly said as we stood proudly looking around the 5th grade classroom.
farm
August 19, 2010
farm: (n) a tract of land, usually with a house, barn, silo, etc., on which crops and often livestock are raised for livelihood.
Jake is a coffee farmer now, well kind of. He and 2 other families are co-owners of a coffee farm, or finca, in Pina Batel, a village just outside of La Union. While cleaning up my classroom to go home for the night, Andrea knocked on my door to pass along an invitation from Jake and Mr. Perdomo, our principal and one of Jakes co-owners, to visit the finca. I guess lesson planning will have to wait one more night. We made a trip home first to change out of our school clothes and into something more suitable for hiking through a coffee field. I of course slipped into my yellow rain boots, just to be safe.
The truck pulled up to a house up a hill from the "main" road. The house and shell of a coffee processing facility sat below the fields of coffee trees, which all came with the purchase of the finca. Jake gave us the grand tour beginning with a brief overview of how the processing of the coffee works then up the hill through the fields. I highly underestimated the size of this finca and the distance we would be hiking. Up through the first field full of green coffee cherries we spotted a few random red cherries here and there. When they are red, they are ripe and ready to pick. However, if they are red this early and the rest of the plant is not red, the bean is probably bad.
Continuing on our hike up a narrow path, over a stream, up a muddy slope, we reached a high point which offered a fantastic view of another part of the finca and a view of the approaching storm. Surprise surprise, another storm. It has literally rained every day since we arrived in La Union. The typical pattern is sun in the morning, early afternoon, and just about the time we need to walk home from school it rains, and rains for the rest of the night. Despite the threatening weather in the distance we continued our hike. We ducked under a giant tree which had fallen down or been cut down, I'm not really sure, and walked up another muddy path, another stream, some more coffee plants… Concluding in what was the most tropical looking coffee field I have ever seen.
Towering overhead were giant shade trees. The field sloped gently upward before disappearing into the thick, dark foliage. Jake told us that this is where the most work has been done, and has yet to be done. Because of the abundance of rain and the lack of maintenance before the finca was purchased, the coffee trees and other plants are completely overgrown. After the next harvest the coffee trees in this section will likely be cut down to the trunk. It will take about 2 or 3 years for them to grow back into producing trees again. Everything in me wanted to explore this upper section of the finca until the rain began. Thunder was mumbling in the distance and the air was foggy. Surely the cloud was descending down the mountain, time to go.
There was no escaping the rain, but we wondered what our chances were of being struck by lightning as it shot through sky around us. We slid down the muddy slopes of the mountain and finally reached our starting point. Taking shelter in the coffee processing, I'm not even sure what to call it, shed? Anyway Mr. Perdomo, who had disappeared at some point along our journey, rendezvoused with us there. I inquired again about how the coffee process works. The cherries are picked from the tree when the field is full of red cherries. They are dumped into the first tank where a machine de-pulps the cherry and spits out the seed. The seed is then sent to a second tank for washing. It spends a significant amount of time being washed then travels down a canal looking thing to another tank. All of this is being explained to me in Spanish, a language I have significantly improved in but have yet to master. So I have no idea what happens at the last tank, but afterwards the coffee is spread out on a concrete patio to dry in the sun. Here, in La Union, most coffee is roasted over a fire. Somewhere in town, so I am told, there is an actual roaster which I am very interested in seeing. Conversation continued on in Spanish. Of the 4 of us, Jake, Andrea, Mr. Perdomo and me, I speak the least amount of Spanish. I stopped trying to translate in my head and wondered around taking pictures.
"Le gusta café?" Mr. Perdomo asked if I like coffee. Of course I like coffee. I had yet to have coffee in Honduras. I have only been having coffee as a special occasion treat since my days in architecture school where coffee flowed thicker than my own blood through my veins. Soaking wet we jumped into the truck and drove back down the mountain into La Union. My yellow rain boots were covered in mud and still Mr. Perdomo insisted that I leave them on as I walked into his house. I can't imagine tracking this much mud into my house in the states, I would be scrubbing carpet for the rest of my life. Here in Honduras though houses either have a tile, cement or mud floor, and the only time you remove your shoes is for a shower or to sleep. His wife served us coffee and cookies around the dining room table. The coffee was from the coffee compound that Mr. Perdomo owns just outside of La Union. Before we could pour a second cup it was time for Andrea and me to return home for dinner. We were gifted a bag of coffee for our house before we said our goodbye and walked home in the rain.
farm: (n) a tract of land, usually with a house, barn, silo, etc., on which crops and often livestock are raised for livelihood.
Jake is a coffee farmer now, well kind of. He and 2 other families are co-owners of a coffee farm, or finca, in Pina Batel, a village just outside of La Union. While cleaning up my classroom to go home for the night, Andrea knocked on my door to pass along an invitation from Jake and Mr. Perdomo, our principal and one of Jakes co-owners, to visit the finca. I guess lesson planning will have to wait one more night. We made a trip home first to change out of our school clothes and into something more suitable for hiking through a coffee field. I of course slipped into my yellow rain boots, just to be safe.
The truck pulled up to a house up a hill from the "main" road. The house and shell of a coffee processing facility sat below the fields of coffee trees, which all came with the purchase of the finca. Jake gave us the grand tour beginning with a brief overview of how the processing of the coffee works then up the hill through the fields. I highly underestimated the size of this finca and the distance we would be hiking. Up through the first field full of green coffee cherries we spotted a few random red cherries here and there. When they are red, they are ripe and ready to pick. However, if they are red this early and the rest of the plant is not red, the bean is probably bad.
Continuing on our hike up a narrow path, over a stream, up a muddy slope, we reached a high point which offered a fantastic view of another part of the finca and a view of the approaching storm. Surprise surprise, another storm. It has literally rained every day since we arrived in La Union. The typical pattern is sun in the morning, early afternoon, and just about the time we need to walk home from school it rains, and rains for the rest of the night. Despite the threatening weather in the distance we continued our hike. We ducked under a giant tree which had fallen down or been cut down, I'm not really sure, and walked up another muddy path, another stream, some more coffee plants… Concluding in what was the most tropical looking coffee field I have ever seen.
Towering overhead were giant shade trees. The field sloped gently upward before disappearing into the thick, dark foliage. Jake told us that this is where the most work has been done, and has yet to be done. Because of the abundance of rain and the lack of maintenance before the finca was purchased, the coffee trees and other plants are completely overgrown. After the next harvest the coffee trees in this section will likely be cut down to the trunk. It will take about 2 or 3 years for them to grow back into producing trees again. Everything in me wanted to explore this upper section of the finca until the rain began. Thunder was mumbling in the distance and the air was foggy. Surely the cloud was descending down the mountain, time to go.
There was no escaping the rain, but we wondered what our chances were of being struck by lightning as it shot through sky around us. We slid down the muddy slopes of the mountain and finally reached our starting point. Taking shelter in the coffee processing, I'm not even sure what to call it, shed? Anyway Mr. Perdomo, who had disappeared at some point along our journey, rendezvoused with us there. I inquired again about how the coffee process works. The cherries are picked from the tree when the field is full of red cherries. They are dumped into the first tank where a machine de-pulps the cherry and spits out the seed. The seed is then sent to a second tank for washing. It spends a significant amount of time being washed then travels down a canal looking thing to another tank. All of this is being explained to me in Spanish, a language I have significantly improved in but have yet to master. So I have no idea what happens at the last tank, but afterwards the coffee is spread out on a concrete patio to dry in the sun. Here, in La Union, most coffee is roasted over a fire. Somewhere in town, so I am told, there is an actual roaster which I am very interested in seeing. Conversation continued on in Spanish. Of the 4 of us, Jake, Andrea, Mr. Perdomo and me, I speak the least amount of Spanish. I stopped trying to translate in my head and wondered around taking pictures.
"Le gusta café?" Mr. Perdomo asked if I like coffee. Of course I like coffee. I had yet to have coffee in Honduras. I have only been having coffee as a special occasion treat since my days in architecture school where coffee flowed thicker than my own blood through my veins. Soaking wet we jumped into the truck and drove back down the mountain into La Union. My yellow rain boots were covered in mud and still Mr. Perdomo insisted that I leave them on as I walked into his house. I can't imagine tracking this much mud into my house in the states, I would be scrubbing carpet for the rest of my life. Here in Honduras though houses either have a tile, cement or mud floor, and the only time you remove your shoes is for a shower or to sleep. His wife served us coffee and cookies around the dining room table. The coffee was from the coffee compound that Mr. Perdomo owns just outside of La Union. Before we could pour a second cup it was time for Andrea and me to return home for dinner. We were gifted a bag of coffee for our house before we said our goodbye and walked home in the rain.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
show-er
August 15, 2010
shower: (n) a bath in which water is sprayed on the body, usually from an overhead perforated nozzle.
I have taken showers in La Union before, one almost every day for 3 months last summer. Most of the time the water was freezing, about half the time the water was brown, once in a while there just was no water. This morning however, was an experience I had never had before.
I opened my eyes at 6 this morning. A combination of the busses, roosters and the natural light that my bedroom receives woke me up. I forced myself to stay in bed until 7, then it all got interesting. My shower began in the bathroom that Andrea and I share, which is between our rooms. The water was brown this morning because of all the rain we received last night. I decided a shower was necessary no matter the color of the water and proceeded. Showers here in Honduras have electric shower heads that heat the water. The water heated up just fine and my shampoo was bubbling in my hair when I noticed the smell of burning plastic. Above my head there was smoke coming from the chords of the shower head. Suddenly, POP POPOP, some sizzle and flying sparks in my shower. I shut the water off immediately and cautiously turned off the hot water switch on the shower head. It took me a few minutes to wrap my mind around what had just happened as I stood outside the shower naked with my hair still white with shampoo. Wrapped in a towel I tip toed to the other side of the house carrying all of my shower toiletries dripping water as I went. There are 2 other bedrooms in the house, each with their own bathroom. The shower in the front room looked fine as far as I could tell. I turned on the water, and before I could even switch on the shower head to hot, the water hose from the shower head flew off and started spraying water everywhere. Annoyed and still walking around with a head full of shampoo, I transferred to the last shower. This time there wasn't even the option of running the water. A plastic bag was shoved down the drain prohibiting the use of the shower. Back to square one. Cold showers are nothing new to me, especially in La Union, and it was the only option left. The smoke and sparks had subsided and would not reignite if I kept the showerhead turned off. So I bathed in the cold, brown water.
Brown water, though better than no water, does not leave one feeling very clean. My hair, normally blonde, soft and fine, today is light brown, coarse, and dry. Albin and Patrick attempted to fix the showers after hearing my morning story. Wire and pliers is the Hondurans way of fixing everything… cars, ovens, showers. Andrea decided to test the skill of their handy work tonight and also opted for cold water after fireworks ignited during her shower. The two of agreed that it might be time for a new shower head. It's been raining here since around noon today with few breaks here and there. Tomorrow there is likely to be another cold brown shower.
shower: (n) a bath in which water is sprayed on the body, usually from an overhead perforated nozzle.
I have taken showers in La Union before, one almost every day for 3 months last summer. Most of the time the water was freezing, about half the time the water was brown, once in a while there just was no water. This morning however, was an experience I had never had before.
I opened my eyes at 6 this morning. A combination of the busses, roosters and the natural light that my bedroom receives woke me up. I forced myself to stay in bed until 7, then it all got interesting. My shower began in the bathroom that Andrea and I share, which is between our rooms. The water was brown this morning because of all the rain we received last night. I decided a shower was necessary no matter the color of the water and proceeded. Showers here in Honduras have electric shower heads that heat the water. The water heated up just fine and my shampoo was bubbling in my hair when I noticed the smell of burning plastic. Above my head there was smoke coming from the chords of the shower head. Suddenly, POP POPOP, some sizzle and flying sparks in my shower. I shut the water off immediately and cautiously turned off the hot water switch on the shower head. It took me a few minutes to wrap my mind around what had just happened as I stood outside the shower naked with my hair still white with shampoo. Wrapped in a towel I tip toed to the other side of the house carrying all of my shower toiletries dripping water as I went. There are 2 other bedrooms in the house, each with their own bathroom. The shower in the front room looked fine as far as I could tell. I turned on the water, and before I could even switch on the shower head to hot, the water hose from the shower head flew off and started spraying water everywhere. Annoyed and still walking around with a head full of shampoo, I transferred to the last shower. This time there wasn't even the option of running the water. A plastic bag was shoved down the drain prohibiting the use of the shower. Back to square one. Cold showers are nothing new to me, especially in La Union, and it was the only option left. The smoke and sparks had subsided and would not reignite if I kept the showerhead turned off. So I bathed in the cold, brown water.
Brown water, though better than no water, does not leave one feeling very clean. My hair, normally blonde, soft and fine, today is light brown, coarse, and dry. Albin and Patrick attempted to fix the showers after hearing my morning story. Wire and pliers is the Hondurans way of fixing everything… cars, ovens, showers. Andrea decided to test the skill of their handy work tonight and also opted for cold water after fireworks ignited during her shower. The two of agreed that it might be time for a new shower head. It's been raining here since around noon today with few breaks here and there. Tomorrow there is likely to be another cold brown shower.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
o-ri-en-ta-tion
August 13, 2010
orientation: (n) an introduction, as to guide one in adjusting to new surroundings, employment, activity, or the like.
First early morning thus far, looks like vacation is over. At 7:30 yesterday morning a truck arrived to drive us up the mountain. All of the teachers gathered in the office for morning devotional and prayer. Both were said in Spanish, therefore I didn't understand either of them. Mr. Lara gave an address to all of the teachers before he had us individually stand up and introduce ourselves. I tried my best in Spanish, hopefully I was understood. During introductions I noticed something; there are so many females. Do you ever notice that? Out of 9 new gringo teachers this year, only 1 is male. The general pattern that I have observed in my life is that females outnumber males in churches, mission trips, and elementary education. However, in high school and college there tends to be more male teachers than females. Why? My only guess would be that the maternal instinct within all females makes them more attracted to positions in which they are the care takers or teachers of younger children. As far as church and missions, I have no ideas.
Moving on. We split up into English and Spanish speaking groups for the rest of orientation. Rules, there are lots of rules. I started getting antsy sitting in the classroom where the temperature was climbing as the hours grew closer to noon. A break for a mid morning snack saved my stomach from digesting itself since there was no time for breakfast earlier. Some more orientation, some more rules, procedures, yadda yadda yadda. Lunch came and then… waiting, for what seemed like forever. All has been chaos this week for the administration in Gracias. The school has found itself short 2 teachers the week before school is set to begin. The administration actually pushed back the start of school date because of this. They have been arguing with Jake and the administration of the La Union school about wanting to keep Andrea and me in Gracias instead of sending us to La Union. So while they sit in the office and debate, those of us who are staying in the city (at the bottom of the mountain) wait. We were saved by the other teachers who had arranged for a truck to take them to town and back for a grocery shopping trip.
Once we were back in the city, the remaining hours of day were ours to do with what we please. Some more hammock time, nap time, and then out for a walk on the town. Jake showed us the old "haunted" church in town. Something about throwing a rock through a stained glass window, and Mary's eye. No stained glass windows in this church though. Another colonial church which I had seen last summer is next to the central park. After walking through the park somehow we stumbled onto Raquel's house (another teacher at the Gracias school) where Tabitha is staying. Within the 5 minutes it took us to walk from the tranquil park to Raquel's house an entire assembly had gathered in the park. All the sudden we turned around and there was a parade marching down the street. As we approached the parade we saw that not only was there a marching band, but hundreds of people, a stage and street vendors. The whole production assembled in less than 5 minutes. International Day of Youth was our best educated guess on what the cause of celebration was. We hung out for a while before retreating up to Guancascos. We talked over dinner about the teacher situation in Gracias. After which, Andrea and I contacted everyone we could think of that would possibly consider moving to Honduras next week to start a teaching job. The search lasted late enough…
This morning there was breakfast, sweet bread and papaya. LOVE the sweet bread, not so much the papaya. Orientation only lasted until mid morning break this time. The chaos and arguments continued over the whether or not Andrea and I would be staying in Gracias. I was ready to move to La Union. Posada Lenca is beautiful and we've been pampered all week HOWEVER, living out of a suitcase is only fun for so long. Our desires to settle in increased as our chances of leaving Gracias decreased. We happened to be around waiting again during these debates. I should have brought a book to school. We found a way back down to the city again and took lunch at, you guessed it, Guancascos. Jake joined us later wearing his battle scars in the expressions on his face. "We are going to La Union tomorrow," he said. He fought a good fight for us and won, releasing both Andrea and I from limbo.
There is a fort at the top of Gracias which we hiked to after lunch. It's beautiful, historical, and apparently serves as a make out "hot spot" for Honduran couples. You can see the entire city from within the fort walls. You can also see when bad weather is coming. We decided to hit the markets for some necessities before the rain arrived. My only necessity: Nutella. I also wanted to shop THE MARKET before heading back to the hotel but all that remains of it now is a pile of rubble and some outer walls. Not at all sure what happened in the 12 months since I've seen it, I only know that it is under reconstruction. For our last meal in Gracias we decided to mix things up and eat at the Chinese restaurant in town. Ordering Chinese food in Spanish was an experience. My stomach, currently readjusting to a Honduran diet, did not allow me to eat much, but the food was good none the less. It did, however, take 5 of us to not even finish a single order. For any future travelers, the serving sizes at this restaurant are mountainous.
Of course the night before we are scheduled to make a 2 1/2 hour trip through the windy, hilly and all dirt roads to La Union, the rain is merciless. The storm was nice to fall asleep to though…
orientation: (n) an introduction, as to guide one in adjusting to new surroundings, employment, activity, or the like.
First early morning thus far, looks like vacation is over. At 7:30 yesterday morning a truck arrived to drive us up the mountain. All of the teachers gathered in the office for morning devotional and prayer. Both were said in Spanish, therefore I didn't understand either of them. Mr. Lara gave an address to all of the teachers before he had us individually stand up and introduce ourselves. I tried my best in Spanish, hopefully I was understood. During introductions I noticed something; there are so many females. Do you ever notice that? Out of 9 new gringo teachers this year, only 1 is male. The general pattern that I have observed in my life is that females outnumber males in churches, mission trips, and elementary education. However, in high school and college there tends to be more male teachers than females. Why? My only guess would be that the maternal instinct within all females makes them more attracted to positions in which they are the care takers or teachers of younger children. As far as church and missions, I have no ideas.
Moving on. We split up into English and Spanish speaking groups for the rest of orientation. Rules, there are lots of rules. I started getting antsy sitting in the classroom where the temperature was climbing as the hours grew closer to noon. A break for a mid morning snack saved my stomach from digesting itself since there was no time for breakfast earlier. Some more orientation, some more rules, procedures, yadda yadda yadda. Lunch came and then… waiting, for what seemed like forever. All has been chaos this week for the administration in Gracias. The school has found itself short 2 teachers the week before school is set to begin. The administration actually pushed back the start of school date because of this. They have been arguing with Jake and the administration of the La Union school about wanting to keep Andrea and me in Gracias instead of sending us to La Union. So while they sit in the office and debate, those of us who are staying in the city (at the bottom of the mountain) wait. We were saved by the other teachers who had arranged for a truck to take them to town and back for a grocery shopping trip.
Once we were back in the city, the remaining hours of day were ours to do with what we please. Some more hammock time, nap time, and then out for a walk on the town. Jake showed us the old "haunted" church in town. Something about throwing a rock through a stained glass window, and Mary's eye. No stained glass windows in this church though. Another colonial church which I had seen last summer is next to the central park. After walking through the park somehow we stumbled onto Raquel's house (another teacher at the Gracias school) where Tabitha is staying. Within the 5 minutes it took us to walk from the tranquil park to Raquel's house an entire assembly had gathered in the park. All the sudden we turned around and there was a parade marching down the street. As we approached the parade we saw that not only was there a marching band, but hundreds of people, a stage and street vendors. The whole production assembled in less than 5 minutes. International Day of Youth was our best educated guess on what the cause of celebration was. We hung out for a while before retreating up to Guancascos. We talked over dinner about the teacher situation in Gracias. After which, Andrea and I contacted everyone we could think of that would possibly consider moving to Honduras next week to start a teaching job. The search lasted late enough…
This morning there was breakfast, sweet bread and papaya. LOVE the sweet bread, not so much the papaya. Orientation only lasted until mid morning break this time. The chaos and arguments continued over the whether or not Andrea and I would be staying in Gracias. I was ready to move to La Union. Posada Lenca is beautiful and we've been pampered all week HOWEVER, living out of a suitcase is only fun for so long. Our desires to settle in increased as our chances of leaving Gracias decreased. We happened to be around waiting again during these debates. I should have brought a book to school. We found a way back down to the city again and took lunch at, you guessed it, Guancascos. Jake joined us later wearing his battle scars in the expressions on his face. "We are going to La Union tomorrow," he said. He fought a good fight for us and won, releasing both Andrea and I from limbo.
There is a fort at the top of Gracias which we hiked to after lunch. It's beautiful, historical, and apparently serves as a make out "hot spot" for Honduran couples. You can see the entire city from within the fort walls. You can also see when bad weather is coming. We decided to hit the markets for some necessities before the rain arrived. My only necessity: Nutella. I also wanted to shop THE MARKET before heading back to the hotel but all that remains of it now is a pile of rubble and some outer walls. Not at all sure what happened in the 12 months since I've seen it, I only know that it is under reconstruction. For our last meal in Gracias we decided to mix things up and eat at the Chinese restaurant in town. Ordering Chinese food in Spanish was an experience. My stomach, currently readjusting to a Honduran diet, did not allow me to eat much, but the food was good none the less. It did, however, take 5 of us to not even finish a single order. For any future travelers, the serving sizes at this restaurant are mountainous.
Of course the night before we are scheduled to make a 2 1/2 hour trip through the windy, hilly and all dirt roads to La Union, the rain is merciless. The storm was nice to fall asleep to though…
Thursday, August 12, 2010
va-ca-tion
August 11, 2010
vacation: (n) a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel.
Vacation would be the best way to describe my time in Honduras thus far. I woke up yesterday morning and had forgotten what country I was in.
Guancascos, owned by a Dutch woman named Froni, is a beautiful restaurant and hotel down the street from us where we eat all of our meals. We finished breakfast around 10 and wondered around downtown Gracias. The cloudless sky brought on the merciless sun. The heat here is much different than the heat in Michigan or even San Pedro Sula. Humidity levels are low up here in the mountains which makes escaping the heat as easy as stepping into the shade of mango tree. Walking the streets in the midday sun, the temperature wasn't far below 100 degrees. When sheltered from the sun it dropped to the mid 80s.
We all bought new cell phones before lunch. My previous Honduras cell phone had been de-activated after not using it since last July and the charger is also missing. So by the time I bought a new charger, a new chip, and paid someone to install the chip and reactivate my phone, it was cheaper just to buy a new one. So I bought a $15 Samsung phone. It's about as big as an iPod nano but it does exactly what I want it to; it makes phone calls and sends text messages.
We did some more browsing in the stores before retreating out of the heat back up to Guancascos for lunch. It is now my goal to try everything on the menu this week before leaving Gracias. After lunch, dark grey clouds provided relief from the heat of the day. In the rain we rode in trucks up the mountain to visit the Gracias Vida Abundante School. The school is absolutely beautiful. The arrangement of the classrooms, office buildings and the landscaping is a romantic, Honduran picturesque. Of course the backdrop to this K-10 paradise is Mt. Celaque, the highest point in all of Honduras. I won't lie, I am completely jealous of anyone who gets to teach here. Walking distance from the school are about 4 houses we toured for the people staying here to teach. Maggie and Tyler chose house #1 just down the hill from the school. It sits alone surrounded by tropical vegetation and just 100 yards from the river. Laura Beth, Jennifer, Caitlin, and Shelly chose house #4 up the hill from the school near the national park entrance. It was the largest of the houses with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, kitchen, and 2 living rooms. The inside is painted a bright, sunshine orange, and is by far the nicest house we'd seen.
Satisfied with the housing, we all returned to town for some down time before dinner. For me this mostly consists of reading in the hammock which hangs from the porch of the hotel. The backdrop during dinner time was a thunderstorm over the city which of course called for walking in my new yellow rain boots.
For some reason being lazy pampered yesterday was tiring. I struggled to get out of bed this morning. It was cloudy and therefore cool most of the day today, and by cool I mean around 85 degrees. Before lunch we all had to set up bank accounts here in Gracias. 8 bank accounts took 3 1/2 hours to set up. Bank lobbies here are much more secure than bank lobbies in the U.S. At least 3 armed guards were in the bank at a time. Mostly 2 on the street level, 1 at the top of the stairs guarding the door and 1 inside the bank guarding the other side of the door. Think about it, at a bank in the US ANYTHING could happen at any time. Here, if you tried to pull something you'd probably be shot immediately.
After lunch those teaching in Gracias packed their bags to move into their new homes. Of course they were all ready to leave hours before their ride actually showed up to drive them up the mountain. This DELAY is known as Honduran time. Never count on anything to actually be on time. If someone says they will be there to pick you up in an hour, you will wait for 2. A scheduled meeting starts at least 30 minutes late. In this case we sat on top of suitcases for about 2 hours. Andrea and I stuck around to help load the trucks then said hasta luego so we could get back to some more hammock time.
In the evening we traveled to Los Aguas Thermales del Rio, the private hot springs in Gracias. It may have been the most beautiful and romantic place I have ever seen. Set far outside the city, down the mountainside into a valley is an entirely secluded haven of hot water. The hot water is fed into pools of all different temperatures, each surrounded by tiki torches and beautiful gardens. The romantic mood shifted quickly with a game of "keep it up" and some hand stand contests. Dinner was served in a sheltered picnic area after a couple hours of play. Another lightning storm lit up the sky and we watched as we filled our stomachs.
After being brought back to our hotel my work in Honduras thus far could only be described in one word, vacation.
vacation: (n) a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel.
Vacation would be the best way to describe my time in Honduras thus far. I woke up yesterday morning and had forgotten what country I was in.
Guancascos, owned by a Dutch woman named Froni, is a beautiful restaurant and hotel down the street from us where we eat all of our meals. We finished breakfast around 10 and wondered around downtown Gracias. The cloudless sky brought on the merciless sun. The heat here is much different than the heat in Michigan or even San Pedro Sula. Humidity levels are low up here in the mountains which makes escaping the heat as easy as stepping into the shade of mango tree. Walking the streets in the midday sun, the temperature wasn't far below 100 degrees. When sheltered from the sun it dropped to the mid 80s.
We all bought new cell phones before lunch. My previous Honduras cell phone had been de-activated after not using it since last July and the charger is also missing. So by the time I bought a new charger, a new chip, and paid someone to install the chip and reactivate my phone, it was cheaper just to buy a new one. So I bought a $15 Samsung phone. It's about as big as an iPod nano but it does exactly what I want it to; it makes phone calls and sends text messages.
We did some more browsing in the stores before retreating out of the heat back up to Guancascos for lunch. It is now my goal to try everything on the menu this week before leaving Gracias. After lunch, dark grey clouds provided relief from the heat of the day. In the rain we rode in trucks up the mountain to visit the Gracias Vida Abundante School. The school is absolutely beautiful. The arrangement of the classrooms, office buildings and the landscaping is a romantic, Honduran picturesque. Of course the backdrop to this K-10 paradise is Mt. Celaque, the highest point in all of Honduras. I won't lie, I am completely jealous of anyone who gets to teach here. Walking distance from the school are about 4 houses we toured for the people staying here to teach. Maggie and Tyler chose house #1 just down the hill from the school. It sits alone surrounded by tropical vegetation and just 100 yards from the river. Laura Beth, Jennifer, Caitlin, and Shelly chose house #4 up the hill from the school near the national park entrance. It was the largest of the houses with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, kitchen, and 2 living rooms. The inside is painted a bright, sunshine orange, and is by far the nicest house we'd seen.
Satisfied with the housing, we all returned to town for some down time before dinner. For me this mostly consists of reading in the hammock which hangs from the porch of the hotel. The backdrop during dinner time was a thunderstorm over the city which of course called for walking in my new yellow rain boots.
For some reason being lazy pampered yesterday was tiring. I struggled to get out of bed this morning. It was cloudy and therefore cool most of the day today, and by cool I mean around 85 degrees. Before lunch we all had to set up bank accounts here in Gracias. 8 bank accounts took 3 1/2 hours to set up. Bank lobbies here are much more secure than bank lobbies in the U.S. At least 3 armed guards were in the bank at a time. Mostly 2 on the street level, 1 at the top of the stairs guarding the door and 1 inside the bank guarding the other side of the door. Think about it, at a bank in the US ANYTHING could happen at any time. Here, if you tried to pull something you'd probably be shot immediately.
After lunch those teaching in Gracias packed their bags to move into their new homes. Of course they were all ready to leave hours before their ride actually showed up to drive them up the mountain. This DELAY is known as Honduran time. Never count on anything to actually be on time. If someone says they will be there to pick you up in an hour, you will wait for 2. A scheduled meeting starts at least 30 minutes late. In this case we sat on top of suitcases for about 2 hours. Andrea and I stuck around to help load the trucks then said hasta luego so we could get back to some more hammock time.
In the evening we traveled to Los Aguas Thermales del Rio, the private hot springs in Gracias. It may have been the most beautiful and romantic place I have ever seen. Set far outside the city, down the mountainside into a valley is an entirely secluded haven of hot water. The hot water is fed into pools of all different temperatures, each surrounded by tiki torches and beautiful gardens. The romantic mood shifted quickly with a game of "keep it up" and some hand stand contests. Dinner was served in a sheltered picnic area after a couple hours of play. Another lightning storm lit up the sky and we watched as we filled our stomachs.
After being brought back to our hotel my work in Honduras thus far could only be described in one word, vacation.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
re-turn
return: (v) to go or come back, as to a former place, position, or state.
Though I had recognized the places, the language and the scenery, it was the smell that brought me back. I've heard before that smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. Today the smell of burning garbage, Honduras dirt, and burning diesel brought my memory back to the country I left just over a year ago.
Andrea was the first teacher I met. We were both checking into our flight at the same time, which caused a computer error. She was at the next counter and said hello, recognizing me from my facebook profile picture. Computer error cleared and we proceeded to security. Andrew and I dragged our goodbye through the entire security process, finally saying goodbye once I had made it through the metal detectors and re-gathered my belongings from the x-ray machine. I assure you it was a long, hard and dramatic goodbye, and it took me at least another 30 minutes to stop crying. But I got it all out, so moving on...
While waiting at the terminal Andrea and I were approached by a sales woman for Spirit Airlines offering 3 free flights if you sign up for this and buy that and only travel on these dates, bla bla bla. We politely declined using the entirely truthful excuse of, "We're moving to Honduras... today." She couldn't believe it because she had just talked to another girl who had just told her the same exact story. That's when we met Maggie and her husband Tyler. We all sat separately but not far from each other on both of our flights. Andrea and I talked to Jeremy from Ohio most of the flight, telling him about how awesome Michigan is. Out my window to the right was the sunset and to the left was a giant thunderstorm sitting over a night time city, all in the same window view from 6,000 feet in the air. Our layover in Ft. Lauderdale was extended due to plane delays, which landed us in San Pedro Sula, Honduras around 2:30am eastern time, 12:30am Honduras time. Another smooth flight with a spectacular lightening show over the city as we landed. After immigration, customs and driving to the hotel it was 4:30am Eastern Time before my head hit the pillow.
The next morning we met 3 more teachers for breakfast Caitlin, Jennifer and Shelly. The short walk to the restaurant in the hotel was enough to remind me how intense the heat and humidity of San Pedro Sula is. On that note, we took the rest of the morning to enjoy the pool. Not as refreshing as we hoped since the water was about 80 degrees, but it did the job. We also took full advantage of the waterslides and water mushroom in the play pool. At noon we checked out of the hotel and drove to the airport where we picked up Tabitha, Jake and Laura Beth. Crossing the parking lot of the airport I recognized the dark blue Toyota pickup truck parked in the drive. I ran up to Albin and gave him a great big hug. Patrick was on the passenger side and peeked around to see what was going on. They were dropping of the UMF interns at the airport as we were coming to pick up the rest of the teachers. Everyone had lunch inside, I binged on Wendy's. Not something I would normally do in the states, to be honest I'm not sure why it was so appealing then and I felt like a whale afterward. So with a bloated stomach I boarded the bus along with 9 other teachers to start our journey to Gracias. I started to recognize the smells again. The mixture of dirt and dust from the city and mountain streets, the smell of burning garbage and of course diesel fuel from the bus, is a very Honduran smell. It was the smoothest drive through Honduras I have ever had though with paved roads the ENTIRE way. The heat subsided as we ascended into the mountains. I was mesmerized by the scenery once again and it moved me to considering an extra year in Honduras. As we came around the side of another mountain we could see the black sky ahead with a rainbow in the foreground. We drove right underneath the full arch of colors into a storm of lightning and flash flooding. It wasn't long until we arrived in Gracias. After settling into our hotel, Posada Linca, we walked down the street to Guancascos for dinner. The 10 of us were joined by a handful of staff from the Gracias school. It was close to 11pm before we returned to the Hotel to shower and...
Goodnight
Though I had recognized the places, the language and the scenery, it was the smell that brought me back. I've heard before that smell is the strongest sense tied to memory. Today the smell of burning garbage, Honduras dirt, and burning diesel brought my memory back to the country I left just over a year ago.
Andrea was the first teacher I met. We were both checking into our flight at the same time, which caused a computer error. She was at the next counter and said hello, recognizing me from my facebook profile picture. Computer error cleared and we proceeded to security. Andrew and I dragged our goodbye through the entire security process, finally saying goodbye once I had made it through the metal detectors and re-gathered my belongings from the x-ray machine. I assure you it was a long, hard and dramatic goodbye, and it took me at least another 30 minutes to stop crying. But I got it all out, so moving on...
While waiting at the terminal Andrea and I were approached by a sales woman for Spirit Airlines offering 3 free flights if you sign up for this and buy that and only travel on these dates, bla bla bla. We politely declined using the entirely truthful excuse of, "We're moving to Honduras... today." She couldn't believe it because she had just talked to another girl who had just told her the same exact story. That's when we met Maggie and her husband Tyler. We all sat separately but not far from each other on both of our flights. Andrea and I talked to Jeremy from Ohio most of the flight, telling him about how awesome Michigan is. Out my window to the right was the sunset and to the left was a giant thunderstorm sitting over a night time city, all in the same window view from 6,000 feet in the air. Our layover in Ft. Lauderdale was extended due to plane delays, which landed us in San Pedro Sula, Honduras around 2:30am eastern time, 12:30am Honduras time. Another smooth flight with a spectacular lightening show over the city as we landed. After immigration, customs and driving to the hotel it was 4:30am Eastern Time before my head hit the pillow.
The next morning we met 3 more teachers for breakfast Caitlin, Jennifer and Shelly. The short walk to the restaurant in the hotel was enough to remind me how intense the heat and humidity of San Pedro Sula is. On that note, we took the rest of the morning to enjoy the pool. Not as refreshing as we hoped since the water was about 80 degrees, but it did the job. We also took full advantage of the waterslides and water mushroom in the play pool. At noon we checked out of the hotel and drove to the airport where we picked up Tabitha, Jake and Laura Beth. Crossing the parking lot of the airport I recognized the dark blue Toyota pickup truck parked in the drive. I ran up to Albin and gave him a great big hug. Patrick was on the passenger side and peeked around to see what was going on. They were dropping of the UMF interns at the airport as we were coming to pick up the rest of the teachers. Everyone had lunch inside, I binged on Wendy's. Not something I would normally do in the states, to be honest I'm not sure why it was so appealing then and I felt like a whale afterward. So with a bloated stomach I boarded the bus along with 9 other teachers to start our journey to Gracias. I started to recognize the smells again. The mixture of dirt and dust from the city and mountain streets, the smell of burning garbage and of course diesel fuel from the bus, is a very Honduran smell. It was the smoothest drive through Honduras I have ever had though with paved roads the ENTIRE way. The heat subsided as we ascended into the mountains. I was mesmerized by the scenery once again and it moved me to considering an extra year in Honduras. As we came around the side of another mountain we could see the black sky ahead with a rainbow in the foreground. We drove right underneath the full arch of colors into a storm of lightning and flash flooding. It wasn't long until we arrived in Gracias. After settling into our hotel, Posada Linca, we walked down the street to Guancascos for dinner. The 10 of us were joined by a handful of staff from the Gracias school. It was close to 11pm before we returned to the Hotel to shower and...
Goodnight
Monday, July 19, 2010
slice
slice: (n) a part, portion, or share
A few weeks ago when I was in Ann Arbor to play for the worship band at my church, I was asked to share my "slice of life" with the church. Yesterday was the day. I believe the intro goes like this: "Every week we invite a member from New Life Church to come up here and share what God's been doing in their life. And here today to share a slice of her life is Amelia Klos."
"Good morning!
My name is Amelia Klos. I am part of the "graduated from college and now live at home with my parents" new life team. That's not a real new life team, though maybe it should be…
I graduated from UofM just a few months ago with my bachelor's degree in architecture and am living with my parents for the summer BECAUSE in 3 weeks I am moving to La Union, Honduras.
During my 5 years of college God has orchestrated a phenomenal but seemingly "random" series of connections in my life. Those connections led to great friendships and incredible adventures.
While picking up a friend at a sorority party I met, my now boyfriend, Andrew Boyd. The next day we bumped into each other again at that same friend's tailgate party. He talked to me the entire morning about one thing, Honduras. At the end of the conversation he said I should go on this trip he was planning there the next summer. I looked at him and told him he was crazy.
Four months later the two of us sat in my parents' living room while Andrew tried to convince my mom that I would not be kidnapped in Central America.
I spent the summer of 2009 in La Union, Honduras as a part of the "2009 Honduras Research Team." It was my first out of country experience and I had no idea what to expect. There were 22 students on the research team. Most of us were from UofM and quite a few from New Life. We lived at a church compound in town. La Union is a small rural town in the mountains. There, you are hours from a paved road, there is no such thing as a street address and it is anyone's guess whether or not the water or power will be working that day. Still I fell in love.
We spent every day from sun up to sun down hiking around the even smaller surrounding villages conducting research. We had to interview every person in every town surrounding La Union. In other words, we had a lot of talking in Spanish to do, a language very few of us spoke.
So, we hired translators. They were the 6th and 7th grade students from the private bi-lingual school in town. The school is affiliated with the church we lived at and the students speak fluent English and Spanish. It was obvious that these kids were the lucky ones in town. They either came from families could afford to send their kids to school or had found sponsors to help with tuition.
It was a privilege to spend the summer with them. Gloria and Nelsy were the girls I became closest with. We had a lot of hiking to do between houses, which left plenty of time for talk. I learned so much about their lives last summer and how drastically different age 13 looks like for them than it did for me. How for boys the alternative to school is work in the coffee fields and for girls its marriage. How when these girls finish school they will be the FIRST students in their town to complete all 12 years of high school. How even owning a book is a privilege. I found THIS out from Nelsy.
In a village called Quiscamote, Nelsy and I sat on a rock while we waited for our truck ride home. She showed me her drawings and told me about her friends, school and boys. I had a book in my bag for down times like this. She saw it and told me about books and how there are none for kids to read in La Union. My heart was broken.
Quiscamote was towards the end of the summer and a few weeks later my time in Honduras was over. I returned to school in the fall for my last year of college and was completely Honduras sick. I spent more time thinking about Honduras than searching for internships or jobs or grad schools. My heart was no longer in architecture, it was in Honduras. This feeling and distraction did not wear off as school continued like I hoped. In fact it got worse. God put Gloria and Nelsy on my heart and it was heavy. They were all I could think about for months. Architecture no longer seemed to matter, nothing did but going back there.
I kept in contact with a teacher from the school. I questioned him daily about teaching in Honduras. Again I found myself in my living room talking to my parents about Honduras. This time it was different and much more difficult. After 5 years and tens of thousands of dollars in student loans for architecture I wanted nothing more than to be in a "third world country…" as a teacher.
After a few long hard months of prayer, soul searching, and talking with my parents, I applied, interviewed and was offered a job. It took me about a half a second to accept the job I was so excited. But my plans in Honduras do not end there. Architecture will always be a part of me and it is not something I will give up on. My career in architecture is just getting a unique start. The conversation with Nelsy made a lasting impression on me and so I am co-leading a project to build a library in La Union next summer. To bring books to kids who have none.
3 weeks from today I will be getting on a plane back to Honduras. I will be teaching 5th grade at Vida Abundante Christan School in La Union.
And that's a slice of my life!"
A few weeks ago when I was in Ann Arbor to play for the worship band at my church, I was asked to share my "slice of life" with the church. Yesterday was the day. I believe the intro goes like this: "Every week we invite a member from New Life Church to come up here and share what God's been doing in their life. And here today to share a slice of her life is Amelia Klos."
"Good morning!
My name is Amelia Klos. I am part of the "graduated from college and now live at home with my parents" new life team. That's not a real new life team, though maybe it should be…
I graduated from UofM just a few months ago with my bachelor's degree in architecture and am living with my parents for the summer BECAUSE in 3 weeks I am moving to La Union, Honduras.
During my 5 years of college God has orchestrated a phenomenal but seemingly "random" series of connections in my life. Those connections led to great friendships and incredible adventures.
While picking up a friend at a sorority party I met, my now boyfriend, Andrew Boyd. The next day we bumped into each other again at that same friend's tailgate party. He talked to me the entire morning about one thing, Honduras. At the end of the conversation he said I should go on this trip he was planning there the next summer. I looked at him and told him he was crazy.
Four months later the two of us sat in my parents' living room while Andrew tried to convince my mom that I would not be kidnapped in Central America.
I spent the summer of 2009 in La Union, Honduras as a part of the "2009 Honduras Research Team." It was my first out of country experience and I had no idea what to expect. There were 22 students on the research team. Most of us were from UofM and quite a few from New Life. We lived at a church compound in town. La Union is a small rural town in the mountains. There, you are hours from a paved road, there is no such thing as a street address and it is anyone's guess whether or not the water or power will be working that day. Still I fell in love.
We spent every day from sun up to sun down hiking around the even smaller surrounding villages conducting research. We had to interview every person in every town surrounding La Union. In other words, we had a lot of talking in Spanish to do, a language very few of us spoke.
So, we hired translators. They were the 6th and 7th grade students from the private bi-lingual school in town. The school is affiliated with the church we lived at and the students speak fluent English and Spanish. It was obvious that these kids were the lucky ones in town. They either came from families could afford to send their kids to school or had found sponsors to help with tuition.
It was a privilege to spend the summer with them. Gloria and Nelsy were the girls I became closest with. We had a lot of hiking to do between houses, which left plenty of time for talk. I learned so much about their lives last summer and how drastically different age 13 looks like for them than it did for me. How for boys the alternative to school is work in the coffee fields and for girls its marriage. How when these girls finish school they will be the FIRST students in their town to complete all 12 years of high school. How even owning a book is a privilege. I found THIS out from Nelsy.
In a village called Quiscamote, Nelsy and I sat on a rock while we waited for our truck ride home. She showed me her drawings and told me about her friends, school and boys. I had a book in my bag for down times like this. She saw it and told me about books and how there are none for kids to read in La Union. My heart was broken.
Quiscamote was towards the end of the summer and a few weeks later my time in Honduras was over. I returned to school in the fall for my last year of college and was completely Honduras sick. I spent more time thinking about Honduras than searching for internships or jobs or grad schools. My heart was no longer in architecture, it was in Honduras. This feeling and distraction did not wear off as school continued like I hoped. In fact it got worse. God put Gloria and Nelsy on my heart and it was heavy. They were all I could think about for months. Architecture no longer seemed to matter, nothing did but going back there.
I kept in contact with a teacher from the school. I questioned him daily about teaching in Honduras. Again I found myself in my living room talking to my parents about Honduras. This time it was different and much more difficult. After 5 years and tens of thousands of dollars in student loans for architecture I wanted nothing more than to be in a "third world country…" as a teacher.
After a few long hard months of prayer, soul searching, and talking with my parents, I applied, interviewed and was offered a job. It took me about a half a second to accept the job I was so excited. But my plans in Honduras do not end there. Architecture will always be a part of me and it is not something I will give up on. My career in architecture is just getting a unique start. The conversation with Nelsy made a lasting impression on me and so I am co-leading a project to build a library in La Union next summer. To bring books to kids who have none.
3 weeks from today I will be getting on a plane back to Honduras. I will be teaching 5th grade at Vida Abundante Christan School in La Union.
And that's a slice of my life!"
Monday, June 21, 2010
yel-low
yel-low: (n) a color like that of egg yolk, ripe lemons, etc.; the primary color between green and orange in the visible spectrum, an effect of light with a wavelength between 570 and 590 nm
In high school I LOVED the color blue. EVERYTHING that could be blue, was blue. Clothes, bedroom, bed, bathing suits, etc. Blue carried over into college. Junior year I transferred to the University of Michigan where, while shopping at Ikea for new bedding and apartment necessities, blue faded to red. The romance with red lasted until the following summer when a green purse started a new love affair. And then there was Yellow. There was no "ah ha" moment with yellow. A few years ago I splurged on a yellow Roxy bikini and I've been flirting with the color ever since. The occasional yellow bouquet of flowers from Andrew, a yellow shirt, etc. Perhaps the depression of being locked in the architecture studio for 2 years spurred a desire for something bright and cheerful in my life. My favorite bachelorette Ali sealed the deal. When she premiered on The Bachelor she wore a beautiful yellow gown. As the season went on we found out her favorite color was yellow, and it showed up in all of her adorable yellow outfits. After the season ended, flirting with yellow became more and I fell in love. I began hunting for a new purse, a yellow purse. The criteria: bright yellow, leather, soft, shiny. About a month later I received a picture message of a bright, yellow, shiny, soft leather purse from a girlfriend who was on a shopping trip with her roommate. That was my purse. I jumped online to look for it, NOTHING. I searched around downtown shops, stores, malls and still came up empty handed. It seemed the more I shopped the less yellow there was all together!
Saturday was my birthday. I celebrated with my family the night before with a dinner date and Baskin Robins ice cream cake. I spent the following day with a few friends on the lake wake boarding and wake surfing. Andrew was denied his request for time off and did not arrive until the bonfire later that night. The fire did not last long, most of us were exhausted from all the fun in the sun. Andrew helped me clean up around the fire pit then instructed me to wait for him in the kitchen. I would have fallen asleep on the counter if it wasn't for all his rustling and bustling in the living room. He took my hand and led me to a huge display of yellow. Yellow flowers, two yellow gift bags with yellow tissue paper, and three yellow boxes. Inside each package was a yellow purse! Each bag was filled with a NineWest purse and each box with a COACH purse. That's right, 5 yellow purses and for my birthday I got to choose one. The "picture message purse" was among the quintet which should have made my choice easy, right? WRONG! Even Andrew knew that choosing a purse would be difficult for me, I'm not the fastest decision maker. So I started the process of elimination. One purse was leather, but not soft or shiny or bright. The next to go was a COACH purse with brown and yellow signature fabric. There were two leather purses left, both bright, both shiny, but only one was soft. So then I was left with the "picture message purse" from NineWest and a COACH purse. The dilemma...
I have never in my life considered buying COACH. Why? Most COACH purses cost about $300. A, I cannot afford a $300 purse. B, if I could afford to spend $300 on something, it would most certainly not be a purse. I've also never really been one for brand name merchandise. At 11 years old, when brand names started to matter, I was not skinny enough or wealthy enough to buy clothes at Abercrombie and Fitch. I teased my shopaholic, size 0 sister whose entire wardrobe spelled A&F, out of my own insecurity. I built my defense claiming that I did not need to be a walking label to be cool, have friends, or fit in. Especially when I realized how ridiculous my peers looked showing up to school wearing the same $50 graphic T as the person sitting next to them. I lived by the anti brand name priciple for some time, and in some ways I still do.
I had made up my mind. The yellow leather purse, the "picture message purse", the purse that fit my criteria would be the purse for me. I put the COACH purse back in the box and closed the lid.
So why did I pull it out the next morning? I took the stuffing back out of the purse and filled it with the things from my old black purse. Everything except for my car keys went into the purse, and it was tight. I put the purse on my shoulder and turned toward the mirror. SO CUTE. This purse, though not shiny and leather, is yellow and adorable! Something is drawing me back to this purse, simultaneously something is also holding me back from saying yes to this purse. Back to square one. I asked my mom, sent picture messages to my sister, I even asked my brother. I asked Andrew, who teased me even though he KNEW this would happen. "If it helps," he said, "I did not spend $300 on those COACH purses, I got quite a deal." Nope, not helping, though I was relieved to know that he had his head on straight enough not to spend $300 on a purse for me. He even suggested that I just buy the cheaper one and keep them both. DEFINITELY not helping! I do not NEED two purses, though I do want both. I would never buy COACH for myself, but this is a gift. The leather one is so fun, the COACH one is so pretty. The COACH one doesn't really fit all my stuff, why do I carry so much crap in my purse anyway? The COACH one is yellow fabric and will get dirty, the leather one is yellow leather and will get dirty. If I don't get it now, I will probably never own a COACH purse again in my life, do I really care about owning COACH? The leather one is everything I wanted in a yellow purse, I didn't know I wanted this other purse.
It all seems trivial though doesn't it? How blessed am I that my biggest dilemma this week has been which yellow purse I should choose as my birthday gift? How blessed am I that my boyfriend went PURSE SHOPPING for me and found 5 yellow purses for me to choose from? Kudos on that, by the way.
As of now I still have not decided on a purse...
In high school I LOVED the color blue. EVERYTHING that could be blue, was blue. Clothes, bedroom, bed, bathing suits, etc. Blue carried over into college. Junior year I transferred to the University of Michigan where, while shopping at Ikea for new bedding and apartment necessities, blue faded to red. The romance with red lasted until the following summer when a green purse started a new love affair. And then there was Yellow. There was no "ah ha" moment with yellow. A few years ago I splurged on a yellow Roxy bikini and I've been flirting with the color ever since. The occasional yellow bouquet of flowers from Andrew, a yellow shirt, etc. Perhaps the depression of being locked in the architecture studio for 2 years spurred a desire for something bright and cheerful in my life. My favorite bachelorette Ali sealed the deal. When she premiered on The Bachelor she wore a beautiful yellow gown. As the season went on we found out her favorite color was yellow, and it showed up in all of her adorable yellow outfits. After the season ended, flirting with yellow became more and I fell in love. I began hunting for a new purse, a yellow purse. The criteria: bright yellow, leather, soft, shiny. About a month later I received a picture message of a bright, yellow, shiny, soft leather purse from a girlfriend who was on a shopping trip with her roommate. That was my purse. I jumped online to look for it, NOTHING. I searched around downtown shops, stores, malls and still came up empty handed. It seemed the more I shopped the less yellow there was all together!
Saturday was my birthday. I celebrated with my family the night before with a dinner date and Baskin Robins ice cream cake. I spent the following day with a few friends on the lake wake boarding and wake surfing. Andrew was denied his request for time off and did not arrive until the bonfire later that night. The fire did not last long, most of us were exhausted from all the fun in the sun. Andrew helped me clean up around the fire pit then instructed me to wait for him in the kitchen. I would have fallen asleep on the counter if it wasn't for all his rustling and bustling in the living room. He took my hand and led me to a huge display of yellow. Yellow flowers, two yellow gift bags with yellow tissue paper, and three yellow boxes. Inside each package was a yellow purse! Each bag was filled with a NineWest purse and each box with a COACH purse. That's right, 5 yellow purses and for my birthday I got to choose one. The "picture message purse" was among the quintet which should have made my choice easy, right? WRONG! Even Andrew knew that choosing a purse would be difficult for me, I'm not the fastest decision maker. So I started the process of elimination. One purse was leather, but not soft or shiny or bright. The next to go was a COACH purse with brown and yellow signature fabric. There were two leather purses left, both bright, both shiny, but only one was soft. So then I was left with the "picture message purse" from NineWest and a COACH purse. The dilemma...
I have never in my life considered buying COACH. Why? Most COACH purses cost about $300. A, I cannot afford a $300 purse. B, if I could afford to spend $300 on something, it would most certainly not be a purse. I've also never really been one for brand name merchandise. At 11 years old, when brand names started to matter, I was not skinny enough or wealthy enough to buy clothes at Abercrombie and Fitch. I teased my shopaholic, size 0 sister whose entire wardrobe spelled A&F, out of my own insecurity. I built my defense claiming that I did not need to be a walking label to be cool, have friends, or fit in. Especially when I realized how ridiculous my peers looked showing up to school wearing the same $50 graphic T as the person sitting next to them. I lived by the anti brand name priciple for some time, and in some ways I still do.
I had made up my mind. The yellow leather purse, the "picture message purse", the purse that fit my criteria would be the purse for me. I put the COACH purse back in the box and closed the lid.
So why did I pull it out the next morning? I took the stuffing back out of the purse and filled it with the things from my old black purse. Everything except for my car keys went into the purse, and it was tight. I put the purse on my shoulder and turned toward the mirror. SO CUTE. This purse, though not shiny and leather, is yellow and adorable! Something is drawing me back to this purse, simultaneously something is also holding me back from saying yes to this purse. Back to square one. I asked my mom, sent picture messages to my sister, I even asked my brother. I asked Andrew, who teased me even though he KNEW this would happen. "If it helps," he said, "I did not spend $300 on those COACH purses, I got quite a deal." Nope, not helping, though I was relieved to know that he had his head on straight enough not to spend $300 on a purse for me. He even suggested that I just buy the cheaper one and keep them both. DEFINITELY not helping! I do not NEED two purses, though I do want both. I would never buy COACH for myself, but this is a gift. The leather one is so fun, the COACH one is so pretty. The COACH one doesn't really fit all my stuff, why do I carry so much crap in my purse anyway? The COACH one is yellow fabric and will get dirty, the leather one is yellow leather and will get dirty. If I don't get it now, I will probably never own a COACH purse again in my life, do I really care about owning COACH? The leather one is everything I wanted in a yellow purse, I didn't know I wanted this other purse.
It all seems trivial though doesn't it? How blessed am I that my biggest dilemma this week has been which yellow purse I should choose as my birthday gift? How blessed am I that my boyfriend went PURSE SHOPPING for me and found 5 yellow purses for me to choose from? Kudos on that, by the way.
As of now I still have not decided on a purse...
Friday, May 28, 2010
band
band: (n) a group of instrumentalists playing music of a specialized type
Within the first few months of moving to Ann Arbor, I was invited to be a part of a small worship band at a church I had started attending. The band proved to be an extremely valuable experience in my life. These musicians were the first friends I made in this strange new city. The band lasted until summer vacation split us apart to all ends of the globe...
During our time together, I had the privilege of making music with a particularly talented musician and wonderful friend named Matt. Matt was the baby of our band. A college freshman at the time who commuted from home, took as many credits per semester as the university would allow, worked a full time job and managed his own band, Avienne. On our way to play at a different church, we stopped by Avienne's band practice to pick up Matt and some sound equipment. Turns out Matt was the "grandpa" among his band mates who were all still attending high school. We caught the tail end of practice and were able to hear a song. I was floored, and absolutely speechless...
I immediately fell in love with the band and became #1 fan until the chaos of architecture school consumed my life. None the less, I have been able to witness this band evolve from their basement and backyard shows to a headlining musical phenomenon. They won the 2008 Detroit Battle of the Bands competition which led them to perform at the Arts Beats and Eats festival in Pontiac. Their career launched from there. Avienne has played dozens of shows and has now released their second album Dreams Lies Revolution. They have also been featured on local Detroit news stations and papers.
Their most recent accomplishment has been winning the national semifinals for the Ambassadors of Rock Contest. They are now among the top 10 finalists from all of North America in the running to be sent to London to play with Paul McCartney on stage. I fully support this band and believe in everything they do. They are an incredibly talented group of young musicians and absolutely amazing people. I would like to invite you to support Avienne by voting for them in the final stages of the Ambassadors of Rock Contest.
http://battle.ambassadorsofrock.com/avienne/
This link will direct you to the voting page. Enter your name and e-mail and click vote. You must click the link on the confirmation e-mail in order for your vote to count. I assure you, you will not be bothered with junk e-mail after voting (I'm always cautious about giving out my e-mail address).
To hear more of Avienne's music, and the song that made me fall in love with them (The Beautiful Broken People), you can visit their website at http://avienne.com/
or their MySpace page http://www.myspace.com/aviennemusic
Best of luck to Avienne, and God bless.
Within the first few months of moving to Ann Arbor, I was invited to be a part of a small worship band at a church I had started attending. The band proved to be an extremely valuable experience in my life. These musicians were the first friends I made in this strange new city. The band lasted until summer vacation split us apart to all ends of the globe...
During our time together, I had the privilege of making music with a particularly talented musician and wonderful friend named Matt. Matt was the baby of our band. A college freshman at the time who commuted from home, took as many credits per semester as the university would allow, worked a full time job and managed his own band, Avienne. On our way to play at a different church, we stopped by Avienne's band practice to pick up Matt and some sound equipment. Turns out Matt was the "grandpa" among his band mates who were all still attending high school. We caught the tail end of practice and were able to hear a song. I was floored, and absolutely speechless...
I immediately fell in love with the band and became #1 fan until the chaos of architecture school consumed my life. None the less, I have been able to witness this band evolve from their basement and backyard shows to a headlining musical phenomenon. They won the 2008 Detroit Battle of the Bands competition which led them to perform at the Arts Beats and Eats festival in Pontiac. Their career launched from there. Avienne has played dozens of shows and has now released their second album Dreams Lies Revolution. They have also been featured on local Detroit news stations and papers.
Their most recent accomplishment has been winning the national semifinals for the Ambassadors of Rock Contest. They are now among the top 10 finalists from all of North America in the running to be sent to London to play with Paul McCartney on stage. I fully support this band and believe in everything they do. They are an incredibly talented group of young musicians and absolutely amazing people. I would like to invite you to support Avienne by voting for them in the final stages of the Ambassadors of Rock Contest.
http://battle.ambassadorsofrock.com/avienne/
This link will direct you to the voting page. Enter your name and e-mail and click vote. You must click the link on the confirmation e-mail in order for your vote to count. I assure you, you will not be bothered with junk e-mail after voting (I'm always cautious about giving out my e-mail address).
To hear more of Avienne's music, and the song that made me fall in love with them (The Beautiful Broken People), you can visit their website at http://avienne.com/
or their MySpace page http://www.myspace.com/aviennemusic
Best of luck to Avienne, and God bless.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
flake
flake: (n) an unreliable person; someone who agrees to do something, but never follows through
Like me.
I wrote over a month ago that I would be back in a week and completely flaked out. Sure I have excuses, want to hear them? Of course you don't! But I am going to tell them to you anyway. Final exams, final review, 2 college graduations, moved home, started work, 3 day architecture conference, cousin's baptism, a visit from Andrew, Andrew's sister's graduation, another cousin's open house. There, aren't you glad you know how busy I was? No. Truth is, you were probably more busy than I was. Do you understand why I have not written? Sure, I have excuses. Does it change he fact that I told you I would write and I didn't? Absolutely not.
Yesterday I spent the day at the beach with my mom. We are having record high temperatures this week, all I want is to be near the water. Ideally when I go to the beach I like to swim and sun bathe ALL day. Circumstances yesterday were different however and we left the beach after only 4 hours of sun. I was not too reluctant to leave. It just so happened to be the day of the Great Lakes Kite Festival, which is now my new least favorite day of the year. I love everything about the beach, EXCEPT for kites. Mini hang gliders with sharp pointed noses attached to a string placed into the hands of a 7-year-old who pulls and twists the kite causing it to whip and zip through the air. I flinch every time I hear that buzzing sound as the kite dive bombs out of the sky and crashes into the sand. I wonder how many people are injured by kites each year?
I had made other water related plans for when I returned home. "Just come on over," he said. I always call first. One time I did just come on over, different guy, but the result was a super awkward, non-fun day, and a waste of gas. So I called and plans got pushed back for dinner, not a problem. I ate dinner with my mom and waited for another call... nothing. 3 and a half hours later I got a text, "sorry, it's late now, maybe next time." I thought to myself, "that's not like him." Then I remembered that this very thing had happened before.
We've all been there, on both sides of the coin. Every one of us has flaked out on someone. A friend, a family member, a co-worker. And we've all felt the pain and frustration of being flaked out on. It leaves us with a very empty feeling inside. The hope and anticipation of spending time with someone, or doing something you couldn't wait to do, or receiving a favor... and then nothing. NOTHING. Emotion, excitement, build up, and suddenly the rug is pulled out from under you.
A significant person in your life decides to skip out on celebrating your big day, whatever that day may be. Money's tight, work is busy, something came up, they'll make it up later. You understand, right?
An old friend apologizes for being so absent in your life and promises to change, to spend time with you, to return your calls. A year later they deliver the same apology. They got caught up in their own life, this time they mean it though, promise.
A family member agrees to help you with a project. They forget, they're too busy, they forgot supplies, we'll do it tomorrow, there's too much else going on. You'll just have to understand and be patient.
But does the excuse really matter? Does it change the fact that the special someone in your life took away some of the special from your day? Does it make you feel less disappointed? Does it change the fact that your friendship has yet to rekindle? Does it make you trust their apology? Does it change the fact that you cannot depend on the word of your kin? Does it change the fact that you were depending on them to come through? Does it change the fact that you waited around hoping because you had faith in someone, only to be flaked out on?
So why are these people still a part of our lives? Shouldn't we end things with people who make us feel this way, with people who we can't depend on? We've all been flaked out on by the same people over and again, so why not cut ties?
Ever wonder what God must feel like? How many promises do we make to God that we cannot possibly keep? When we flake out on God, He feels the same pain that you and I feel when someone flakes out on us. He even knows that we will flake out on Him before we do it, but God never cuts ties with us. Instead, He gives us grace. Why? Because for some crazy reason, God loves all of us flakes unconditionally.
Love the flakes unconditionally and grant them your grace.
Like me.
I wrote over a month ago that I would be back in a week and completely flaked out. Sure I have excuses, want to hear them? Of course you don't! But I am going to tell them to you anyway. Final exams, final review, 2 college graduations, moved home, started work, 3 day architecture conference, cousin's baptism, a visit from Andrew, Andrew's sister's graduation, another cousin's open house. There, aren't you glad you know how busy I was? No. Truth is, you were probably more busy than I was. Do you understand why I have not written? Sure, I have excuses. Does it change he fact that I told you I would write and I didn't? Absolutely not.
Yesterday I spent the day at the beach with my mom. We are having record high temperatures this week, all I want is to be near the water. Ideally when I go to the beach I like to swim and sun bathe ALL day. Circumstances yesterday were different however and we left the beach after only 4 hours of sun. I was not too reluctant to leave. It just so happened to be the day of the Great Lakes Kite Festival, which is now my new least favorite day of the year. I love everything about the beach, EXCEPT for kites. Mini hang gliders with sharp pointed noses attached to a string placed into the hands of a 7-year-old who pulls and twists the kite causing it to whip and zip through the air. I flinch every time I hear that buzzing sound as the kite dive bombs out of the sky and crashes into the sand. I wonder how many people are injured by kites each year?
I had made other water related plans for when I returned home. "Just come on over," he said. I always call first. One time I did just come on over, different guy, but the result was a super awkward, non-fun day, and a waste of gas. So I called and plans got pushed back for dinner, not a problem. I ate dinner with my mom and waited for another call... nothing. 3 and a half hours later I got a text, "sorry, it's late now, maybe next time." I thought to myself, "that's not like him." Then I remembered that this very thing had happened before.
We've all been there, on both sides of the coin. Every one of us has flaked out on someone. A friend, a family member, a co-worker. And we've all felt the pain and frustration of being flaked out on. It leaves us with a very empty feeling inside. The hope and anticipation of spending time with someone, or doing something you couldn't wait to do, or receiving a favor... and then nothing. NOTHING. Emotion, excitement, build up, and suddenly the rug is pulled out from under you.
A significant person in your life decides to skip out on celebrating your big day, whatever that day may be. Money's tight, work is busy, something came up, they'll make it up later. You understand, right?
An old friend apologizes for being so absent in your life and promises to change, to spend time with you, to return your calls. A year later they deliver the same apology. They got caught up in their own life, this time they mean it though, promise.
A family member agrees to help you with a project. They forget, they're too busy, they forgot supplies, we'll do it tomorrow, there's too much else going on. You'll just have to understand and be patient.
But does the excuse really matter? Does it change the fact that the special someone in your life took away some of the special from your day? Does it make you feel less disappointed? Does it change the fact that your friendship has yet to rekindle? Does it make you trust their apology? Does it change the fact that you cannot depend on the word of your kin? Does it change the fact that you were depending on them to come through? Does it change the fact that you waited around hoping because you had faith in someone, only to be flaked out on?
So why are these people still a part of our lives? Shouldn't we end things with people who make us feel this way, with people who we can't depend on? We've all been flaked out on by the same people over and again, so why not cut ties?
Ever wonder what God must feel like? How many promises do we make to God that we cannot possibly keep? When we flake out on God, He feels the same pain that you and I feel when someone flakes out on us. He even knows that we will flake out on Him before we do it, but God never cuts ties with us. Instead, He gives us grace. Why? Because for some crazy reason, God loves all of us flakes unconditionally.
Love the flakes unconditionally and grant them your grace.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
ma-ture
mature: (adj) fully developed in body or mind, as a person.
Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the blog, just been "out dealing with things way beyond my maturity level." More on that later. Structures final tomorrow, final UG4 review Friday, weekend then Construction final next Wednesday, and no sleep for Amelia.
Have a good one folks, see you in about a week.
Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the blog, just been "out dealing with things way beyond my maturity level." More on that later. Structures final tomorrow, final UG4 review Friday, weekend then Construction final next Wednesday, and no sleep for Amelia.
Have a good one folks, see you in about a week.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
day
day: (n) the interval of light between two successive nights; the time between sunrise and sunset
Hanging on the wall above the dresser in my room is a mirror. Painted in black on the mirror is the phrase, "Welcome to the best day of your life." The mirror was a gift. Summer 2008, my 3rd summer on staff at Camp Henry, my 12th summer there all together. Throughout my childhood and to this day Camp Henry remains one of my favorite places in the entire world. Every summer at camp we celebrate Christmas in July. This is nothing like corporate America Christmas in July, or even Christmas in December. No, this is so much more. Part of the tradition among staff members is to draw "Secret Santa's." About 3 weeks before Christmas Week, names are drawn at the Sunday afternoon staff meeting. Secrets are serious at camp so once you draw your name you must EAT the piece of paper you drew so that no one will find out who you have. Then there's Kerry Drake. Once the names are drawn, he bothers everyone, asking who they have and promising not to tell. Some would say he works harder at figuring out who has who, then working on his own gift. Gifts must be homemade, nothing store bought, and you must not spend more than $20 on supplies, though nobody ever follows that rule. After camp transforms into a Christmas wonderland, the tool shed into Santa's workshop, and staff members into sleepless elves, the time finally comes to give gifts. Once all the campers are snug in their beds with visions of shaving cream fights dancing in the heads, the staff gather in Millar Lodge. The first gift giver stands in the middle of a circle of giddy counselors, reveals their Secret Santa, and gives their gift. Then the person who just received a gift repeats the process. In 2008 I received a picture of the waterfront, fitting because I was the waterfront director that year, and the mirror. The phrase on the mirror came from our boss, Jake. Every staff meeting every morning Jake would conclude by saying, "There is no reason why today couldn't be the best day of your life." Of course, every minute of the day is scheduled out for each one of us, so we all had a pretty good idea of how the day was going to go. When I looked down at my clipboard and saw that I got to drive the Banana Boat, or teach water skiing, I was on board with Jake. But when it was a cold day and I saw that I had to swim out to the green raft and lifeguard in the freezing cold, best day of my life was the furthest thing from my mind. Of course the days always took unexpected turns. A great day of Banana Boating could turn into chaos with a shortage of life jackets or late cabins. And a freezing cold green raft day could turn into fun and laughter playing "let's keep warm games" in the water, or an impromptu trip to the mud pit.
School has been killing me, especially this month, it's finals season. I've been avoiding my "scheduled activities" like I would hope to avoid swimming to the green raft. This week I received news of a death in my neighborhood. He died of brain cancer, his daughter went to school with me and also worked at camp. Probably the worst day of her life. Not the best day of mine either. Today, I have about a million things to do for school. The outlook, not a great day probably no sleep tonight either. But there is no reason why today couldn't be the best day of my life, or the worst. I'll have to live it though, in order to find out.
Hanging on the wall above the dresser in my room is a mirror. Painted in black on the mirror is the phrase, "Welcome to the best day of your life." The mirror was a gift. Summer 2008, my 3rd summer on staff at Camp Henry, my 12th summer there all together. Throughout my childhood and to this day Camp Henry remains one of my favorite places in the entire world. Every summer at camp we celebrate Christmas in July. This is nothing like corporate America Christmas in July, or even Christmas in December. No, this is so much more. Part of the tradition among staff members is to draw "Secret Santa's." About 3 weeks before Christmas Week, names are drawn at the Sunday afternoon staff meeting. Secrets are serious at camp so once you draw your name you must EAT the piece of paper you drew so that no one will find out who you have. Then there's Kerry Drake. Once the names are drawn, he bothers everyone, asking who they have and promising not to tell. Some would say he works harder at figuring out who has who, then working on his own gift. Gifts must be homemade, nothing store bought, and you must not spend more than $20 on supplies, though nobody ever follows that rule. After camp transforms into a Christmas wonderland, the tool shed into Santa's workshop, and staff members into sleepless elves, the time finally comes to give gifts. Once all the campers are snug in their beds with visions of shaving cream fights dancing in the heads, the staff gather in Millar Lodge. The first gift giver stands in the middle of a circle of giddy counselors, reveals their Secret Santa, and gives their gift. Then the person who just received a gift repeats the process. In 2008 I received a picture of the waterfront, fitting because I was the waterfront director that year, and the mirror. The phrase on the mirror came from our boss, Jake. Every staff meeting every morning Jake would conclude by saying, "There is no reason why today couldn't be the best day of your life." Of course, every minute of the day is scheduled out for each one of us, so we all had a pretty good idea of how the day was going to go. When I looked down at my clipboard and saw that I got to drive the Banana Boat, or teach water skiing, I was on board with Jake. But when it was a cold day and I saw that I had to swim out to the green raft and lifeguard in the freezing cold, best day of my life was the furthest thing from my mind. Of course the days always took unexpected turns. A great day of Banana Boating could turn into chaos with a shortage of life jackets or late cabins. And a freezing cold green raft day could turn into fun and laughter playing "let's keep warm games" in the water, or an impromptu trip to the mud pit.
School has been killing me, especially this month, it's finals season. I've been avoiding my "scheduled activities" like I would hope to avoid swimming to the green raft. This week I received news of a death in my neighborhood. He died of brain cancer, his daughter went to school with me and also worked at camp. Probably the worst day of her life. Not the best day of mine either. Today, I have about a million things to do for school. The outlook, not a great day probably no sleep tonight either. But there is no reason why today couldn't be the best day of my life, or the worst. I'll have to live it though, in order to find out.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
pho-tog-ra-phy
photography: (n) the process or art of producing images of objects on sensitized surfaces by the chemical action of light or of other forms of radiant energy, as x-rays, gamma rays, or cosmic rays.
I spent this past weekend at home with my family for Easter. The days leading up to the weekend were extremely stressful. If you've ever been awake for 48 hours straight, or more, you know what I'm talking about. I actually spent more hours awake working on my project for last Friday than I did at home with my family. Regardless, the trip home was worth it. Nothing trumps family. After everyone retires for the night, I often spend time in my old room rummaging through things I left behind. Among them, about a million photographs, NOT including the pictures from my digital camera which I received for my 18th birthday. I got my first camera for my 10th birthday and went picture crazy. Back in December, when I was home for Christmas, I began the process of filtering through the pictures and putting together photo albums.
Ever spend hours looking at one picture? Replaying the events that led up to and followed the split second you hold in your hand? When I look at old pictures that I didn't take, I try to make up my own story. Sitting in my room pondering over my pictures I came up with an idea. What if I create a mini series within my blog? My Life in Pictures: a picture is worth a thousand words. I will narrate a different picture for each post, in a thousand words. Well, maybe I'll drop the word count...
Thoughts?
I spent this past weekend at home with my family for Easter. The days leading up to the weekend were extremely stressful. If you've ever been awake for 48 hours straight, or more, you know what I'm talking about. I actually spent more hours awake working on my project for last Friday than I did at home with my family. Regardless, the trip home was worth it. Nothing trumps family. After everyone retires for the night, I often spend time in my old room rummaging through things I left behind. Among them, about a million photographs, NOT including the pictures from my digital camera which I received for my 18th birthday. I got my first camera for my 10th birthday and went picture crazy. Back in December, when I was home for Christmas, I began the process of filtering through the pictures and putting together photo albums.
Ever spend hours looking at one picture? Replaying the events that led up to and followed the split second you hold in your hand? When I look at old pictures that I didn't take, I try to make up my own story. Sitting in my room pondering over my pictures I came up with an idea. What if I create a mini series within my blog? My Life in Pictures: a picture is worth a thousand words. I will narrate a different picture for each post, in a thousand words. Well, maybe I'll drop the word count...
Thoughts?
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