Adventure is not limited to experiencing a foreign country, but living in a foreign environment definitely increases perception of everyday life as an adventure! Apart from the adventures in daily living, I’ve also been fortunate enough to take some fun little trips here in Honduras. I’ve taken some great trips with Bryan in his truck – to the amazing waterfall Pulapanzak, to San Pedro Sula to explore the centre and many other nearby beautiful locations. One of my favourite trips was the day we took two friends of mine from the first community in which I taught to Tela. Tela is a small city a couple hours’ drive from Santa Cruz. As a city it’s nothing super special, but it sits on the ocean and has gorgeous beaches, very interesting mangrove swamps and Garifuna villages nearby. Bryan, Blanca, Lucia and I spent a very relaxing day enjoying the sunshine and the waves (better waves than usual due to the tropical storm the day before), walking around the town and eating pizza for dinner (a novelty here!). We stopped in a nice mall in a large community on the way home and took the girls to their first movie in a theatre!

I passed the last two Sundays in San Pedro Sula with some wonderful friends. Two Sundays ago I took the bus to S.P.S., where I met Manuel (assistant director of CPI here) and his two lovely daughters, Marcela and Gabriela. They took me to Guamalito, the oldest market in S.P.S., which is fairly touristy, but has a lot of traditional crafts and such. We then spent some time in one of the two large malls and had a special lunch of Wendy’s hamburgers! (they truly are something special, or at least out-of-the-ordinary here). This past Sunday, I traveled once again to S.P.S. with Lidia, an adult student from another community. We spent the day with her sister and many other family members there, eating delicious typical Honduran food, and just hanging out together. I feel very blessed to have so many welcoming and wonderful people in my life here.

Even the mode of travel itself can be a great adventure here in Honduras. The regular transport between communities here consists of crazy little buses called Rapiditos. Though these little buses appear small, they actually fit a fairly unlimited number of persons – even when I am sure that there is no way to fit even one more person, we pull over and a whole family manages to squeeze itself into the cracks.   I have to say that for their purpose (fitting in an unlimited number of persons), Rapiditos are well-designed.  In addition to the usual bench seats, there are fold down seats to utilize all space as more people enter the van.  It’s not abnormal to seat more people in the cracks that are left (sometimes with a pillow) and when finally bodies are overlapping, the unfortunate last people in stand bent over just inside the door.  You can get in and out of the Rapiditos anywhere along their route, at which point it requires a skillful shuffle of bodies to fit more people or extract people from the mass.  Each Rapidito has two guys working inside – obviously a driver, but because of the way the system is set up, there is also a guy collecting fares as you go.  I am impressed with the memories and mathematical capacities of the money guys on the Rapiditos—they remember who got on and where, and calculate fares and give change in any given moment.  In between larger centres run larger buses, but no matter the size, you’ll find us hurdling along at the speed of light and weaving amongst the other disorganized traffic and loose dogs. I rarely fear for my own safety, but I always hang onto the seat a little tighter when we approach an animal along the road.  Though the animals here are very street-smart, my worst fear was realized just over a week ago as I was coming back to Santa Cruz from the community where I was teaching that day.  We were careening along as usual, and the driver didn’t brake as two dogs crossed our path.  One made it, but I experienced the worst sinking and sick feeling as we hit the other, a bang then clunk clunk clunk and when I looked back there was a dog rolling and almost bouncing down to hit the road behind us. Though there was general unrest on the bus, I was probably the most in shock, and I fought tears for a long time that afternoon.

On to happier and more edifying experiences. I spent this past Saturday with some friends in the nearby community El Balin.  I often spend time with Blanca, Lucia and their large and welcoming family. There is a large creek and pools near their house that we enjoy a lot. This past Saturday I went in the morning with the intention of learning something about making typical Honduran food (it’s always delicious at their place!).  Like every morning, the ladies were busy making corn tortillas for the day, and they let me join in.  I spent quite a while with their Grandma, learning to work the tortillas by hand till they were round and the right thickness. After achieving a decent level of success preparing the tortillas by hand, I did try the tortillera (tortilla press).  It made the process a lot more efficient for me, the beginner, but for the ladies who’ve been preparing tortillas by hand for years it isn’t necessarily more efficient!  We also prepared one of my favourite Honduran drinks called horchata, which is a kind of rice and milk drink which also contains ground peanuts and other seeds and cinnamon.  The first time I drank it, it reminded me strongly of the rice dessert that I had in Spain called arroz con leche, but since then it has always tasted more strongly of peanuts, but still delicious!  Throughout the whole process, the girls were emphasizing how easy it was to make this delicious drink. Simply toast the nuts and seeds on your outdoor fire, then hand-grind the nuts, seeds, fresh cinnamon, and uncooked rice. Next, put the mixture through a strainer bit by bit, working it through so that you get the powder, but not the larger pieces.  Then add water and milk, and a good dump of sugar.  Presto! So simple, so easy.  I no longer wonder how the food can be so delicious at their home, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them that despite how “simple” each step of the process was (and the definition of “simple” may be in question here), the process and time involved in making such a drink from scratch will likely deter me from trying at home.

I like the typical food here in Honduras, especially when home-cooked. Hondurans are always surprised when I tell them that typically, Canadian meals don’t include beans (what we would call refried beans) and tortillas.  Beans and tortillas are staple foods here, to be eaten normally every day.  Why is it that in Spain, meals are traditionally accompanied by bread (baguette bought same day), and here in Honduras the same happens with tortillas, but in Canada we do not have a staple side to our meals? A good meal includes a meat – chicken is very popular, but there is also a lot of beef, and pork.  Eggs could be considered part of a typical plate as well. The traditional soup is also delicious, full of vegetables I’ve never even heard of in Canada, and very filling. A typical meal here in Honduras is not spicy, though adding a squirt of hot chile sauce is normal, and most restaurants have it there on the table. One of the most typical (and very cheap) foods to buy off of the street is called a Baleada.  Beans and chicken or another meat/ eggs with a hearty sprinkle of the typical salty cheese are wrapped in a large flour tortilla. This is usually the only type of cheese you can get here, and to be honest, it is one of the two foods that I don’t really like of all that I have tried. Unfortunately, a typical plate of food usually comes with a large chunk of this salty cheese (a bit like feta) so it is unavoidably a part of most meals I am graciously served.  Fortunately, because I eat it politely every time, I will probably learn to like it before I head back to Canada – with any luck, sooner rather than later!

My favourite food experiences are without fail the home-cooked typical meals graciously served by people when I teach in their community. I teach class from 9-1 (though 9 often ends up being flexible due to the more relaxed Honduran idea of time), and am often invited afterward to eat at the home of one of the students. Apart from lunches with the students, I have eaten out a lot since arriving here in Santa Cruz.  By dollar standards, “eating out” is very cheap here, and due to that fact, the fact that I didn’t have cooking dishes and additionally prefer to be out than holed up at home alone, I didn’t see a need to cook for myself. There are several restaurants which I frequent, most of them serve fairly similar fare. One restaurant that I particularly enjoy is called Bistro, which Bryan first introduced to me for its delectable wings. The other particular draw of Bistro is the opportunity to eat vegetables. Most restaurants serve some sort of basic salad, but as a newcomer, it is advisable to avoid uncooked vegetables in restaurants (especially lettuce), as they have many chances to gather harmful bacteria and you never know how they are cleaned or not. At Bistro, Bryan and I can order cooked vegetables made specially for us, which is a very nice addition to a meal. I am happy to be able to say that I have recently started cooking at home. This change is not so much to save money (though that is a nice perk), but because I am finally finding that I enjoy some resting time away from the busy-ness of other people and being out and about. I don’t have a fridge, so my options are a bit limited, but I have some food (such as eggs) that I can cook up quickly here. Then I run to the corner, where there are ladies making and selling tortillas all day and voila, dinner.

I did something the other week that never even crossed my mind before—went with Bryan, Edel and Santiago as they transported a hive of African Killer Bees from the office to Bryan’s farm! The trip took place at night, as the bees are confused in the dark, and the cooler evening causes lethargy. Santiago sat in the back of the truck in full bee uniform, holding the large bag containing the angry swarm as we were driving the 30 minutes or so to the farm. We hiked up the dark and winding path leading from the deserted road into the farm, hearing only the hum of the bees in the bag. Unfortunately, there were only three bee suits, so I didn’t get to witness the release of the bees into their new home… I waited down the hill a ways, hoping that there would be enough brush in between me and the bees when they streaked out of the bag looking for someone to punish for their transport misery they wouldn’t find me. Bryan needed the flashlight (and I stupidly forgot the headlamp at home), so there I was standing on a dark path, alone with who-knows-what giant tropical creatures (tarantula certainly crossed my mind a lot), waiting to see if the angry African Killer Bees up the hill would find and attack me. I did have a few buzz by me and a couple seemed to be checking me out. I was as still as possible, kept my mouth covered with my gloved hands and hardly dared to breathe, as the bees are attracted to carbon dioxide. After what seemed like an eternity, Bryan and the boys started making their way back down the hill, stopping frequently to brush the bees off of themselves and smoke them out. Because they had bees accompanying them down the hill, I too had to move down the hill ahead of them. I was very thankful for the dull light of my cell phone screen as I tried to avoid the biggest rocks and stick to the path. Only Santiago was unfortunate enough to get stung – two or three times even. Poor guy! I’m sorry I didn’t get to witness the whole process with the bees, but I sure had to face some of my own demons (even if just psychologically) on the trip. I did return the following day with Bryan to visit the bees again and get up close. They were happily working away, the last night’s trauma obviously forgotten. Bryan was very excited about how the whole thing went – apparently it went about as smoothly as transporting bees can go!

Overall, I am very happy to be spending this time in Honduras, learning so many things – from the work of CPI, and also from the daily living in a developing country. It is unavoidable to experience periods of culture shock while adapting to a new life and culture, though it is hard to anticipate what will hit you the hardest. Though it can sometimes be frustrating that the water is off as often as it is on, washing laundry by hand, or other inconveniences and inconsistencies that we don’t experience in Canada, these are not the frustrations that get to me. Everyone has different “shadows” in life – a descriptive word that I find very well-put by Bryan. The first shock that pained me immensely when I arrived was seeing all the loose and starving dogs. I assumed that they were all street dogs, but apparently most dogs actually have owners but still have to take to the street looking for food. It was a mental battle, giving the people grace for treating their animals so poorly, reminding myself that for many people it may be a struggle to feed their family – which of course takes priority. Many animals are sick in addition to being hungry, and I wish that I could relieve them of their suffering – even putting them down would be more considerate than forcing them to live such a miserable existence in many cases.

Another “shadow” became a much larger issue for me and crept up on my sensibilities to frustrate me more and more over time. What really comes down hard on me is just how frustrating it is to be a female here, and as the only white female in town, I unavoidably draw attention. I am very limited as to where I can walk/ what I can do alone (while I highly value my independence in Canada), and I can’t walk anywhere without unwanted and inappropriate attention and gestures all the time. It is definitely a macho culture, and I see the majority of women here trapped in this hopeless cycle. What’s the point of falling in love and joining your life with someone when the majority of men will be unfaithful and you’ll still be stuck at home caring for your mountain of children? There is certainly infidelity in Canada, but the difference is in the way it is viewed – in Canada as a shock and horror, and here as an unfortunate but normal and almost inevitable reality. I got to the point where I was ready to either start kneeing guys in the balls or to hole up at home and avoid exposure altogether. There are a few situations that make me feel uncomfortable safety-wise as well. One guy who always yells stuff or makes gestures or sounds when I pass, but who also followed me onto the bus one day and stops creepily to watch me eat when he catches me in a restaurant (yes, this is a small town). Also the guy with a wife and child who shamelessly pursued me until finally convinced I would not sleep with him – it seems to me that guys and girls don’t know how to be just friends here. And it seems that everyone thinks they are entitled to a chance. I am very thankful for Bryan’s foresight in this matter, and I did come prepared. It has been a salvation of sorts, enabling me to put limits right away when needed. Most of the time, guys think that my boyfriend is “very far away”, so I end up professing my love a lot – my reason to remain faithful… (better not to talk of this too much though, as there are various parties reading this blog).

I should add that there are some men who I respect and trust, and who have treated me in the same respectful manner. I am thankful that this is the case for all of the men whom I work with. In addition to being very great to work with and having this mutual respect, I have to say they have also been very gracious in talking with me and helping me in the situations that I encounter.

Overall, the adventures outweigh the shadows, and I am very glad to be here, learning and serving. There are many wonderful people who have so quickly been willing to welcome me into their homes and their lives, and I really appreciate Canadian Peacemakers International – they have very valuable projects on the go, and I am able to participate and learn so much.

Category: Honduras, On location // 13 Comments »