So it begins...

It's not even six in the morning, and I'm awake, dressed and now undressed again. There's chilly air sweeping down the Honduran mountainside and in under the bathroom door, making me a bit friskier than I should be at that hour. I'm looking apprehensively at a little pink bowl floating in a big plastic bucket sitting on tile beneath a shower than may never have worked. The air reminds me why humanity invented pants, and I think “Is this for real?” I dawdled for about half a minute, then dumped a pink-bowl of water over my head. It was as deliciously warm, like a fresh bath. It was like that because my host mother was up an hour before me, heating my bathwater.

That was a month ago. I've been in Honduras for a whole month. Three weeks in Santa Lucia, almost a week now in Sabanagrande, plus visits to Tegucigalpa and Choluteca. From what I´ve seen and heard thus far, this is a land of glaring contradictions. I have encountered nothing but generosity, helpful strangers, and extreme kindness... and everyone tells me to watch my back at all times. People are surprisingly open and very friendly, yet very socially conservative. Yet that´s a big generalization for a county that, although small, is incredibly diverse.

It's deceptively beautiful here. In Santa Lucia there's a little coffee shop where you can sit in the evenings looking out at the golden sunlight reflected off the thousands of corrugated-steel roofs on the mountainsides of Tegucigalpa, and watch distant ridges disappear in the fading light. There's a football field we played on twice a week with postcard vistas in three directions. Sabanagrande has a lovely park in front of a gracefully worn colonial church. Old guys in white cowboy hats pass on horseback at all hours of the day.

However, the difference between postcard scenes and the real life they conceal is readily apparent. Most of the horses and dogs -that freely roam the strets- are showing a lot of ribs. Corrugated steel roofing is widespread, but not because it's an ideal material for this sun-baked climate. Most people stay off the streets at night, i.e. later than 9 p.m., for security. Also, I'm getting sick of fishing soccer balls out of rusty barbed- and razor-wire. Fresh razor-wire is the white picket fence of Honduras; then barbed wire, then broken glass set atop stone & mortar walls. Between the fences, the machetes and the policia toting armas automaticas, this country's well prepared for the Zombie apocalypse. George Romero take note.

Speaking of apocalyptic waves of filthy vermin, I had a three-week dirty war against the cucarachas of Santa Lucia. The first one I saw was on my floor, next to my shoe. I tried to stomp him, but he scurried away behind my shelving unit. That night, I woke up to a fluttering object RIGHT IN MY FACE! I swatted it across the room, heard it smack against the wall... then an ominous scuttering sound, a low pitched buzzing, impact with the closed window above my head, and then the bastard was on my pillow. I sprang up, flipped on the light, and killed the interloper with a well-aimed shoe as he fled across my wall.

It was on.

If you've never seen a roach, imagine a two-or-three inch long shiny brown matchbox car that has six prickly legs and a long pair of antennae. They're devilishly quick, and have mastered every way in which life on earth has learned to defy gravity. They're faster than my wrath, but only sometimes. I've killed six so far. Once, I came home and saw two antennae sticking out of my water pitcher and thought good god, is it cute? No; there's no humanizing a faceless insect enemy. So I pitched it outside and killed it. Why not show some mercy? A few days before, I woke up and put my bare right foot into a boot so I could go out for my drying laundry... spastic madness ensued, and my hefty Spanish dictionary will never be the same.

One of the few creatures that you're likely to encounter that's scrappier than a cockroach is the seasoned Peace Corps volunteer. To the lowly trainee they're confident, competent, weather-beaten and wise. They've also got a species of feisty-quirkiness that comes from giving all their personal oddities time to ferment. To begin our metamorphosis, we spent three weeks hiking up steep cobbled streets at sunrise to the mist-shrouded training center, a veritable Kung Fu temple specializing in community development and assorted vaccinations. Granted, the way of the Peace Corps is a path of avoidance: avoid dogs, hitchhiking, muggings, highway robbery, burglary, piracy, dengue, malaria, scurvy, and excessive drunkenness. Lots of useful information, but only so much of which is usable in a sleepy commuter & tourist town like Santa Lucia. And so, after three weeks, we packed up and headed off to Field Based Training in Sabanagrande, which is where I’m at right now.

I have a lot going through my head these days. There are the siren songs of certain interests & interesting ideas from university –as well as from afterwards– that want more of my time. Also, there is the whole idea of : what it really means; is it a legitimate field of study, and possibly vocation? To what extent are its ideals substantial, or are they marketing for a (fun & profitable) racket? These are things I would like to be thinking about, but right now life revolves around improving my Spanish and learning how to build water systems. As I get a firmer grasp of both, I hope to meander further down these roads less traveled. The personal essays and anecdotes of others have been profoundly helpful to me in the last three years, and in intend to return the favor. That´s not the real reason I´m finally getting this blog-party started though. My real motivation’s more personal.

I miss you. You know who you are. Any love you send is much appreciated. I will return the favor with interesting & entertaining anecdotes.

[Big Stupid Grin]