Humberto knows that I love him.  He knows for lots of reasons, but yesterday I confirmed it again to him when I attended a meeting with a priest, on Winter Solstice, to discuss what Catholic hoops we will have to jump through to get married down here.  I never thought I'd be (so?) grateful for having been baptized as a wee babe in said Institution.

When I left the house I had a dread in my stomach a kin to heading to the dentist for a root canal. Fortunately it wasn't and won't be as bad I thought.  This religion will accept me apparently, right along with God(dess).   Woot!  Close call.  Did I mention I did this on Solstice?

The Hoops, in no particular order are:

- we get to join a Bible study group. Fortunately my boss and his wife and the woman I live with are all devout Catholics who are also my friends.  They are all involved in about 3 church groups each, and in January, Humberto and I will be joining them weekly for a bit of Psalms and a smattering of Genesis.

- study the Catechism.  If any of you devout readers out there have a good link to English Catechism...that would be super helpful.

- meet with the priest every 2 weeks to discuss what we've studied of the Catechism and bring up any 'doubts' or questions we might have.  I may hold myself back and extract my nose piercing for these regular scheduled events (I'll arrive on foot instead of by broom too, never can be too careful).

-informally visit about 10 Catholic couples,  asking them about raising kids, being married, life as a Catholic...etc.

Finally,  I need a scanned copy, then the original (...Mom PLEASE don't send it in the mail!!) of my Baptismal Certificate.  I had no idea, but when someone gets baptized a Catholic, they get entered into a huge registry.  Then, when they get married, the priest in your new parish (Santa Rosa de Copan, Honduras) contacts the priest in your old parish (Fernie, BC, Canada) and says, 'Hey, this chick is getting married.  Do you have any information about whether or not she's already married a Cuban?'

The priest smiled a wide, satisfied, smile when he explained, ' You see, we have GLOBAL CONTROL.'  Ya.  Don't I know it dude. Don't I know it.

This will be a year unlike any other, and I am SOOOO happy for that!

The Knot & Tying it in Honduras

La Feria en La Ceiba, May 2011.

Today while searching "Wedding Checklist" I came across a website with 3 main, highly stylized pages:  The Knot, The Nest, and The Bump.  Everything a type-A woman of the western, English speaking world needs to plan every last detail of her linear steps from singledom to motherhood.  I simultaneously "ooooooh"ed and cringed.

As some of the 99% are occupying Wallstreet and beyond, and questioning our chosen forms of commerce and oppression, I'm downloading Excel spreadsheets that contain every triviality imaginable, related to consumer-style weddings.  It's the infection of consumerism in every part of our lives, every celebration we have.  Christmas, Halloween, Easter, Valentine's day...buy, buy, buy!

Problem is, how do I seperate the triviality from the necessity?   Ask me to get a spoiled or fearful horse into a trailer, I'm your girl.  Ask me about wedding traditions and expectations, do's and DO NOTs...well I'm a wedding virgin with very little experience in this girly realm.  Do I REALLY need a "going away" outfit with accessories?  Do I have to get the groom a gift (isn't that me???). Seriously.

Fortunately, Humberto and I are going to be celebrating this big event with our friends and family in Honduras. There are just some extravagances that won't be possible here....whoopy!  There will however, be other adventures I am sure.  For example, I fully plan to put  "Donkey ride to the church."  in the transportation section of our budget.

The adventure continues. ¡Viva la revolucion!

Entering gang territory trumps printer ink

The contrast between a wealthy neighboorhood and a poor one, in my community of Santa Rosa de Copan

Here at work, truck and meeting room sign-out is a mystery that, in my opinion, could be solved with Outlook calendars.  Also, sometimes, there's no ink for the printer and one has to scramble for budget to get the money to print stuff, months after you discovered there was no ink.   Furthermore, the culture is such that when they give feedback, people almost NEVER say anything about what they think is unnecessarily beaurocratic or complicated.  They will just say it's all in the hands of God (or the Boss, who is often a close proxy).  This all goes against the Learning Org principles I learned back in Canada in my cushy government job.

But really, this blog post is not about my petty concerns about truck sign-out and printer ink.  Last week we had a staff retreat where we had a chance to get to know eachother, learn some stress management techniques, and share about our work.  My colleagues blew me away with the kinds of work they do, under extremely stressful and risky situations.

I never knew about or understood the AIDS/HIV education and support that three of my ASONOG colleagues give to vulnerable people in urban slums of San Pedro Sula. It was touching and heart wrenching.  While I'm shaking my fist about not having a truck to get to a meeting about raising chickens, my colleagues are organizing workshops for families who are living with AIDS/HIV in slum-like conditions, three-hours away from their own homes and families.  For less than $5/person, they travel to the site, rent the venue, organize the meals, provide the materials and connect with people who have very little support for their very serious condition.

First however, they have to go door to door in the slums and seek participants for these workshops.  Confidentiality is a top priority.  Many people are reluctant to get involved because they will be associated with the disease.  Some wives are HIV positive and haven't told their husbands.  Some husbands are HIV positive and haven't told their wives. Many children are positive, and their parents ensure they adhere to their daily doses of anti-viral medications, and the children don't know why they are taking this medicine, daily.


They contrasted urban poverty with rural poverty.  It's a whole different ball game in the cities. The risks of entering some of these communities are very real.  In one community, my Honduran ASONOG colleagues had to know the protocol of entering the neighbourhood with the truck headlights on.  If they had not known this, they would have been sending a very wrong signal in gang territory.  Nuances.  Many of the gang members' families live in these poor neighbourhoods.  It is not work for the faint of heart.

My colleagues spoke of the risks and the stress of their work, but also about how satisfying it is to support these people of greatest need. They frequently travel away from Santa Rosa de Copan to the large urban centre of San Pedro Sula for days or weeks at a time, lliving in a cheap hotel and eating at low-budget restaruants.  They spoke of how some of their interview questions can be extremely sensitive, because when there is not a scrap of food in the hovel, where the toilet sits in the middle of the kitchen, they have to ask, "How many times a week does your child receive: milk, fruits and vegetables, meat...?".  So hard.    They spoke of one workshop they put on for the children.  They brought milk and cornflakes for a snack.  The kids all lit up.  They had never had milk and cornflakes before, and it was a huge treat.

Five of Life's Little Surprises

Trailride with Humberto, western Honduras highlands. Nov. 6, 2011. Photo Credit: Brian Atkinson www.brianatkinson.ca

 Today's little blog share comes from a weekly electronic newsletter I subscribe to   (The 77% Weekly   The 40/52-weeks-a-year, spiritual-religious newsletter.)

 This week's newsletter was an excercise that I've filled out and shared below about time travel to a younger, surprised self. 

Imagine you could travel back in time to visit yourself at half your current age.  That is,  today you go back to talk to you when you were half your age.

  

I want you to think about how you at half your current age reacts to finding out how your future unfolds.

What five things about you NOW would be most surprising to you THEN?  

1. ___________________________
2. ___________________________
3. ___________________________
4. ___________________________
5. ___________________________   

I doubt any of us would have predicted our lives to be exactly (or even remotely) as they currently are.   

We delude ourselves, wanting to believe that things do not change so much. But, they do. We do. All things change - including us.  

(Moreover, those people who you stopped talking to a few years back, they too have changed.)

My five things about me NOW that would be most surprising to me THEN (if I travelled back to myself at age 16):

     1. I'm something called a 'professional agrologist' instead of a vet.

     2. I can play guitar and sing infront of audiences, and love it.

     3. I have yet to own any pets in my adult life (except for an ill-fated fish and a borrowed bird that was somewhat less ill-fated).

     4. I embrace femininity and enjoy dressing up in high-heels, makeup and nail polish occasionally.

     5. The love of my life is both younger and shorter than me, and we speak Spanish to eachother 100% of the time. 

What are your life's surprises?  Have you let go of some of your life dreams to make room for others? I still wonder about the life of a vet sometimes and I'm thrilled I can play guitar! The love of my life is pretty sweet too! ;)

 

When you die you will NOT become an Angel.

So, in honour of my first day back at work, I decided to attend today's Monday morning meeting.  Some of you may recall, these are devotionals (God meetings), not "let's discuss business improvement processes and operations" sessions as you might expect in Canada.  Admittedly in my 9 months here, I have skipped all but a few of the devotional sessions because the content really pushes me far outside of my comfort zone.  I'm reading a book right now however, called, "One Life, One Meeting" that teaches you to enter discussions and interactions with a beginner's wonder, and to never close down to what other people are saying.  In other words, go into situations open-hearted, and see if you can't learn something new.

The Blue Mandolin & Cream of Broccoli Soup

When I landed in Honduras I was welcomed at the airport by Humberto and his dad with big hugs and greetings in Spanish.  It surprised me how much my Spanish vocabulary has back-slid in just 3 weeks of English-Canadian bliss, even with the regular calls back home to Humberto. I can say, a temporary loss of vocabulary was totally worth it.

Thanksgiving all over again

 Ohhhh looky here....I thought I lost this post into cyberspace, but the draft was sitting here all along...just waiting for me to press 'publish'.  More thanksgiving is in order for me then. :)

It's Thanksgiving and I am in Canada giving thanks for an abundant lack of beans and tortillas,  fall colours, the sensation of feeling chilled, and many, many warm and welcoming friends and family.  After 8 months out of country, I was spurred by a bought of homesickness and a window of opportunity that presented itself after the successful completion of the Sources-Fuentes project  , to come for a visit before the snow flew in earnest.

But for the guns and potholes...I could stay forever.

Before CUSO-VSO volunteers leave the country for our little international adventure, we get a week's worth of training in Ottawa in the themes of effective inter-cultural interactions, culture shock, power and priviledge, health while travelling, gender issues and public outreach strategies and guidelines. Along the lines of public outreach it's suggested that if we are having a really hard time (due to diarrhea, problems at work, difficulty making friends, etc), and have nothing nice to say, well...don't say anything at all...on your blog at least.

Fortunately for me, my Honduran experience thus far has been amazing and more than I could have ever hoped for.  Awesome work placement and workmates, great town to live in, comfortable house with a caring roommate complete with washing machine and secure front yard, active social life with other foreigners and Hondurans alike, the list goes on. So, my blogs have been truthful, because I have been having a great experience, but admittedly I've left the dark underbelly of one of the poorest Central American countries, out of it.  Until now.

There are things that take some getting used to here, besides the beans and tortillas. There are some elements that I can not be sheltered from, even while living this comfortable upper-middle class lifestyle here in Santa Rosa de Copan.  The copious guns and potholes get to me. A lot.

With copious guns, come copious violent deaths.  With guns, come armed robberies, car thefts, and drug trafficking that is getting worse and worse here.  A recent article in "The Economist" reports that the American Coast Guard has cut-off the Carribean Sea route very effectively.  Therefore, nearly all the drugs from Columbia and Bolivia are travelling to American markets, overland.  A little community called, "La Entrada" about 40 minutes from here*, and on route to the Guatemalan border, is run by drug lords.   These guys are called, "Narcos".  They always drive huge-suped-up trucks (like those of the oil guys in Fort St. John).  They travel in packs, with bodyguards.  They are always packing firearms and usually wear bling.  The police smile and wave them through at the various highway checkpoints.  It makes me wonder sometimes what the hell the point is of having all the police checkpoints, if the Narcos always get a free pass. Maybe the point is to extort $20 from me for failure to wear a seatbelt, and let their other source of income (Narco bribes), pass on through.

I went to a bull-riding event here on Saturday.  To my relief, the police at the entrance were using metal-detecting wands on everyone who entered.  The Santa Rosa de Copan rodeo is a class act that doesn't allow gun-slingers to bring in their wares  (Apparently, the La Entrada rodeo is a different scene all   together.  Count me out of that one!). Anyway after the obligatory Latin American "2 hours late" wait, the event got rolling.  In rolled the Narcos too.  A whole squad of them.  One of the many bodyguards started hitting on my friend, and explained they "came with the Boss".  I was one meter away from the top Narco of the area for much of the afternoon.  It was really obvious that he was a powerful figure.  A constant stream of greeters and admirers gave their respects to this guy the whole time. He seemed like a real personable sort, ya' know?  The police didn't actually come over and shake his hand, but they did give friendly, smile-filled waves.  My friend who has lived in Guatemala said this would be a really dangerous place to be sitting if we were in "Guate", because, well, the rival Narcos could take a cheap shot at this group and hit a bystander at any given time.  Right.  How about we take our leave now?


No cowboys were gored or seriously trampled if you were wondering.

No Canadians were lost in Narco cross-fire either. Phewf.

Pothole stories to follow.


* Apparently giving distances in increments of time is a really Canadian thing to do.  Distances in time here in Honduras do not convert like they do in Canada because of the extreme pothole factor.  So, 40 minutes is not 75 km, it's about 35 km.

Rainy Season Affairs and Fairs

August in Santa Rosa de Copan and Honduras generally, is when the rainy season starts in earnest.  Daily afternoon downpours that cause the streets to turn into steams and people to run for cover.  My Sources: Water and Youth Leadership project has had several fieldtrips, that invariably include the "field" part up in the mountains, in the great outdoors, in the afternoon.  Hondurans don't tend to think about or fret about weather in quite the same way that Canadians do.  So, we've been trapped in downpours in more than one situation, and one time in particular the side of the truck that I was driving (down clay, slick hills) suffered terribly for it.  As did my ego, admittedly.  "Have you been driving for long?".  Grrrr.  In Canada we have snowtires and chains for these kinds of conditions, and we'd probably plan the goddess-blessed fieldtrip to be in the MORNING.  Polite smile.

Town counsellor and helpful village guy helping me to get out of this muddy jam after a mid-afternoon downpour.

Marie-Helene, coming gingerly up the muddy hill to check the damage and to console me with "Guess you're not Honduran yet". Hardy har har.

Mere days after this little adventure, the truck miraculously had four new tires with deep treads.  Ready for our next downpour!

Traditional Breadmaking

Somebody, capital Honduran BF Somebody, decided it would be a good idea if I came and learned the fine art of Honduran breadmaking with his Mom, sister-in-law and aunt this weekend*. I guess he figures the training process needs to start as soon as possible with this beautiful but oddly un-domesticated Canadian girl. Thirty-one-years old and still clueless about making tortillas and beans, nevermind the much needed bread that comes out for the much needed 3pm coffeebreak. I took a lot of pictures of this event, but strategically, didn't write any recipes down. If I remember correctly, ingredients included 1 part rice flour, 3 parts wheat flour, a lot of eggs, a lot of milk, a lot of sugar, and some baking soda (or powder...I get these confused in English, nevermind in Spanish). So, as you can see, what they call bread here (pan) is actually more like pound cake. As you can also see, I will be making trips to the bakery if need-be.

I've already established that if tortillas are going to continue to be a staple food at nearly every meal, capital Honduran BF Somebody best learn how to mix and pat that corn flour himself. I'll be happy to heat the frying pan for him. I'm pretty sure this battle ain't over yet.

Steps to Making Traditional Honduran Bread

Sources - Fuentes 2011: Yes...Inspired!!!

On Friday, the Sources crew of 6 volunteers, 1 cameraman, and 2 facilitators/drivers (that's me) went to the very rural communtiy of San Rafael, Honduras to check out the water situation there. It was an epic trip. We only travelled a total of 200 km but spent 7 hours bouncing around in a 4x4 truck. Go hug an employee of your Canadian, provinical Ministry of Transportation right now!

Read Julia's account of our adventure at the link below. If you want to test your abilities in Spanish, or want to plug the text into Google translator, Ana-Maria wrote a great post today too! Oh blogging is so darned fun!

Sources - Fuentes 2011: Yes...Inspired!!!: "Being born and raised in Tegucigalpa might not seem that different than being born and raised in San Pedro Sula, Gracias, S..."

Sources - Fuentes 2011: Questing for Knowledge & Public Engagement- Gaetan...

Sources - Fuentes 2011: Questing for Knowledge & Public Engagement- Gaetan...: "Right now we are learning, creating, inspiring and being inspired by water stories in Western Honduras, Central America F..."

On the Importance of Outhouses

Over the past couple of weeks I wake up and repeat the mantra, "I am calm, and at peace." a few times before I dart out of bed and start the day.  It's been a little crazy around here lately with the arrival and then departure of some Honduran volunteers for my "Sources" Canada World Youth  water project, my first experiences with Honduran financial paperwork, and scrambling to apply to the "Glimpse Correspondents' Program" by yesterday's deadline.  All this, and a boss who was travelling in Mexico and was only intermittently available by Blackberry or occasional messages from fellow ASONOG employees.  Skype, Facebook, texting...I use technology here as much or more than I did in Canada.

I am happy to report that this Canada Day is chill  for me, and I'm enjoying a little down time along with all the Canadians who are vacationing today.  If you're out camping in the British Columbia wilderness this long weekend, give Smokey the Bear a hug for me would you? 

Dog shit and other thresholds

Today I relocated to an internet cafe because the internet at work was distracting me and I just wanted to go home.  Thought this might press my "procrastination reset button".  As you can see, it's working out splendidly.

Somedays (like today) I just reach a cultural, linguistic threshold and want nothing more than to crawl under the covers with a good English novel, and isolate.  This is classic culture shock behaviour.  Overall, my adjustment to life here has been really smooth, and really enjoyable.  I could not have hoped for a more beautiful new city to live in, supportive workmates, a helpful roommate, inclusive neighbours and interesting work projects. I've got a fun, adventurous, supportive circle of friends too.  But somedays I reach a point, where concentrating fiercely on everything that is said, and everything that I want to say, gets a little taxing.  Then there's some of the less than enjoyable cultural nuances...*

So, "Yay for me!" I was invited to and gleefully attended a party with a bunch of English speaking foreigners  last weekend.  The Peace Corps (American volunteer development organization) has a pretty significant presence in Honduras.  At any given time, my organization CUSO-VSO has about 5 to 10 volunteers in country.  The Peace Corps has about 150.   Anyway, they were having a big "Welcome/Going Away" bash on Saturday, and I got to attend.  Wheeeeee!!! We danced, in a big group, free-style...ohhhh bliss!  Hondurans tend to always dance in a couple, and I have endured endless merengues with few spins, no corner turns and dreadfully boring lack of dancing challenge, to the extent that I was considering going Mennonite and stopping to dance altogether.  This dancing was so FREEING, and so familiar.  Another thing I revelled in was the enormous veggy salad served with dinner. Raw vegetables in quantity!!

Finally, the surprisingly refreshing thing at that party was the casual cursing interlaced throughout the ENGLISH conversations.  Hondurans tend not to swear.  Even when there's a subtitled movie on TV, and somebody says "shit" they bleep it out, and the subtitles never say, "mierda".  It's not even their own language and they protect themselves from the contaminating influences of bad words!  So, joy, bliss, I heard the F-word a few times Saturday night, and it was like snuggling up on the couch in flannel PJs infront of a fire, with a tub of chocolate Haagan Daaz, a blanket and hitting play on a romantic comedy.  In other words, all the comforts of home.

Going to some nearby hotsprings tonight, then out to a farm tomorrow, then to a party of some other foreigner friends. Happy Friday! 


 * My taxi driver hit on me disrespectfully today.  Super annoying and happens about 30% of the time on the ride to work.  Just get me to the god-damned destination without enquiring  as to my marital status, my desiring of a Honduran, and whether or not I would like to "Fall with you"...I take it that's code for F%^@.  I'd actually like to poke your eyes out with a big stick contaminated with fresh dog shit, but thanks for asking.  That's one for the margins of my Lonely Planet phrase book!



 

Women are better than men at...

I just played two awesome games of  co-ed volleyball and soccer with a group of visiting highschool students from the island of Utila, here at a the Hacienda El Jaral hotel/resort where I am enjoying an overnight stay.  I am  participating in a  2 day workshop on citizen participation and influencing decision makers ( "learning to lobby" doesn't quite translate to "incidencia politica" but that is a close approximation without the negative associations...).  The workshop is interesting, but the two games of competitive rec sports, in bare feet, on lush green grass really made my day.   Adding to my entertainment were the fellow players'  unique accents: a really interesting mix of Carribean English, with a few Spanish words thrown in for good measure. When they needed me to understand what they were saying they'd switch over to an American-ish accent for my benefit.  Great all round entertainment!

The co-ed nature of ths game was pretty special too, as that is really rare here.  It's almost always boys or men playing, and girls watching or texting on their cell phones on the side.  Gender considerations are big here.  All of my current/future projects have gender as a transversal theme and last week I had the opportunity to observe and assist with half-day gender and empowerment workshop in a nearby pueblo (small town/village).  My employers have some baseline data for these areas on attitudes and knowledge about health, sanitation, nutrition and food security.  One finding is that 65% of the women have to ask for permission from their husbands if they want to see a doctor. Most of them have to ask permission to visit a female friend. Most of them always eat last, and save the protein for their husbands and children (in that order), even if they are doing agricultural labour, are pregnant and are breastfeeding...all at once.  Consequently, gender equity is recognized as an important part of the Honduran development landscape.

I have translated one of the exercises from the gender workshop below.  We answered 20 true and false questions.*.  I invite you to take the test!   Not surprisingly, this Canadian girl with  university courses in the anthropology of gender under her feminist belt scored way high on the gender equity side of things. I admit, I did answer that  women are better at taking care of small babies, but I thought that milk filled breasts really give us the upper hand at this one.  My high equity score gave the facilitator a chance to contrast my upbringing, and my societal learnings, with those of rural Honduras.  "You are born with a penis or a vulva, but your gender is a learned thing, and a role you take on." (direct translation...don't get on my case about M/F not being the only sexes...I know, I know, but rural Honduras just ain't ready for that yet!).

Here you go, True or False?

The Advantages of Milking By Hand

A brahma/jersey cross.  Big floppy ears disperse heat and increase 'adorable' by a factor of 5.

The first, and only, time I considered becoming a vegan was the day I walked into a Canadian dairy barn and saw the cows chained in their tie stalls. One of two types of dairy barns in Canada, the tie stall allots each cow a small space to eat, stand, and lie down, atop wood shavings or staw.  They are all chained in, and can not walk around at will.  If there is no dangerous ice and snow or mud to slip around on, they may receive an hour or two of daily liberation in an outside corral. I am a meat loving ominivore, raised around beef farming and horses.  If I were ever to wear an outfit in the streets made soley out of lettuce, it would be for the pure shocking joy of it, not because I am a card carrying member of PETA.  But, when I saw that set up,  when I saw the cows living their whole lives that way, I nearly crossed the floor.  Eventually I got used to it.  I saw that the animals were well cared for and mostly comfortable, but always, it made me uneasy at some level, knowing that this was where my milk and cheese was coming from.

Contrast this to my recent stay on a mixed farm in Honduras, near my new city of residence, Santa Rosa de Copán.  When I first got here four months ago, Jesús Alvarado invited me to visit his family farm. This weekend I took him up on his offer and was not disappointed.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it´s off to work I go!

Click here to see a photo record of my walk to work today. It´s the kind of stuff I get to see (and smell) everyday on my Honduran adventure.

Where's the library?

Nearly four months into this journey, and now the more subtle differences between ¨home¨ (Canada) and here (Honduras) are becoming a little more obvious to me.

At first it´s all the not-so-subtle differences that hit you like a 2x4.  Noise at all hours, armed guards at the grocery stores, rough dirt roads in the middle of town that will require kicking it into 4-high if it rains, litter everywhere, greeting EVERYONE  you meet at the office with a kiss on the cheek upon arrival Monday morning, weekly staff meetings that are actually prayer and devotional sessions...the list goes on.  I´m finding all these things and more, are normalizing for me now.  I hardly notice all the razor wire surrounding the residences and  I kiss everyone´s cheeks like an old pro, uttering pleasantries as I do so (the trick is actually just to brush.your cheek against their cheek and make a kissy noisy simultaneously.  I´ve found that only men who are hitting on me actually full-on kiss my cheek, and usually utter something about the beautiful gringita.< I inwardly grin or groan, depending on who it is>).

Day 1 at the Ranch: Prayers and Curses.

Today I´ve invited a special guest blogger to Southern Evolution, only, it´s not really a guest blogger, it´s me, in a different time and place.  I´ve been embracing my creative side more and more lately.  Ever since I dropped out of grade 9 art class in favour of taking another science course, I´ve repressed my inner artist.  Art was risky and flaky.  Science was reliable and responsible.  This dicotomy hasn´t been serving as of late so,  I´m allowing my inner artist out of the arts supply closet.

All this repression of the Artist has resulted in some procrastination.  I´ve had a few ideas, and I´ve had not much follow-through.  After an extraordinary 3 week stay on a horse ranch in Southern Alberta last spring, I had big plans to write a series of short stories out of it.  So far, I´ve only completed this one. It was a birthday gift for a friend.  I wanted to share it here, and give myself an extra public push to finish the rest of them.  Time on that ranch was truly an experience of a lifetime.

Let the colours flow.

Day 1 at the Ranch: Prayers and Curses

In late March 2010, I arrived at Sid and Marge’s ranch near Nanton , Alberta with some trepidation. After attending a colt-starting clinic with Sid in 2008 and following that with an exhilerating day  with him and my friend Jen in December riding on the open range, I had basically invited myself to their ranch for three weeks for an intensive working “vacation” riding horses and sponging as much as I could from them about horse training and cattle ranching, and they had agreed. Catching Sid for a brief conversation at the Ray Hunt Memorial event in Texas, in February, I had had to remind him that I was going to be at his house under his direction and mercy in less than a month’s time.

Pure and Noble Heart

Around 3:30 pm on a Friday, Sonja, a fellow employee of ASONOG, came and collected me from my office .  Like most events taking place here, I was completely oblivious to the fact that my workmates were going to have a Father´s Day celebration that afternoon.  Information sharing here takes mysterious forms.  You probably won´t receive an email.  The message gets passed on by word of mouth, and when these mouths speak fast, informal Spanish among themselves, I usually don´t get the message. Furthermore, I think that the events aren´t planned any more than 24 hours in advance, ever.  Along this same vein, CUSO-VSO just mandated us to go out and buy an emergency supplies kit*, that includes a battery powered radio.  If there´s ever an emergency where I have to listen to a frantic radio announcer telling us that there´s a countrywide 24 hour ´stay in your house´order**, or impending hurricane, or that the Americans are invading, I´d better also pull a Honduran friend out of that emergency kit who will drag me to where ever I need to go and explain more slowly what I need to do, because garanteed, I won´t understand the instructions.

Every nation ridicules other nations, and all are right.

 - Arthur Schopenhauer

The abundance of cell phones and Blackberrys was one of the first things in Honduras that countered my preconceived ideas of what this place would be like. This place has suprised me in lots of ways so far, and I want to share some of these with you below.

I wanted a donkey, I got worms instead.

Originally my posting as a food security advisor was going to be in a very small, rural community in Western Honduras. Upon hearing this, I had made big plans before I left Canada to scrimpt together some of my volunteer honourarium and get myself a donkey. Nothing fancy, just an "A to B" model burro.  His name was to be "Toyota", or alternatively, "Vamonos" (Let's Go).  I arrived, and as we were warned in training could happen, plans had changed, and I was now to be stationed in the much less rural, larger centre of Santa Rosa de Copan.

Oliver Twist Surrealism: Visiting the Orphanage

Every Wednesday afternoon, my neighbour and good friend Mirian, visits one of the orphanages here in Santa Rosa de Copan.  She goes with her own children and a couple of her friends.  I asked to join her this week.

It's an orphanage for children aged 5 years and under.  As we walked through the door, we were rushed by the children.  They came running to receive hugs and smiles and some much needed individual attention.  They had never met me before, and yet, some of them were instantly crawling up into my lap. At one point I opened up to their love and to mine, then I got scared.  This is too hard.  A protective crust enveloped my heart, but recognizing it in time, I willed myself back to the love.

When in Rome, eat the beans.

There's a scene in one of the Indiana Jones movies where he and his urban princess girlfriend experience a twist of fate and are invited to dine with a tribe of previously hostile indigenous folk.  It turns into a sticky affair rather quickly because the urban princess is completely disgusted by the fare on offer, and Indy knows that she is going to offend their hosts irreparably, possibly costing them their lives.

Traffic Accident!

I was in a traffic accident last week, which, given the driving habits of Hondurans', should come as little surprise.  I would call it a motor-vehicle collision, but that's not exactly accurate, because one of the involved vehicles was horse and cart (see photos below).

Food Security at Home

Below are some photos of my kitchen, shared with my landlady Adriana.  Lastnight we made supper together, and it included some really fresh veggies bought at a local farmers' market, held every weekend here in Santa Rosa de Copan. 

Through a Canadian (Gringita) Lense

A photo record of some of my experiences in Honduras to date. Click the "Read more" link below to see more pics.


 


Condoms: for or against doctor?

We received a very thorough health briefing from a very Catholic doctor yesterday (screen saver...Mother Mary).

 

Summary: don't eat, don't drink, don't breathe, don't F-(werd)
                                                                            

 I was with him all the way, until he told us that actually, condoms don't protect against HIV/AIDS because they promote promiscuity.  I kept my mouth shut, but I was a little aggitated at him for being so irresponsible with his religious propaganda. Uhh, dude, ever heard of your duty to public health?  Probably best not to argue with the guy who might later be treating me for multitudinous tropical illnesses, from parasites to viral infections to food poisoning and beyond and who actually speaks English fluently due to his studying medicine in Canada at McGill. 

Castles & Romantic Languages & Near Misses

Late lastnight Stéphane and I decided that CUSO-VSO staff likely don't work on Sundays, so we ought to find our own entertainment for the day and look forward to meeting our colleagues on Monday.  At breakfast we asked the hotel owners where we might change our moneys  into the local currency, Lempiras, and what sort of touristy attractions they might recommend.  As luck would have it, there is a nearby supermarket (Mas x Menos...More for Less) where we could use an international ATM, and the family would be going for a Sunday outting on a nearby mountain top for the day.  We were invited to hitch a ride with them to said mountain top.  ¡Que suerte!

We gleefully took them up on their kind offer.  We thought this low-land neighbourhood was mucky-muck?  On the way up we passed the residence of the American embassador.  Wow.  At 10 km we pulled into a private residence.  This was the 2nd home of the owners of the hotel, built in European style, with beautiful landscaping.  The neighbours, architects from Europe, built a modern-day castle next door. No F-werding kidding (see photo). 

Arrival

The saying "Getting there is half the fun" became obsolete with the advent of commercial airlines."
  - Henry J. Tillman