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