Finding Solace in Nicaragua: Part 2

Granada was impossibly charming, and it was easy to understand why people often said they got stuck here. The same colonial ambiance that pervaded León was even more present in Granada. The buildings were painted a little crisper, the streets a little cleaner and the whole town was just a few kilometers from Lake Nicaragua and the immense Volcan Mombacho. Granada was much smaller than we expected. At just over 100,000 people it had the small city feel that León lacked. The central park was crammed with food and art vendors and lined with horse carriages waiting to take you on a tour. Just behind the gorgeous yellow cathedral was La Calzada, a pedestrian avenue lined with trees, shops and restaurants with alfresco dining. We spent hours passing up and down the street, taking in the relaxed and artistic atmosphere. It seemed that almost every other shop was an art gallery of some kind boasting original prints and paintings from local artists. We ended up buying two interesting prints on handmade paper that caught our eye, plus a beautiful painted jicaro fruit Christmas ornament. We fell in love with a juice bar that whipped up a calala-naranja (passion fruit-orange) smoothie which we ended up drinking once a day. We also tried some yummy street food including doughy fried balls (possibly made of yuca) with a sweet syrup, tostones con queso (fried crisp plantains with chunks of fried cheese), yuca con cerdo (boiled yuca topped with spicy roasted pork and cabbage salad), and more local juices like granadilla which tasted like cream soda.

Cathedral on the central park

Tostones con queso

We took two wonderful tours while in town. The first was a boat ride visiting the islets in the lake just off the coast. Our guide was a bubbly young man who spoke not only English and Spanish but was also working on his Dutch and Italian to communicate with the thousands of tourists that visit each year. Our fellow tour takers were a pair of older Swiss men on holiday who also spoke six languages combined. We felt glad we had at least two solid languages and a little Italian and had a fun time chatting with everyone in all of them. We motored slowly around the islets, of which there are 365 (one for each day of the year our guide said). Created mostly from volcanic eruptions, the islets are mostly just big enough to fit a luxurious house and little dock, which is what most had. You can buy your own islet and build a house if you wish, something we almost considered doing until realizing the price was a little out of our range. From some islets you could see out across the windy, choppy lake to the dome of the Granada cathedral. Another island featured an old fort, and yet another had a pair of monkeys brought there for protective purposes since they can’t swim off. We stopped at one island which had a restaurant for a drink and our guide explained about local bird life and the ongoing rivalry with León. It was relaxing and calming, the weather breezy and warm.

One of the many personal isletas

Monkey showing off on the Isleta del mono

Then, we decided last minute to sign up for a chocolate making tour which ended up being our favorite part of the trip. Our guide was a rather witty guy from Managua who spoke English, but seemed thrilled that he could give us the tour in Spanish. First, he taught us about the plants. Cacao pods grow on trees in tropical regions around the equator, on trees that can get up to 15 meters. Each tree produces hundreds of pods between September and December and each pod has 20-50 beans. Some pods turn from green to yellow when ripe, but others are always red and no one knows why. The beans are harvested from the pods and fermented in their pulp before being dried and then quickly toasted. We were able to toast our own beans over an open fire and then hand shell them, taking out the warm, chocolatey smelling beans. We ground the beans into a paste called chocolate liquor with a mortar and pestle which really took some arm strength. Surprisingly enough, that was pretty much the whole process – so simple!

Toasting cacao beans

Grinding the beans to make chocolate liquor

We mixed the chocolate liquor with some water and spices and viola, hot cocoa! The Maya were the first to make a cocoa drink and used just cinnamon and some honey for flavoring. The Aztecs later on added other flavorings like chili powder and vanilla which made it tangy. Then the Spanish added milk, giving it that creamy flavor we know today. We tried each kind, preferring the Aztec flavoring the best. Our guide then explained the process of making a chocolate bar. The liquor gets mixed with sugar and blended for several hours to make the chocolate which is simply poured into a mold to cool. The respective ratios of liquor and sugar give the chocolate’s percentage you read on the package, i.e. 70% is 70% liquor and 30% sugar. Tempering makes the chocolate last longer and keeps it shiny, but we didn’t need to go through that process. In the end, we knew all about chocolate from how to select beans and toast them to how to prepare hot cocoa and chocolate bars at home, and we had two homemade bars to show for it. Fabulous!

Making hot cocoa

We spent most of our time just wandering around taking in the beautifully restored buildings, most of which have only been redone in the last 10 years or so. There were kids playing jacks in the street, fountains within every courtyard and, as in León, abundant rocking chairs. We climbed the bell tower of La Merced church to get a view of the cathedral with the lake in the background. We visited the old town train station, wandering through the steam engine and cars in the small but well-restored station that is no longer in use. We finished our trip with a delicious splurge at a restaurant that caught my eye, Imagine. The owner/chef was from New Mexico and had some delicious fusion dishes made with local ingredients. We enjoyed a bottle of Carmenere, pork tacos and chicken enchiladas surrounded by art in homage to John Lennon, perfect!

Just be careful that you don't rock yourself off the edge

Us with the cathedral in the background

Old steam engine at the train station

Imagine all the people, living life in peace...

We savored our last relaxing moments in Granada, enchanted by the people, food, scenery and architecture that never failed to impress us. Even our early morning taxi ride into Managua to catch the bus home was fascinating, our driver yammering on about local political issues, his family and his views on Costa Rica. We left Nicaragua feeling lucky (and a little guilty) that we were able to take our vacation and escape Honduras for a few days and a little sad that our week of sunshine and solace had to come to an end.

Enjoying our time in Nica before heading home to pack up and leave...

Finding Solace in Nicaragua: Part 1

First stop, León, the ex-capital city and Nicaragua’s center of education, culture and liberalism. We were pleasantly surprised by the temperature, not too hot, not too humid; quite different than the inferno we believed awaited us. It was the first of many things that would pleasantly surprise us about both León and Nicaragua. We spent our two days there taking in the grinding urban vibe of the city of around 200,000 residents. It had a lovely colonial atmosphere with brightly painted and well-maintained buildings, complemented by ornate churches on every other corner. We reveled in the dust-free paved streets, watching “buses” fly by that were little more than a covered truck bed lined with poles and seats with travelers hopping on and off like a San Francisco street car. The city hub was of course the central park, bordered on one side by the magnificent cathedral, the largest in Central America and second largest in Latin America. The other three sides were the municipal office, a seminary and the old president’s residence, varying in styles from gaudy gothic to austere art deco. The park was abuzz with artisan vendors, snack kiosks and cell phone hawkers.

Cathedral from the top of the old president's residence

Nicaraguan "buses" - hop on if you can

We visited all the key museums in town, learning a great deal about Leon’s defining people and events. First was the home of famed Nicaraguan poet and dignitary, Ruben Darío, who was raised by an aunt-like figure in the late 1800’s and died young of stomach ailments. We read amusing poems in his own hand, and gazed over his clothing and deathbed. In addition to writing some of the most nationalistic poetry in homage to his homeland, he also was an ambassador to several countries, garnering him respect and wealth that have lived on to this day. You can scarcely walk two blocks without seeing a street, building, school, statue, mural, or event named in his honor. One block from Darío’s home was a wonderful art museum housed in two separate haciendas across the street from each other. The museum, which only cost $1 to enter,  had everything from European religious art to some Picasso and Braque etchings plus tons of more modern art from artists in Central America. Our favorite was a long painting showing the geography of the area from León to Granada with the city grids marked out in opalescent squares next to bright blue lakes and rivers.

Tomb of Darío guarded by a lion, symbol of León

Next, we visited the museum of the revolution in the old presidential mansion, where a veteran guided us through a series of moving photographs, telling us the story of his country’s harrowing history. Nicaraguans, led by a caballero named Sandino, were some of the first to challenge the U.S. imperialistic intervention in Latin America leading to battles in the early 1900’s. From there, the U.S. imposed a dictator who ruled for decades before being assassinated in León, setting off several more decades of guerilla style warfare in the streets pitting revolutionaries (the FSLN) against the national army. Our veteran guide had joined the revolutionaries as a 14 year old boy, and luckily lived to see the end of fighting as the liberals gained control of the country. The fighting though left many in León with physical and emotional scars, but instilled a very strong sense of pride in their region, city and liberal party, which still is largely based in León today. To end our tour, our guide led us up a creaky staircase to the roof of the building so that we could see out over the central park and cathedral and beyond to the circle of volcanoes that surround the city in the distance, a truly beautiful sight. Our lasting image of the museum was a postcard of a young woman revolutionary marching with an assault rifle slung over her shoulder, simultaneously breastfeeding a child in her arms – this is what the people of León are like.

We then headed to a museum of folklore and tradition housed in an old prison. There, we read interesting short stories about the ghouls and ghosts of Nicaraguan culture. There is the witch pig, a representation of the angry or cheated woman who turns into a pig and attacks men; the cryer, a woman who cries constantly for the loss of her child; the high heeled woman who tracks down abusive men and embarrasses them in public; the headless priest, roaming the streets at night and other such creatures used to scare children into an early bedtime. The prison itself was painted with torture scenes to recreate the horrors that occurred there, but actually the place was quite tranquil with a fountain, mosaic murals and lovely drooping mango trees.

Mosaic depicting a death carriage march

León is home to the oldest university in the country, which is still functioning today, glowing at night with colored lights. The city is famous for its murals depicting local history and happenings such as the army fighting students in the streets and martyrs who died in the revolutionary cause. Another thing we noticed that was strikingly different from Honduras was the nighttime social culture. Around sunset, people pulled rocking chairs from their living rooms onto their front stoops and slowly rocked, chatted and watched the street life late into the night, the heat driving them outdoors.

Mural of the army attacking students during the revolution

Nolan modelling chicha morada (a fermented purple corn drink) 

Perhaps the best thing we did was attend a baseball game at the local stadium. Nicaraguans love baseball and have four teams across the country that compete in the national league from September to January. At just $3 for a home plate seat with a view right down the third base line, we couldn’t miss the opportunity to get a real sense of the baseball culture. The stadium was small, but packed by the time the first inning was underway. The lights shone brightly on the field as the smell of beer and hot dogs wafted around us in the pleasantly cool evening. To be watching baseball in January was a treat, and it felt so familiar to us; families with kids, old men, guys out with their friends, all enjoying their team, which unfortunately is last in the league. We couldn’t understand the announcer or most of the jeers, but a few we caught that sounded the same, “Batter, you need glasses!” “He was out!” They use an interesting mix of Spanish and English terms, strike and out in English, but run is correo and ball is bola. The ball boy was actually a 40 year old man, and the balls were obviously reused unlike in the U.S. Balls hit foul over the seats were tracked down outside the stadium by another guy and brought back into the game. There was no 7^th inning stretch and singing. León ended up losing the game 3-2, but we had a great time anyway.

Juego de beisbol

Our other fun outing was a tour to León Viejo, the old city originally founded by the Spanish in 1524 about 45 minutes from the current location. They had selected the original locale for its proximity to a lake, but it was also next to a major volcano, Momotombo, so after a few tremors and flooding devastated the settlers and their resources ran out, they moved the city in 1610. All that remains are some building foundations of houses and the churches and convents, but the views are tremendous and our guide was very good at recreating the scene. Of course the story is the same as many conquistadors, bloody confrontations with the natives whom they enslaved, harsh rule of Spanish commanders and lack of local knowledge made life tough. During the tour we stopped at a small restaurant to try some local fare, quesillo. Quesillo normally refers to a soft, bland mozzarella-esque cheese common in Central America, but in Nicaragua it also refers to a snack, a corn tortilla covered with a round sheet of quesillo cheese, topped with salt, creamy whey, and pickled onions rolled up and stuck in a bag. It sounds really strange and honestly looks really strange, but it tastes pretty darn good. Even Nolan ate it! We washed it down with a local drink, semilla con leche, ground up dried seeds of the jicaro tree mixed with milk and ice that sort of tastes like chocolate milk with some spices. Tasty!

View from León Viejo of Volcán Momotombo

Making quesillo

Jicaro tree

Our very intelligent guide shared some great information with us about Nica. They grow things like cotton, wheat and peanuts around León because they have the open farmland and to avoid importing such items. They also grow copious amounts of sugar cane, caña, to make the famous rum Flor de Caña, named for the flower of the plant.  Although people from León may have felt a little gypped at having the capital stripped from them and moved to Managua, our guide seemed to think it was for the best since the unbridled growth and industry in Managua has caused nothing but environmental and social problems while León has kept is character intact.

Our guide stressed that relations between Nicaragua and Costa Rica are not so great. He claimed that Costa Ricans didn’t like Nicaraguans or other Central Americans and often hassled people at customs. There is also a big conflict going on where the Costa Ricans are supporting construction of a road along the border that is causing environmental degradation while Nicaraguans oppose the reckless construction methods. Ironic since Costa Rica portrays itself as the ultimate eco-destination. Our guide explained he was disenchanted with the lifestyle of the U.S. where work was the primary focus and life was not as tranquil as in Nica. He said that we as PC volunteers were living the true American dream, having the opportunity to travel the world, but always be able to go back home to the U.S. Our other tour companions, a French teacher from Mexico and a Dutch computer chip manufacturer seemed to agree that their lives with ample vacation were more desirable than the American way of life. It was interesting to hear all these perspectives, both regarding Nicaragua and their ideas about the U.S.

It seemed like around every corner in Leon we found more interesting tidbits about its history and character and encountered friendly, intelligent and warm people who were willing to open up to us about their culture. Perhaps because the pace of this vacation was a little slower, we were able to more fully enjoy what we were seeing and reflect on the significance of subtle details. After two long days, we headed out of León for Granada, imagining what other simple pleasures we might find there.

Sentimental Hogwash

As we celebrate the last hours of 2011 and look forward to what awaits us in 2012, I’ve been reflecting about what leaving Honduras really means to me. The news about our eminent departure is finally sinking in and we’ve had time to get over the original emotional shock. We’ve spent the last two weeks dividing our household items into keep, donate and throw out piles, and at this point have emptied the place of pretty much everything except the bed, fridge and few cooking utensils. It’s more than a little sad to see the bare walls in our living room, and the echo of the emptiness is almost haunting. Plus, the donating and selling seems to have brought out the worst in our neighbors and friends who’s affection for us seems only directly correlated to how much of our valuable personal property we agree to give them. We also finally found out that our vacation to Nicaragua would be officially approved and we’ll be back just in time to have a few days before we have to head out to an exit conference and then back to the States. Several thoughts are constantly filling my head.

First, I can’t say that I disagree with the decision that Peace Corps made in this situation. After getting feedback from all the current volunteers, they discovered that while people felt very safe in their sites, travel presented more dangers and problems. Given the geographic spread of volunteers and the need to travel to places like San Pedro and Teguz for flights or medical appointments, it is hard to keep volunteers safe while travelling without a new set-up. Plus, PC can’t afford the bad publicity that might arise from more incidents occurring with volunteers that they knowingly keep in an unsafe country. They probably did make the right decision to evacuate us, it’s just that it all occurring over the holidays seems to have been an unlucky coincidence that is making the process more sensitive. That being said, we still do feel safe in our site and have never felt unsafe. All our Honduran counterparts and friends have expressed similar sentiments. They weren’t particularly distressed by recent bus assaults or murders any more than normal and also felt towns like ours were more than secure for volunteers. So in these last days, security is actually not high on my list of worries.

Unfortunately, the PC decision affects a lot of Hondurans that truly need our help. Pulling us out doesn’t really affect the staff here or in Washington, or the government of Honduras as a whole, or the U.S. government. Whom it directly affects are the people and communities that we have been working with on the ground that have no resources and to a certain extent rely on Peace Corps to stimulate meaningful change. A friend of ours said it perfectly “It is the poor people of Intibucá (our department) that are losing out from this decision.” Verdad. PC leaving also sets an example for other international aid workers and organizations here. We have already heard that Amigos de Las Americas (a mini PC summer program for high schoolers) will not be coming back this year due to security fears and several medical brigade members also expressed concerns. Who knows what other organizations might follow suit and pull out or reduce their presence, causing a further vacancy of international support? While I don’t know that my exact counterpart would be a good fit for another volunteer, I do know that there is still a great deal of work to be done in our department that PC could help with, and it’s a shame that the hard working people of our poor department have to be punished because of things they have no control over. But I guess that’s almost always the case…

We also feel lucky, almost guiltily so, that we are already at the near end of our service. To be honest, we have been filling out heads with tantalizing plans of post-PC life for a few months now, and were already beginning to mentally pull ourselves away from Honduras. We were wrapping up projects and not starting any new ones. For us, leaving early will be hard, but not impossible. We still feel like we had a full and rewarding experience, that we accomplished many things, that we built good relationship, and had the opportunity to get all the travelling in we wanted. We don’t have any regrets. This is not true for other volunteers who are just now completing either their 6^th or 11^th months here and may not feel like they want their experience to end. For them it will be a tough decision to re-enroll for another 27 months of service or end it here.

What I mostly feel is something akin to fear at returning to the U.S. It’s not that I don’t know what it’s like, or that I’m afraid I won’t understand the language (although my English has become pretty bad here). It’s more like I’ve become accustomed to the sort of exotic yet simple lifestyle that we live here, where when I walk the five blocks I might run into drunks stumbling toward me, dirty kids running around shoeless, a woman with a baby strapped to her back and a basket on her head, a river of rainwater blocking my passage or reggaeton blaring from the grocery store. Not that any of this is really exotic in any sense, especially to me now after living here for two years, but it’s certainly more entertaining than the mundane cul-de-sacs or suburban America, which is right where we are headed when we fly back. I don’t know if I’m prepared to re-enter the excessive and ridiculous culture of the U.S. quite yet, or ever…

The thought of sitting around at my in-laws house for an indeterminate amount of time, waiting in limbo before Nolan and I can start the next phase of life sounds particularly boring, and ironically exactly similar to the January before we left for Peace Corps, making me feel like I will be regressing in some sense. That I’ll go back to where I was and it will be as if nothing has changed, as if no time has passed; only I will feel so different inside that it will be almost unbearable to pretend like things are the same, or ever will be again.

I recently read two things about readjustment from Peace Corps that particularly echoed my sentiments. First, that although I call the U.S. home, it hasn’t really been my home in two years and so it’s practically as if I’m leaving home in Honduras and moving somewhere new, which is a challenging and emotionally strenuous life event. I feel exactly this, that my home-of-record to which I will arrive will be nothing more than a strangely familiar place that I’ve forgotten how to be a part of. Secondly, that returned volunteers (RPCV’s) feel sometimes like readjusting back into life in the U.S. means forgetting or diminishing the experience they have had abroad, something I very keenly feel. It’s as if by leaving Honduras, I relinquish it to just another sweet memory of my past that will be lost almost as quickly as my Spanish. Compounding this is how difficult it is to share the true meaning of this experience with family and friends who want the happy 5 minute summary.

So I’ve been dealing with all these thoughts and emotions the best way I know how, baking. As soon as I found out the news, I went to the market and bought a ton of zucchini, then proceeded to whip out 6 loaves of zucchini bread and some chocolate chip zucchini brownies. I followed up with peanut butter cookies, pumpkin rice krispie treats, devil’s food cupcakes, banana bread and tequila caramel corn. It was both an effort to use up the last of our valuable ingredients and to give our friends one last sweet treat to express our affection. I’ve also been trying to transfer as much knowledge to my work counterparts as time will permit. But it’s tempting to just retreat into the house to arrange and rearrange what trinkets we will take home.

Luckily, we will still have our time in Nicaragua to relax before heading back and our early end of service will now give us a few months to come back and travel through South America as we had originally wanted, the silver lining to this very dark cloud over Honduras.

Una Historia Navideña

I guess it’s because we are leaving soon, but we suddenly became very popular this holiday season. Last year, we didn’t get invited to a single family party or celebration from anyone, this year we had three invitations for Christmas Eve alone. I think it’s because we’re on our way out, but it was still nice to feel wanted. We decided to spend the eve, called Nochebuena (good night), with our host family next door, partly because they asked us first and partly because it’s close to home. It turned out to be an unforgettable time.

Host mom (center pink) with her two sons and some grandkids

They wanted us to accompany them to their church in the evening for some kind of Christmas program that the kids were putting on. While we generally try to avoid awkward religious events, we said yes, figuring it might be sort of like a pageant of the birth of Jesus or something. Well, not quite. The “church, “ if you could call it that, was just a bunch of plastic chairs set up in someone’s covered car port. While it hasn’t been particularly cold this year, that night was damp and windy with a threat of rain, and we, supposing the church would be inside, hadn’t really worn our warmest attire and were a bit uncomfortable. Added to that, we were the only gringos in sight at this small mass, so we stood out like giants.

We watched as the youngest kids sang a few short songs together led by the head sister of the church, including our little host sister. The teenagers, including our host brother then put on a little play of a parable from the bible. It was the one about the man with two sons, one who leaves home and wastes all his money then comes crawling back, while the other stays at home and works, and in the end the father loves them both equally. Not exactly the first noel, but the kids really hammed it up and it was entertaining. They sang Hark the Herald Angels Sing, in Spanish, so I just hummed along to the melody. Then there was a sermon/speech from some guy and that was it, pretty short and sweet. At one point, they made all the “visitors” stand up to acknowledge them, and our host mom gave us the evil eye, so we stood awkwardly as everyone stared at the gringos. Then they did a “introduce yourself to your neighbors” thing and it seemed like everyone came up to us specifically to shake our hands and say Feliz Navidad, it felt sort of like we were royalty or something, only embarrassingly so. The service ended with everyone receiving a nacatamal (a tamal with chicken, rice and vegetables inside) and some sugary coffee. I sort of think our host mom just wanted to drag out her gringos to show everyone, because she looked pretty proud of us, but it was still nice of them to invite us.

We headed back to our host family’s place at around 8:30 pm to eat the Nochebuena feast. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but Christmas Eve is the bigger holiday here. People go to church, have a big dinner, exchange gifts and stay up until midnight to light off fireworks. Traditional fare is nacatamales, which I previously despised because they throw chunks of chicken in them, bone included, and I more than once nearly choked to death on them. But this year, I sort of savored them. The president of my women’s group brought us some for lunch, and she knew I didn’t like the bones, so hers were bone-free and quite delicious. But nacatamales aren’t the main meal, more like an appetizer I guess – everyone can eat tons of them. 

Nacatamal y una coca

Anyway, so we waited around forever at our family’s house for all the family members to arrive. Our host mom (who is more a grandma age) has 4 grown kids who live in the same housing complex plus all their kids. So despite dinner being done and ready, we had to wait for everyone to arrive to eat, which didn’t take place until close to 10. We spent the time in between playing with the adorable kids, the youngest of whom, Grecia, whom I liken to a Honduran Cindy Lou Who, took a liking to Nolan and was begging to be played with all evening. Adorable! Dinner was a mix of Honduran and American favorites, roasted chicken with stuffing, meatloaf, tacos, tortillas and some gross salad of broccoli, Kraft cheese, bacon and mayo – blegh! Plus orange soda – not to be forgotten. It was decent food, not what I would have cooked and probably not really “traditional” Honduran either.

Nicki and Grecia Lou Who

Nolan the tickle monster

 After dinner came the presents! I guess because they have a bigger family, they did a Secret Santa gift exchange thing, with the kids getting some extras. They even bought a few gifts for us, some t-shirts and some really nice embroidered napkins – which was nice, but we felt silly that we didn’t bring any gifts for anyone. The funniest was when one of the sons was giving his kid a gift and he said, “Choosing your gift was easy, I broke it in the store and had to buy it!” and gave his 5 year old son a broken picture frame. The kid looked like he would burst into tears, then his dad whipped out a new bike from the back room and the kid loved it! So sweet! We finished off the event with some rompopo – I guess it’s the same as eggnog - and photos with the family and kids.

Glad to get this instead of an old picture frame

The night wasn’t over, even though it was 11:30 pm. We were headed next door to our host mom’s brother’s house for more celebrating. We were stuffed, but felt obliged to come along. At the brother’s house we were served pepsi, some punch with fruit in it, some fizzy wine that was like a wine cooler, then another nacatamal. I thought I was going to explode and/or vomit. We finally were able to head home just before the fireworks started going off at midnight. We watched from our bedroom window for just a few minutes before dropping off to sleep. After all, where we come from, if you’re not asleep, Santa won’t visit your house. Maybe the Hondurans haven’t figured this out yet.

Host mom's daughter and more grandkids

Christmas day, we woke up late, and enjoyed mimosas while watching It’s a Wonderful Life, typically a Christmas Eve movie, but since we were otherwise occupied the night before, we had to squeeze it in that morning before watching A Christmas Story. Instead of our traditional eggs benedict, we had prepared a simple French toast with strawberry compote. We took our host family some banana bread as a thank you for inviting us to Nochebuena, and in return they gave us some Tres Leches cake. We had a relaxing afternoon and roasted a chicken for dinner, which we are still eating today. It was a nice combination of half-Honduran, half- our own Christmas, and a great way to start wrapping up our time here.

The Worst Christmas Present Ever

Everything had been building up to this, but we were still taken by surprise.

A few weeks ago, a friend of ours was shot in the leg during a bus robbery. Luckily, she is fine. She left to go to DC last week for the second round of surgery (the bullet broke her femur). That bus robbery had been preceded and was followed by other robberies on the same bus line (our bus line) in the surrounding days.

We had always known Honduras was dangerous. It does currently have the highest murder rate in the world after all (82.1 per 100,000 people). But we never felt unsafe in our site, or riding our bus.

But then yesterday, we received a text message from Peace Corps saying that there was an urgent email in our inboxes, one that we should check right away. The email basically said that Peace Corps is temporarily suspending operations in Honduras. We have 3 weeks to wrap everything up. Everyone has to fly home to our ‘homes of record’ in mid-January.

We never imagined we’d be leaving like this.

The email left open the possibility that Honduras will reopen in February, assuming that it is possible to address the security issues and keep volunteers safe. There are several ideas as to how that can be accomplished.

But for us, this is it. We are not ready to leave, but there is no good reason to come back. Our original end of service date is only a few months away anyway, and we are not in the middle of any major projects. Plus, if Peace Corps does comes back, they will want to shift other volunteers to our site since it is one of the safest in the country, so we would only be in the way.

We are lucky in that our preapproved vacation to Nicaragua in January has not been cancelled. We are still allowed to go, provided we don’t use local public transportation in Honduras, but we did have to shorten it.

So keep an eye out in the next month for a couple more blog entries about our trip to Nicaragua and our attempt to say goodbye to this country that we have called home for the past two years.

Two Great Events to Start December

To kick of December, Nolan and I travelled to Teguz for what I’d like to call the piéce de résistance of my service, the artisan fair. This year, both Nolan and I brought artisans and I was the “coordinator,” in charge of getting things organized, sending out communication and answering questions. Luckily, I had a great team of BZ (business volunteers) folks to help me out with the catalog, charla, setup, greetings and tear down which made my job as coordinator sort of a piece of cake. Still, I like to think that I was a crucial part of making this big event happen which benefitted artisans from all over Honduras.

This year’s artisan fair was a success. Although we had four groups cancel in the last week, those who did show up were excited and enthusiastic and it was a beautiful day at the Embassy. It felt like there was less foot traffic this year from Embassy folks and there were also fewer PCV’s due to a recent security restriction on “large gatherings,” all of which meant fewer buyers for the products. We also had a different mix of artisans this year, fewer pottery items and a lot more paintings. It turned out the paintings were incredibly hard to sell, not a single of the three artisans sold anything, but it was a learning opportunity I suppose. Despite these setbacks, participants were positive, buyers were complimentary of the products and logistics went smoothly.

My own artisan didn’t do that well in sales, but she at least covered her costs of attending and got a chance to travel to Teguz and interact with some interesting clients. While I never think about the community where we live as having a distinct ethnic identity when we’re at home, when we travel, it becomes very clear that the people in our area are not quite like other Hondurans. The people here not only have a different appearance (shorter, darker, different facial features), they also have different personality/cultural characteristics. My artisan was the only woman wearing a long colored skirt, the vestige of traditional Lenca dress here. She was the only woman who wore her hair loosely tied back and slightly disheveled, probably more related to socio-economic status than ethnicity (although the two are linked). She was quiet, timid, and reserved, choosing to sit serenely at her table while others flitted about, chatting with others, yet another result of the cultural reality in my site where women have no voice. She looked so small and isolated among the artisans, I almost wondered if she regretted coming. But I feel like whether she said so or not, the trip was a good experience for her, to show her that she did deserve a table at the event because her art was just as important and beautiful as anyone else’s there.

After returning home from the fair, we attended what may have been one of the most interesting concerts of our lives. Our local bar/restaurant hosted a Beatles tribute band from San Pedro Sula called La Revolución. Apparently these guys are somewhat of a big deal (they are the only Beatles tribute band in Honduras so, you know…) because we had to put a deposit on a table in advance for L. 500 ($25) to get a seat. Plus we had to pay a L.100 ($5) cover, which is double what the normal cover is for musical acts at the bar. I’m not sure quite what we were expecting, Beatles look-alikes? Songs in Spanish? Whatever it was, the band was all that and more.

They band strolled in about an hour after the scheduled start time and we couldn’t really decide what to make of them. My personal feeling is that a Beatles tribute band should only have four members, naturally, but this one had five. I was okay with that. They were all wearing nice little matching black suits and vests, very reminiscent of the early Beatles wardrobe. Impressive. But one look at their faces and we were, well, intrigued. The rhythm guitarist/pianist/harmonica-ist looked Caucasian with a curly blondish little-too-long-to-be-a-mop-top hairdo and a nose that was almost Lennon-like. The bassist was clearly more Latino looking, but had decided to go for the Ringo-in-the-“Help!”-period look with a long cut dark bob and sunglasses that looked a little like Ozzy. The lead guitarist was slightly pudgy, almost American Indian looking, with long curly hair down to his chest parted straight down the middle. The lead singer/tambourine man also looked Caucasian (and with a name like Steve Atkinson, who could say otherwise) with a tightly pulled back ponytail and full beard. The drummer also had a wide face (maybe the brother of the lead guitarist?) and long hair. So much for look-alikes.

The bang began with a bang, or should I say a shout, Twist and Shout to be exact. They sounded about as good as you might expect a Honduran-born Beatles tribute band to sound, in other words, mediocre. The rhythm and sound was overall pretty good, but the Beatles simple chord structures made that part easy. The intonation was a little rocky, especially the harmonized parts where it sounded really off, and they even missed several key lyrics. But they made up for some of that by having creatively invented some Spanish verses for a few songs. The lead singer had a very strange voice, like Lennon in his later years, a little more high pitched and whiny, which didn’t really work well for the earlier tunes, but sounded perfect on Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and Strawberry Fields. The lead guitar wasn’t turned up loud enough so some of the key solos that give Beatles songs their uniqueness were drowned out. It was ironically obvious when they let him sing With a Little Help from my Friends, that his singing was way out of tune, but we didn’t walk out on him. I don’t think the bassist had anything lacking, but also didn’t really have much to offer. The drummer was quite convincing though and the rhythm guitar guy was probably the most talented of them all. He sang in an eerily-Paul-like voice with almost a hint of a British accent in there somewhere and killed on the piano ballads like Hey Jude and Let it Be. His guitar was consistent and at least one of his harmonica solos was pretty spot on (the other sounding like a cat in an accordion sort of).

Were they perfect? No. We’re they entertaining? Absolutely! They were quirky and fun in the same way the Beatles were, cracking jokes, dancing around and just being silly. They even did some great effects like in Yellow Submarine doing all the background voices and noises. The crowd really enjoyed themselves, singing along, doing call and response and dancing up a storm, including the old guy sitting in front of us who must have previously been a drummer because he was beating the table and stomping his foot like an old pro. The crowd was the crème de la crème of La Esperanza, the rich old men and some of their rich, college fraternity-like offspring. I think we were the only table that didn’t order a bottle or two of rum or vodka delivered with a bucket of ice and mixers. (I thought that was something that only wealthy rappers did at NYC clubs….) And with the high price tag of entrance, we were sure these people weren’t scraping by on subsistence farming. We ended the night dancing as the band finished their fifth encore, after busting out some Elvis and Stand By Me. This was probably the biggest group our bar has ever hosted, and it was by far our favorite. December couldn’t have gotten off to a better start.

A Thanksgiving to Remember

Our Thanksgiving was somewhat non-traditional this year. A fellow PCV couple who lives a half hour from us decided they would try their hand at something amazing, a pig roast! So, the Saturday after Thanksgiving we gathered at their house to celebrate with two 50 lb pigs to cook. Instead of burying them in a hot pit, our friends craftily constructed a rectangular grill out of cinderblock that they filled with more than 18 bags of charcoal. They butterflied the pigs with machetes and tied them, one at a time, to a wire rack they also made from scratch. It was an impressive structure to be sure. After 8 hours on the barbie, frequently turned and basted in a vinegar-based BBQ sauce, the first pig was ready to devour. At this point it was 3 in the afternoon, and after smelling the delicious scent of roasted pork all day, we dove into the meat like hungry vultures, ripping strips of meat and skin and fat off with our hands. The pork was to die for, juicy, crispy, salty, and tender. We piled up sandwiches on some homemade bread that we had made for the occasion and feasted!

 

But perhaps the best part was what took place immediately before the feast. We had been bummed that because of the party, we were going to miss our now traditional Saturday afternoon internet radio dates with our beloved Michigan Wolverines for the biggest game in several years vs Ohio State. But our fellow PCV friend and Umich alum, Che, came through! He had internet access on his cell phone that was able to get a play-by-play feed of the game, so for the first three quarters he periodically updated us on the game happenings. When it got down to the wire, the last 3 minutes where Michigan couldn’t get a touchdown and settled for a field goal, up by 6, we started to get nervous. So we huddled around Che as OSU took over the ball, and he started reading the plays out loud as he refreshed his phone. Pass, incomplete! Yes, we hollered and everyone at the party turned to stare at us. First down OSU! Darnit, we screamed. Pass again, intercepted by Michigan! Michigan WINS! We started cheering, chanting “It’s great… to be… a Michigan Wolverine!” Everyone at the party thought we were crazy, but they obviously didn’t understand the significance of beating OSU for the first time in 7 years! The Che busted out the champagne! Yes, he had brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate our victory. As we popped the cork and sang another round of Hail! to the Victors, we were certainly thankful, for a Michigan win, for a great Thanksgiving, and for having great friends to share the special day with. This was a Thanksgiving we will never forget.