Musings & Mutterings from Honduras

Fireworks in La Ceiba aka Is It Over Yet?

2012-01-17T08:58:00.000-08:00

I think it’s finally over….

I’m talking about Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve and the standard method of celebrating with extreme amounts of fireworks.

Literally, the daily and nightly explosions begin at least two weeks before Dec. 25^th and I was foolish enough to believe that it would all end on Jan. 1^st.

It seemed that everyone had fireworks! Young boys, casually walking past friends and groups of young people, deliberately flicking lit lady finger style ones at their feet just to watch them startle and shriek.

I had an interesting (watch out for that Chinese curse pertaining to living in interesting times!) episode with one young man, probably about 10 years old, one afternoon. I had been hearing the intermittent pops and shrieks along my street and got curious as to who was doing what. So, off I headed to the pulperia and certainly got my question answered!

That young man walked past me, flicked a lady finger back at my feet and proceeded to snicker when I jumped back from it. Well, as they say, that’s when the fight started! I raised my voice, shaking my finger at him and told him in no uncertain terms (and reasonably decent Spanish) that it was unacceptable, dangerous and if he did it to me again I would slap his butt.

He was in almost complete shock, and no longer snickering at me, by the time I was done. It appeared to me that the shock resulted from the fact that someone would dare to chastise him for his behaviour and he just couldn’t believe it!

But back to the general issue of fireworks. Technically, fireworks are banned in La Ceiba but it’s rather apparent that there is zero enforcement of that bylaw. Not only did everyone have them but two days before Christmas there were three different vendors selling them on the sidewalk outside of Paiz, the biggest grocery store in El Centro. They weren’t just displaying their wares, but making actual sales to adults, including myself.

Yes, yes, I know I’m not supposed to encourage sales, buy illegal goods or give them to my 13 year old friend (with his mother’s permission) and then turn around and complain about it…. Maybe I’ll justify my purchase in the interests of research?

There have been New Year’s Eve’s in the past whereby my street resembled an artillery firing range! Big ones, little ones, long strings of them twisting and careening down the road, massive detonations and even some of them becoming air born.

This past year wasn’t quite as bad but it was still a dangerous proposition walking home from my girlfriend’s and running the gauntlet fearing for my hearing, my vision and my long hair!

Yes, I think it’s finally over for this season since I haven’t heard any explosions for the last two nights, but I wouldn’t want to presume so for fear of jinxing myself! Now, where are my earplugs just in case?

Blessed be, Stephanie

Moose Sightings in La Ceiba

2012-01-13T08:38:00.000-08:00

It appears that global warming and climate change have affected changes in wildlife populations in Central America with the reported sightings of moose in La Ceiba.

Additionally, there are verified reports of gross abuse of these moose which appear to have barely survived their long migration south.

In one sighting, the animal was fenced in with Walt Disney characters and appears to be gravely ill while in another sighting it is obvious that the moose was killed for its antlers.
Apparently Hondurans did not realize that moose are incapable of substituting for reindeer and suffer gross indignities and tragic death when forced to do so.

You know that this is just a farce folks but sometimes I’m just amazed by what I see while living here!

Yes, there was a large Christmas display put up at the San Juan bus depot, on a very busy avenue for all passers by to see which included dear old St. Nick and an entourage of cartoon characters, wooden toy soldiers and even a couple of very blue looking polar bears.

I’m left with the impression that someone thought that a moose was close enough in bearing to pose as one of Santa’s reindeer but my burning question is: Where did they get them?!?

The La Ceiba tourist trolley mounted moose head is what I find the most curious.
Do you see where someone has spray painted its nose yellow?
Is this for a pseudo headlight or is it masquerading as Rudolph, with his nose so bright?

Some questions will never be answered!

Blessed be, Stephanie

Water Company Updates

2012-01-12T09:15:00.000-08:00

Life just gets even easier, the more time I spend here!

Last year I wrote a story about water companies, their call outs and the fact that they will deliver upstairs to my apartment – see here this link to refresh your memory.

http://musingsandmutteringsfromhonduras.blogspot.com/2010/02/water-delivery-timing-opps.html

Note: I am feeling quite clever in that I managed to figure out how to follow the instructions and ‘attach’ older articles with present updates. I wager there will be a few more of these to come!

Anyways, back to the story….

When I returned this past November I soon realized that there were a couple of new water companies servicing my barrio. I discovered this fact purely by hanging out on the patio and watching the world go by – nothing more clever than that – just basic curiosity!

Mimos is the fourth company and deliveries are made at fairly regular times during the day and week, though I’m not quite certain just when anymore. Occasionally I’ll hear their call out of “Meee Moooo” but they generally don’t bother with too much broadcasting. The driver doubles as a delivery man, there are no fancy uniforms or big trucks but they get the job done with their small pickup truck and even smaller sign on the tailgate.

Agua Diamante is the most recent company in La Ceiba and runs an even smaller outfit. There is one lone man, no obvious uniform, on a bicycle “truck” that he peddles slowly but surely through the barrio. There’s no call out that I’ve noticed; mind you how could he peddling that weight?

Prices for water have risen this year, ranging from 31Lps for Aguazul (supposedly the most trusted company) to as low as 20Lps for Mimos and Agua Diamante with the other two companies ranging around 27Lps, which all include delivery up my steep little stairwell.

Yes, I’m suspicious as to how the new companies can be so much cheaper but it’s obvious they have less overhead and fewer workers so possibly that’s the reason. Other than that I don’t want to think of the obvious answer – that it could be filtered tap water. I haven’t been sick, I’m not particular about brands for anything and I’m every so appreciative of having it delivered to me!

So there are now five companies serving us, six days a week instead of three previously, all of them deliver and now I don’t have to fuss about getting water in time so as not to run out over the weekends. Simply put, one of the basic necessities of life has become so much easier to accomplish!

Blessed be, Stephanie

Sambo Creek: January 11th Play Day at the Beach

2012-01-12T07:25:00.000-08:00

The sign of a good day is just how grubby, sun soaked and exhausted you are at the end of it! My friend Larry and I just couldn’t stay in town yesterday so took ourselves off to Sambo Creek on the pretext of having lunch and wound up having a delightful day of exploring, beach walking, sea shell gathering and soaking up brilliant sunshine.

First of all, you get a chicken bus from the San Juan depot and for 14Lps (about 70 cents) you board a retired North American school bus and begin the journey. Sambo Creek is about 16 km east of La Ceiba but it’ll take you about 40 minutes to get there as the bus stops at various locations within the city, then numerous times along the highway to collect workers, families and school children for delivery all along the way and into Corozal (another Garifuna village on the Caribbean Sea).

You turn off the highway and narrowly squeak through tiny one lane roads, paved and dirt wondering when, not if, the driver will clip a building and are dropped off at one of the ‘depot’ points. Nothing is labelled so you just look for a kiosk where folks are gathered and start your wanderings from there.

This is a small Garifuna village set directly along the Caribbean Sea which features various small restaurants and is especially known for tours to Cayos Cochinos which you can see in the distance. I’m planning a day trip to Cayos sometime soon, so will tell you more about them when I actually do it.

There are a couple of fresh water creeks that come down from the mountains to empty into the sea and provide ample opportunity for laundry and bathing for everyone. Bath time for the kids involves an extended period of sheer play time for everyone; splashing, floating, swimming and just generally having a whole lot of fun.

If you want to walk the beach west of the village, you have to cross the outlet so it’s off with the shoes (or flip flops for me) and in you go. The first shock of the cold water is just that but soon feels simply delicious after the hot sands and sun. Even knee deep the current is strong so I tend to slowly feel my way across to avoid falling over and soaking my camera – who cares about the clothes, they’ll dry fast enough!

The beaches here are surprisingly clean compared to La Ceiba; folks do clean up the plastic that washes ashore and there is an amazing amount of seashells simply everywhere. I’m a ‘water baby’ (a Cancer, the crab, by the Zodiac) and just can’t resist the call of the waves and sand. There’s no greater hardship for me than to walk the beach for exercise and NOT stopping to pick up seashells!

We wandered along paths between houses and through yards, making our greetings as we passed folks wondering who these crazy gringos were and where we were going.

We crossed trestle bridges and once I heard the sound of children splashing and shrieking with glee, we veered off the road bed and down a path through the bush to find yet another swimming hole crowded with kids and folks doing yet more laundry in the distance.

We stopped at pulperias for cold bags of water and sodas, ate our lunch of grilled fresh fish at a small hotel next to the disco (closed thankfully!) and slowly made our way back to the bus kiosk just in time to catch the 3:20 back to La Ceiba.

End of the day results: filthy with beach sand and salt spray; possessor of a huge handful of sea shells; belly full of fish, rice and beans and plateno; tired legs and sleepy eyes; sun crinkled skin and lots of photos.

Conclusion: An excellent play day at the beach! Wish you could have joined me but hope the photos and story will warm up your day for you Northerners in Canada!

Blessed be, Stephanie

Starting All Over Again

2012-01-10T08:37:00.000-08:00

Greetings again people!

I do apologize for having avoided, ignored and completely deserting the blog after the last entry in April of 2010.

Originally, I was embarrassed by the amount of time that had gone by, as well as the fact that “Momma Went Shopping” was the last posting. Honest, I’m not really that shallow!

Then I went through the guilty phase of having folks ask me if I was going to continue with it and me making vague mutterings about getting back to it some day in the future.

Recently, I’ve decided that I need to do this for my own good reasons and that my life would be richer and happier if I just gave in, gave up the procrastination, and got on with it.

To paraphrase Jimmy Buffett and one of his tunes “Some of it’s been magic, some of it tragic but it’s been a good life all along”… This has been my life in general over the last 20 months.

I’ve made a few new friends here in La Ceiba, I’ve had wonderful times with my grandsons in Canada, I’ve started to learn about sailing and I’ve been able to keep my arthritic body under some semblance of maintained control. Those are the “magic” parts.

The tragic side involves ongoing arthritis deterioration, the usual aging process for all of us over 50, missing my grandsons growing up and the fact that my sailing buddy is now dealing with cancer.

Sometimes, life makes it difficult to make my thank you’s every morning and as many of us do in times of stress, I did withdraw.

But the good news is that I’m going to try this again! I do enjoy sharing stories of my living in La Ceiba, Honduras, and no matter how trivial the content, sometimes the photos tell the whole story. Maybe there will be more photos than written word as my brain seems to be out of practise; maybe briefer passages; maybe who knows what?

I simply don’t know what it’ll turn out to be and we’ll all learn as I reacquaint myself with the Muse.

Blessed be, Stephanie

Momma Went Shopping!

2010-04-29T15:02:00.000-07:00

The heat can do strange things to a person’s mind and maybe I’ll blame this latest little adventure on mild heat exhaustion… I’m somewhat surprised with myself but know that my mid 20’s daughter will take great delight in hearing about her Momma’s shoe buying frenzy.

She is a delightfully feminine woman, with a serious fetish for shoes – brilliant red stilettos with swingy skirts, multi coloured sparkly flats with shorts and a camisole, high heeled leather boots with long legged denim jeans – you name it, she’s got just the right pair of shoes for any outfit. Now, don’t get the wrong impression – she’s also an intelligent, successful career woman and mother; we don’t have “bimbos” in our family!

La Ceiba is a woman’s shoe fetish paradise with the most outrageous creations offered in windows, shops, in the streets and in pickup trucks all over the town. I’ve seen everything imaginable from hideously high, brilliantly coloured heels, to rather sensible basic black or brown loafers to sandals that would confuse a carpet weaver with its assembly of laces and clips fastening them and flip flops of every colour of the rainbow and even with high heeled soles.

I’ve watched the young, and not so young, women stride, stagger, lurch or tippy toe about town wearing their stylish footwear and grimace to myself about the level of pain and/or damage they are doing to themselves and their feet all in the name of fashion.

I admit, in my 20’s I was rather typical and went for the high heels when truly dressing up but that was such a rare occurrence, certainly not more than half a dozen times a year, that I didn’t do any lasting harm. I spent a number of years working in construction trades and learned to love my steel toed leather work boots (especially after they started making them in small women’s sizes) and wore them constantly for work, hiking and just general walking around in a small northern town.

Now that I’ve been living in La Ceiba for a number of years, I’ve developed a habit for sturdy open toe sandals, both to accommodate miles of daily walking and a severely arthritic back. They aren’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, are purely utilitarian in purpose and I actually regard them as an orthopaedic assistance (trying to keep myself from hating the look of them so much!)

I have been needing to replace a worn out pair of sandals, stalling and procrastinating because I really hate shopping for clothes or shoes and had been half heartedly looking around town for a replacement pair. I snapped yesterday, girded my loins and forced myself out to the Mall in hopes that someone, somewhere, would have one single pair of flat, comfortable, walking sandals for me to purchase.

I honestly believe that the fashion police took pity on me…. Everywhere I went there were outrageous sales, a wide variety of flats and even some fun colours to choose from! I may not have found sensible sandals but I’ve got enough pairs of shoes (that I can walk comfortably in) to last me for hundreds of miles in my waunderings through La Ceiba. All in all, prices ranged from under $10 to a high off $30 (no discount on the sturdy walking shoes!) so I’m well set for quite some time for under $100 USF and most especially won’t have to face the ordeal of shoe shopping for quite some time to come!

I also admit that I won’t be wearing the red high heeled sandals for more than brief moments at a time, but simply couldn’t resist. Daughter will be proud of my “girl attack” and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that she’ll be “borrowing” them if I bring them back to Canada with me!

Relief From the Heat aka River Picnic Days

2010-04-29T14:07:00.000-07:00

You know it’s hot when the locals comment on it, when the gringos (and others!) climb into story books under fans or air conditioners and whole Honduran families from grandmothers to babies take themselves out to the various rivers for the day.

I’m very fortunate and have been invited to go out to various river picnic sites with my own Honduran family here. One Sunday we went to the Quebrada Zacate and found the most amazing series of waterfalls after a long drive on a very rough trail, following a suspiciously dry creek bed. What a joy and blessing to be able to swim and splash and simply float in very cold water!

Another Sunday we went to a picnic site on the river just below Pico Benito Lodge and joined the fun with all the other families out relaxing and cooling off from the heat. At one point I brought a huge plastic container of watermelon slices down to the shallow pools and we wound up floating it from one person to the next as we sat in waist deep water, wiggling our toes, luxuriating in the deliciously cool, clean waters and seeing who could spit watermelon seeds the furthest!

That was also the very same day that the power went out at 6am, turning off my huge fan at the base of my bed – not a comfortable way to start the day as the temperature in the bedroom was still 34C even with the fan on overnight. We finally arrived home just before 6 pm that night, fully expecting the power to be turned on after the 12 hour scheduled maintenance shutdown. The apartment was sweltering, with no breeze and even the cold water shower wasn’t cold as the cistern had heated up to very warm temps during the day!

The power came on but very, very briefly – which was the ultimate in cruelty in my books! The fridge has been off all day, so even though I got a free defrost cycle out of it, there was nothing cold to drink! Sticky, soaked in sweat, feeling quite out of sorts about the heat (which never happens to me!) I decided to take my chair out front, on the second storey patio, to see if I could possibly coax a breeze in off the Caribbean.

No such luck. So I waited, swatting various bugs as they landed on me and listened to the silence of my barrio. Some folks had lit candles in their homes or patios, some folks were just out visiting in the complete darkness, the older teens were hanging out on the wall at the corner and everyone was simply waiting for relief.

I could see lights on the south side of La Ceiba, but our barrios of Miramar, Maestros and La Alambre were still completely darkened. There were no street lights, no house lights and only the occasional passing vehicle head lamps provided any illumination to our little corner of the world.

Simultaneously the lights came on and the cheering erupted! What a glorious relief to be able to turn on my fan, crank up my fridge and hope that the system could handle the surge! Now I truly understand why the locals cheer when the power comes back again….

Baby, It's HOT Out Here!

2010-04-29T13:34:00.000-07:00

Oh, my goodness gracious – I think I’ve finally discovered what true summer weather is like in La Ceiba, Honduras….

Generally, I leave by the middle of April in order to go north and start preparing gardens for our cool 60 day growing season but this year I made up my mind to stay for La Ceiba’s Carnival held the third weekend in May. I’ve witnessed Semana Santa a number of times but have always heard about the outrageousness of Carnival and want to experience a small taste of it for myself. But I digress…

I’ve become accustomed to the apartment ranging from 30C to 35C during the days but got curious about what the temperatures were out in the full sun. As you can see from the photos this is extremely hot!

It’s the heat. It envelopes your body, leaving you with a most unattractively slippery persona and completely numbs your brain; your wrists stick to the keyboard, the mouse pad gets soaked and the laptop attempts to overheat and shut itself down. You shower innumerable times during the day to get the stickies off, change and wring out clothing countless times and loose all sense of motivation for the basics of life like cooking, eating, moving or carrying on a conversation.

The heat is indescribable if you haven’t lived in the tropics and survived it yourself. The world feels like it has slowed to an incredibly marginal pace, the noise levels drop to barely noticeable levels, the concrete streets radiate BTU’s and you feel like you are living in your own personal, body encompassing sauna no matter how loose or marginal your clothing is.

Yet life continues, with children going to school, women cooking, doing laundry and housework, buses running their routes, taxi’s cruising by, pulperias taking deliveries and making sales, vendors walking the streets selling goods and construction workers mixing concrete in the street. Surviving the heat is new to me and I’m very fortunate to have an extremely basic life style but I am amazed by the resilience of the locals. Life simply goes on, with folks seeming to take it in stride, albeit much more slowly than usual.

There’s a lot to be learned about developing a level of acceptance and patience with reality if you’re going to be living here! But in the meantime, I’m going to make another jug of icy lemonade; hmm, maybe it’s 5:00 somewhere and the beer is cold now…..

Gooooooooaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll …………….

2010-04-26T03:30:00.000-07:00

It’s official. I am now truly Honduran; I have become a full fledged “futbal” freak in flying colours here in La Ceiba thanks to a friend who invited me to a live game and, well the rest is history….

Even getting to the stadium before the game is an adventure combining crowds of folks and families flowing down the centre of the blocked off main street, men trying to park vehicles in the open areas, the police trying to keep an eye out for trouble, vendors flogging souvenirs, scalpers hustling for ticket sales and all of this happening at the level of a loud, happy street party, complete with music blaring! Only in Honduras, my dear friends….

There are three distinct sections to the stands inside the stadium – the west side (which is shaded for afternoon games and thus more expensive), the north side for the overactive high energy fans and the east side (the cheap seats with sun in your eyes until almost 6pm). You are accosted by scalpers at the approach to the stadium which is the entrance for the shaded seats at 120 Lp for men (only 70 Lp for women – what, we don’t like futball?) but if you follow the road around the stadium, the seats are only 50 Lp, with no distinction for gender.

There is such a crush of bodies all flowing into the small doorway, with their tickets at the ready; the armed police visually checking everyone for guns, bottles or other instruments of harm and suddenly you are in the bowels of the concrete stadium surrounded by smoking food stalls, vendors, beer and soda sellers, hot dog stands and that same crush of bodies that entered with you. If you don’t like noise, crowds or unexpected intimacy with strangers, this is most definitely the wrong place for you to be!

La Ceiba has two major teams - that I know of; please keep in mind that I am grossly uninformed about the game, the teams, the language and everything else to do with this great game of soccer. On April 11th there was a game between “Vida”, sponsored by the Salva Vida beer company and “Victoria” who is sponsored by a local milk company, Leyde. The Vida fans wear bright red shirts and the Victoria fans wear blue and white colours and are actually referred to as “lecheros”, the milk men.

Not knowing anything about the game, the standings or statistics or the teams I simply chose to support the Vida team – Salva Vida is a good beer and I don’t drink milk – simple choice as far as I was concerned. We wound up sitting in a Vida cheering section, surrounded by folks wearing red and ferociously chanting “Vida, Vida, Vida” and there is so much happening in the stands with all of the fans, that I kept forgetting to actually watch the game.

Vendors come through the stands selling everything – beer and soda in paper cups, pizza slices, tipico meal plates, pastry, trajadas in a plastic bag with chopped red cabbage and lime slices overtop, and chewing gum with all of the vendors calling out their wares overtop the sounds of the fans screaming, roaring and blowing small plastic horns that are loud enough to pass as compressed air horns! (These are also for sale by passing vendors…..)
The south section fans set up roars of chants, instigating choreographed leaps and waves of bodies moving in opposing directions; and also do their part in denigrating an opposing team’s goal scoring by hurling rolls of toilet paper over the chain link fencing to fly through the air and literally paper the playing field.

Vida did score in the first half and when play resumed, there was a gang of young men “the lecheros” dressed in blue and white who set themselves up in the Vida cheering section and proceeded to leap up and down and bellow out their chants much to the displeasure of us Vida supporters. It didn’t take long for our section to begin roaring “Vida, Vida” with fists punching into the air above our heads in order to drown their chants out. And then Vida scored the second goal of the game and people went wild!

Suddenly there were bags of water and paper glasses of beer and soda being hurled at the lecheros and I even saw a few umbrellas being raised overhead in self defence by non participants of this latest endeavour in basic mayhem. I even got christened, literally, by someone’s beer and may well consider bringing my own umbrella next time!

The game was still continuing and I really did try to pay attention to the actual play but as I said earlier, there was just so much else going on. The finale to the evening’s outrageousness was an unbelievable fireworks display set off in the empty south end bleachers while the game was finishing up and the noise level was phenomenal! I now understand why I can hear roaring crowds and fireworks from the stadium on game nights, all the way across town in my barrio.

One last moment of shock on my part was the armed police charging through the stands, chasing and capturing renegade lecheros, who I imagine had finally pushed the limits of good fun.

So the end scoring of the evening was Vida – 2, Victoria – 0 and the police – 5! All this good fun for only 50 Lp ($2.50 Can) – only in La Ceiba friends – and I did go back the following week for an excellent game of Vida vs Marathon, which ended in a 2 all tie but still managed to keep Vida in the semi finals for the next game.

Placencia, Belize: A Tourist's Paradise!

2010-04-21T12:52:00.000-07:00

Here’s the rest of the story about my “visa stamp” visit to Placencia, Belize….

I finally arrived, just after dusk on Monday, Mar 15th, after a long day of travels and my first impressions of the village are really just a blur as I blindly followed my new friends from Minnesota from the dock to their hotel.

Thankfully there was a room available at the Seaspray Hotel as I wasn’t up for any more adventures that day. This was also my awakening to how expensive everything was going to be as I was charged $96 BZ (remember that the Belize dollar is 2 for 1 USF) for a comfortably large room with a private bath, a fridge and hot running water – I can tell you, that hot shower was glorious after such a day!

Dan & Destiny invited me to join them for dinner, just next door at “De Tatch” and over a couple of the local “Belikin” beer and a great Jerked Shrimp dinner we shared stories with each other. This was their first time vacationing in Central America and they were quite amused when I asked if they had “got the bug yet?” It certainly appeared that they were having a great time discovering Placencia and surrounding areas and already planning as to when they could return again.

Needless to say, with a full belly and a clean bed waiting for me, it was an early night for me. Somehow, I keep forgetting that I’m not as young as I used to be!

Early Tuesday morning was a special treat for me as De Tatch opened at 7am, so I was able to get a big mug of coffee and curl up at a beach table to soak in the sights and sounds of the Caribbean Sea filling my horizon. Placencia stretches along a crescent shaped section of clean beach, with both ends remaining fairly forested. There’s quite a collection of commercial and private residences tucked in along the beach and poking their multi coloured roofs above the trees.

The day’s priority was to find a cheaper hotel since I was working with a fairly non existent budget so off I went to explore. One of Placencia’s claims to fame is the fact that one of its two main streets is actually a concrete sidewalk that stretches from one end of the village to the other. Everything is built on sand, so this was a bit of a relief for me as walking in sand is still pretty tiring for the re-built hip. What a treat it was to be able to waunder along barefoot, following little trails between houses to find John’s Bakery, various gift stores and yes, the hotels I was actually supposed to be looking for.

I found “Omar’s Guesthouse” that had been listed in a very old copy of Lonely Planet and had a pleasant chat with an older man named Pine about a room. Sadly, the price was right at 40 BZ a night, but this ramshackle two-storey wooden place had seen better days, a very long time ago. Going back along the sidewalk, I had a delightful visit with Sharm, the clerk at “Evan’s” and was amazed at their huge full kitchen private suites for 130 BZ (discounted to 100 BZ if I was to stay three nights) and I stopped briefly at the “Cozy Corner” with their fully equipped rooms at 109 BZ but couldn’t face the thought of living right over their busy bar and restaurant. I trekked out to the opposite end of said sidewalk and made inquiries at “Lydia’s Guest House” which was offering a private room with patio hammock, hallway bathroom and a communal kitchen for only 40BZ a night.

I wasn’t terribly certain that I wanted to stay at the far end of the village so strolled along the sidewalk yet again to find that there was a room available at “Julie & Lawrence’s Guest House” and readily accepted it. It was still a little high for my budget at 80 BZ a night, but the room was large and came with a fridge and coffeemaker, hot water shower and my own little patio complete with a great hammock! All within sight and sound of the beach and sea….

Days were spent merrily making new friends like Denise & Wendy at the “Pickled Parrot Pizza, Bar & Grill”, discovering ham & cheese flat bread breakfast creations at “John’s Bakery” and stopping and visiting with numerous Mayan women or local Garifuna artisans. The Mayans set up their tables or blankets along the sidewalk (remember, this is a main street!) and display their woven baskets, hematite jewellery and various other art works of painstaking detail. A number of younger men and women also simply walk throughout the village with their back pack, politely ask if you would like to see their work and if you accept, simply (and very efficiently!) shake out a small cloth and, their hands working like magic, instantly set out their various goods.

The weather remained fairly cool (at least for me, the acclimatized Honduran!) but it only rained the one night and most days the stiff breeze blew the clouds off for afternoon episodes of sunshine. I walked the beaches, collected sea shells, took hundreds of photos and generally played at being a tourist. I was really surprised at the number of Canadians I met who live & work there, are building to retire there or were returning over the years to continue their appreciation for living in this little corner of paradise.

I inadvertently wound up operating as a tourism assistant as Julie’s place was full, so I was able to share my new found hotel information with various backpacking fellows, a couple of young women travelling together and even two fairly affluent North American couples who were making their own inquiries.

There is quite a variety of Caribbean and international food available and I tried to sample as many as possible! Wood fired, thin crust pizza at “Tony’s”, conch fritters and a gorgeous green salad at the Pickled Parrot, the Jerked Shrimp at De Tatch, the Curried Prawns at Pirate’s Grill (which specializes in Caribbean Fusion, a new concept on me) to name a few of the best ones. Again, most meals ran about 25 BZ to 30 BZ and were big enough that I snacked merrily on leftovers.

It seemed that most bars specialized in “happy hours” whereby regular prices were either reduced or they offered mixed drinks at two for one, so as a purely economical restraint I visited a few of the many beach places in the later part of the day. The infamous parrot slightly pickled me one day while I was meeting so many Canadians and the “Tipsy Tuna” was great for meeting up with the various 20 to 30 “something” crowds of younger folk out to just have fun. Tony’s Pizza was a great place to sit and visit with a wide variety of “most ages” folks and had the distinct advantage of being a 20 second beach walk back to my patio at Julie’s.

Wednesday night at the Tipsy Tuna a local Garifuna band was featured and they shared their music and dance with the crowds both in the open bar and all along the beach as the drums echoed and the chanting voices carried strongly over the water throughout the night.

Thursday was spent verifying the D Express ferry schedule and pickup location, purchasing far too many jars of Belizian hot sauces, simply cruising the town taking photos and visiting with all kinds of friendly folks. I even discovered a thrift store – I have a knack for finding them in whatever country I’m in it seems.

Overall, it was a wonderful little vacation to a gorgeous sea side village and a novel way of ensuring that I can remain in Honduras with a legal visa without being forced to donate my fine money to the Honduran government. Two birds with the same stone!

Belize Visa Stamps: Plan A and then what really happened....

2010-04-21T10:49:00.000-07:00

Plan A: Mirna Bus Lines from La Ceiba to San Pedro Sula
This actually happened, and pretty much as the schedule stated. The buses run from 5:30 am onwards, once an hour to San Pedro Sula (SPS) so I caught the 9:30 am, after a 20 Lp taxi to the Mirna depot located at the Shell station across from the Mega Mall in La Ceiba. Cost was 90 Lp, one way with a 15 minute break at Tio Dolmo and we arrived in San Pedro Sula at 12:40 pm at the main bus terminal cum mall.

After wandering marginally lost for a few minutes, I figured out that to find the “collectivo” buses, I needed to walk the full length of the mall, through the food court, take a right down the small escalator and the first left which delivered me to where I found what I was looking for!

Impala Express “collectivo” bus from SPS to Puerto Cortez
These are small van type buses, holding seats for approximately 34 – 40 people maximum (just guessing on passenger capacity – certainly NOT a retired school bus/ chicken bus!). The cost was 42 Lp and with the bus leaving at about 1pm we arrived in Puerto Cortez at 2:30pm, so this part of Plan A did actually happen.

I don’t know how long this trip actually takes as it’s only about 55 km in distance, but there were a few delays. Originally there was a rather extensive delay when the police roadblock not only stopped us but 1) had all men go outside and get searched, 2) had one officer come into the bus and search every bag and parcel and 3) appeared to believe that I (as the only gringa aboard) was completely invisible. The driver also did the usual pick up and drop off stops and gave us a rather drawn out tour of Puerto Cortez when we finally arrived there.

That’s where I resorted to Plan B ie Options… I did a fast 15 minute walk around the centre of Puerto Cortez, and though I love Honduras, I did not pick up a good feeling about this place.

Chicken Bus
Puerto Cortez to Omoa

Back to the bus depot and onto a chicken bus to Omoa which is only 18 km away and is a totally different type of village! PC is a port city, industrialized, grubby, busy and tired at the same time. Omoa has its original village up along the highway, with more of it stretching about 1 ½ km down to the Bay of Omoa. The cost was 14 Lp, takes about 45 minutes and regardless of what Honduras Tips suggests about hiring a tuk tuk (15 Lp) at the highway stop, the chicken bus and collectivos will take you all the way down to the beach area of restaurants and hotels.

I stayed at “Roli’s Place” that night, as per Honduras Tips, but no matter how funky it is, it really is just a backpackers hostel. I paid 150 Lp for a private room, which was actually kind of like a one room tree fort and quite comfortably clean though the showers and bathroom were across the courtyard. That’s not for everyone!

Chicken Bus Omoa to Honduras/Guatemalan Border

You can choose to walk back up the highway (or take a tuk tuk taxi) and by sheer fluke I arrived in time to catch the 10am chicken bus to the “frontera”. Basically, the pick up stop is just past the main highway intersection and it’s easiest to just look for a group of folks waiting patiently at the side of the highway and join them.

The cost was 36 Lp and what with side trips into places like Cuyamelito, it took us 1 ½ hours to cover the 51 km to Corinto, near the actual border.

When you get off the bus you aren’t actually in a community or townsite but there are money changers who will exchange lempira for quetzals at a rate of 2.5 Lp to 1Q. From here you simply start walking the kilometre or so forward across the bridge and around the corner until you see the Immigration buildings in a widened area of the highway.

There is no charge to leave Honduras here – he simply stamped my passport and took out my white 90 day visa paper and I continued walking across the border to the two collectivo vans that were waiting on the other side.

Collectivo Van Guatemala Border to Puerto Barrias, Guatemala

The cost for this part of the adventure was 15 Q (38 Lp) and what with having to hand over non-regional passports for entry stamps, stopping for uniformed school children and sundry other delays, it took a full hour to arrive in Puerto Barrias at 1pm.

I had said that I wanted the boat to Belize, thus was dropped off on the main highway at a sign that said “Immigration 500 metres” and was pointing directly down towards the shoreline. About 4 blocks later I easily found the Immigration office, paid my $10 USF (80Q or 200Lp), received my stamps and went one block further to the Municipal Dock for the water taxi to Belize.

Water Taxi Puerto Barrias, Guatemala to Punta Gordo, Belize

There are “runners” here who will ask where you want to go and thus direct you to the correct boat, simply by its call name painted on the bow. The cost was $20 USF (160Q or 400 Lp) and the boat left at 2 pm so there was time to buy some takeout food and indulge in a single Guatemalan beer, a “Gallo” to the tune of 12 Q (30 Lp). After the days prior adventures, it was a welcome treat!

The boat is basically an open dory, with tarp roof, holding approximately 18 people and took 1 1/3 hours to reach the immigration dock at Punta Gordo, Belize. Calm seas and a pleasant ride through the harbour and across the Bay of Amatique.

Punta Gordo, Belize to Independence, Belize

Immigration in Punta Gordo was very conveniently located at the arrival dock and was casually efficient with very helpful personnel. I was asked if I was carrying any alcohol or tobacco to import (wasn’t) and they didn’t seem at all interested in either searching my bags or commenting on the (now somewhat soggily dripping) container of take out food that I had brought with me.

The “James Line” bus depot is the large green building two blocks to the right of the Immigration parking lot and there was a bus leaving at 4pm. The cost was $9 BZ ($4.50 USF, 90 Lp) and was a comfortable, not quite retired, school bus that took 1 ½ hours to reach Independence.

“Hokey Pokey” water taxi Independence to Placencia, Belize

This is where Plan A backfired, Plan B Options wasn’t available so wound up resorting to Plan C entitled “Uh, Oh!”… A critical point of information: the last water taxi to Placencia leaves at 5:30 pm. It is about a ½ km walk from the café/house bus depot near “Tony’s Super Store” (the large white building on the main road) down to the water taxi. Independence has almost no redeeming qualities and its only saving grace is that it is smaller the Puerto Cortez but equally uninviting.

Thankfully, there was a couple from Minnesota who were negotiating the hiring of a local boat, as they were staying in Placencia and had only been visiting in the Independence area for the day. I have no idea what the actual cost of the water taxi would have been since the gentleman in control had offered to take them over for 50BZ ($25 USF, 500 Lp) but I am certain that Hokey Pokey would have been both considerably less and much safer! I donated my 20 BZ to Dan & Destiny after we had arrived on the dock in Placencia after a harrowing 10 minute slewing rip through mangrove swamp channels and open water!

Thus I finally arrived in Placencia, Belize, after two days of travelling consisting of about 6 hours first day and 8 hours the second day, entailing transportation costs of 925 Lp (appr. $50 USF) with a Guatemala exit fee of $10 USF and hostel, beer and food costs running approximately 500 Lp (appr. $23 USF).

I spent 4 nights in Placencia, a beautifully clean and friendly tourism village stretched out between the beach and the harbour. I did find it expensive for my non existent budget, with mid range accommodations running about $40 USF per night, local beer and rums at $2.50 USF and restaurant meals going for $10 to $20 USF. I’ll write more later about places to stay and things to do while in Placencia.

The “D Express” water taxi from Placencia, Belize to Puerto Cortez, Honduras
The vessel leaves the dock at the Shell gas depot on the harbour side of the village at 9:30 on Friday mornings only. The cost is $55 USF and you must have your passport registered on the captain’s log sheet. We left a few minutes late, with almost 40 people and their gear loaded on board and drifted through mangrove swamp channels, arriving in Big Creek after 10 minutes.

There we proceeded to wait for the Immigration officer to arrive and set up his station on the hood of his car, in the dockyard parking lot. You will be charged $7.50 BZ ($3.75 USF) if you are a non-resident to leave Belize but the ticket you receive states that these funds are to be used for conservation/ecological purposes. More passengers joined us, and we finally left at 11am with a total of 41 passengers on board.

I won’t discuss this trip except to say that all was well until the last 45 minutes on entering Puerto Cortez. We saw dolphins and flying fish; saw occasional accidental cays out in the middle of seemingly no where and generally everyone had a reasonably comfortable ride. The seas were calm and though the skies were overcast, that simply prevented those riding outside from getting sunburned and we arrived in PC at 2:30pm about half an hour ahead of schedule.

That vessel is a horror show! It tipped, slewed, yawed and did everything but scream out in pain or rage as it fought its way into the harbour – and this was with calm seas!!! Then we got to the Laguna Bridge, which is the arrivals dock for said vessel and were immediately ordered to hand over our passports to a gentleman wearing a white shirted uniform, clutching a cheap plastic bag and providing no element of identification. There were policemen there who were searching all bags and suitcases, which I simply chose to walk past, numerous taxis and finally a gentleman with a pickup truck that was willing to take about 8 of us to the Immigration office somewhere in Puerto Cortez. Said gentleman then proceeded to hold us up for 50 Lp each, keeping in mind that a taxi, per person, is only 20 Lps. Welcome back to Honduras!

Thankfully the actual Immigration personnel were bilingual, and rather efficient given that their system consists of handing you a form to fill out in line, grabbing a stack of passports and calling out the person’s name to return it to them in their place in the line up and then digging through the remaining passports to find yours if you happen to be near the front of the line and arrive at the desk without one like I did. I was able to get my new 90 day visa for Honduras and didn’t have to pay any fees, so at least the original purpose of the whole trip was accomplished!

The majority of people who had arrived were actually en route to San Pedro Sula which meant that the taxi drivers were having a field day trying to scoop $50 USF from each passenger for the 55 km drive. I knew that the last bus of the day for Mirna bus lines left SPS at 3 pm, so simply decided to walk over to the central bus depot and stay in Omoa for the night.

If you turn right from the Immigration office (it’s on a corner) and walk up about 2 blocks, you’ll be at the main road where you turn right and continue about 3 blocks to the large Esso gas depot sign, cross the main road there and go up another 2 blocks and you’ll be at the central bus depot for the collectivos and chicken buses to SPS or Omoa.

I stayed the night in Omoa, met up with some great “transplanted” Canadians at Henry’s Sunset Playa and wound up just donating my bus fare as gas money to return to SPS the following day.

Therefore return transportation costs amounted to 2000 Lp (appr. $115 USF) exit fee of $7.50 BZ ($3.75 USF or 75 Lp) and lodging, food and drink of about 500 Lp ($23 USF).

Not counting my costs of actually staying in Placencia, Belize, (I’m almost afraid to do that tally!) I spent a total of 4400 Lp (appr. $230 USF) to avoid breaking the Honduran law by overstaying my visitor’s visa and having to pay the same government a 60 day fine of 3640 Lp.

I readily admit that it would have been cheaper (much cheaper!) to just pay the fine when I leave in May but at least now I can say I’ve done the circle journey, I’ve seen some amazing country, met some great people and have a wealth of incidental adventures to scribble about and a glut of photographs to edit some day soon!

PS Here's Henry's link http://www.playapantera.com/ -- Check it out if you're interested in staying in Omoa, need airport pickup or want to see the sights around this part of Honduras!

HHK: The Jungle School

2010-04-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

My adventures, and learning curves, just keep continuing with friends from Helping Honduras Kids (HHK) and I’m so thankful for the opportunity to see the philosophy of love, hope, education and opportunity being practised so effectively by all involved!

On April 6th, I was taken out the Rio Cangrejal to visit the Jungle School – and before you come to any bizarre conclusions about its name; it really is tucked up high in the jungle, tenaciously clinging to the hillside, and with well over 100 concrete slab steps and filled tires providing the only access, it was yet another trek for me.

We arrived just as classes had ended for the day with the kids clustered along the hillside stairway, milling around in the kitchen and cafeteria or tidying classrooms and sweeping floors. This is an unbelievably beautiful setting – paradise for the eyes, literally – but I couldn’t help thinking of the sheer magnitude of the mechanics and engineering involved in accessing, building and maintaining this school and site.

Classes start at 7 am and go to around noon (I’m not sure of the exact end time) with a mid morning rice and milk break and a hot midday meal consisting of rice and/or beans, and occasionally fruit, vegetables or a bit of chicken, depending on donations. There are 77 children presently enrolled in the school program, but the meal program is extended to all siblings that accompany students, thus this program is feeding 100 children every day as no one is turned away. Sadly, this is generally the only meal of the day for these children and frequently fortified rice and beans are sent home with students to assist the family’s survival.

During my conversation with Angel Pacheco, I discovered that there are 17 children in the kinder program, with about 30 in the Grades 1 and 2 classes and the rest are spread throughout Grades 3 to 6. There are no registration or monthly fees and because the Jungle School is run as a private school, children actually attend every day unlike the public schools that are notorious for losing two to four months of class time every year. This may be the only truly free school in Honduras as HHK provides all books, supplies, uniforms, backpacks, medical care including vitamins and other needs; literally everything that these children need in order to achieve an education.

This also includes the firm guidance of the two teachers and the director of the school in establishing clear rules of behaviour and instilling a sense of pride in the student’s accomplishments. The teachers are greatly assisted by volunteers that come from all over the world for three month terms – whether they are licensed teachers or not, they just need to be committed to helping kids learn. Additionally, the teachers themselves benefit professionally from this support and assistance from the volunteers, so it’s truly a win-win situation for everyone involved!

The Jungle School is terribly overcrowded now that the 20+ children from the Hogar have joined the classes, so the Grades 5 and 6 students are using the central hall area as their classroom. Thankfully, construction of the third classroom has begun thanks to the San Diego volunteers who donated $3000 from fundraising and numerous hours hauling bags of sand and concrete blocks from the roadside all the way up those 100+ stairs to the building site. Thank goodness for all those strong, young bodies and happy souls! The estimated costs for completion of the third classroom are about $22,000 and as always, donations are always needed and welcomed.

The Jungle School is now in its third year and has had students graduate from Grade 6 and continue on to attend El Pital High School or the private Instituto del Rey and HHK continues to support these children as much as possible in order for them to complete their educations.

At the beginning, many of the children had never been to school or had no experience with routines, discipline or generalized cooperative behaviour which made teaching very difficult. Now, three years later, with the “no nonsense” rules imposed by Angel and Iris these children have truly turned the corner into becoming well behaved, responsible and respectful persons; traits that will further improve their chances of success in the future.

There is now a small community forming around the Jungle School as caregivers come to cook meals, learn to sew and bring their children with them to socialize, which in turn attracts others interested in educating their children. The new construction is providing paid employment for local men, the sense of community is easing the isolation of women and children and the volunteers who come to teach or work provide a window into the bigger world of experience and hope for the future of the local people.

I feel like the Jungle School is like a pebble tossed into a pond of water, the ripples keep continuing outward and thus more and more local people will benefit from this enterprise. I am very grateful to have been introduced to the great people, both teachers and students, of the Jungle School and know that my own life has been enriched. Thanks!

HHK "Solares Nuevos", A Displaced Campesino Village

2010-04-10T12:36:00.000-07:00

I thought I had an understanding of the level of poverty here in Honduras, after living in La Ceiba over the past seven years, but my eyes have been opened yet again to the harsh realities of life in this country.

On Tuesday, April 6th, Helping Honduras Kids volunteers and visitors (like me) headed out to visit the displaced village of “Solares Nuevos”. This is a campesino village, consisting primarily of single mothers and their children that was established about three years ago by HHK.

Originally, the campesinos had lived and worked on a large farm but whether it was due to natural disaster or economic failures, they lost their working positions and thus their homes. Thus meaning that they drifted from place to place, hoping for work and housing and being moved on when the work wasn’t available.

David Ashby, with HHK, and Vicki Skelton of White Fields Missions purchased a single manzana of land within the village of La Bomba, on the outskirts of Jutiapa, east of La Ceiba, divided it into 30 lots and the campesinos were given a place of their own to build and live upon. Over time, a communal well was dug, a one room school was built, some road ditching and barbed wire fencing was done and a new community was born. HHK and White Fields Missions still holds the title to the land, to preserve the security of the land but this also means that technically these families are still squatters. Dave told me he actually made 25 trips with his pickup truck, hauling chickens and household goods on that moving day!

Over the past three years, the community has tried to improve itself but it’s a never ending quest. This is the extremity of poverty in Honduras with scraps of wood scrounged for housing, open fires for cooking, no running water, no jobs and basically no men as the men head into La Ceiba or elsewhere for work; sometimes returning home to wives or girlfriends and sometimes not. Girls as young as 11 or 12 years old in the photos are not holding baby brothers or sisters – these babies are holding and raising their own babies!

What electricity there is, is “borrowed” by the process of stringing extension cords or line and simply tapping into a source in the village of La Bomba and running it to separate homes. The area floods terribly during the rainy season with free flowing water running through homes and women attempting to cook outdoors under tarps in a sea of muddy, churning water. Obviously, the mosquito problem is horrendous and there are no windows, netting or screens available, thus disease increased.

There is a teacher, paid by the public school system, who is able to run a “kinder” for 10 children but unless volunteers come and stay, there are no programs available for the older children. And there isn’t the money to pay for fees and uniforms to send the older children to the public school in La Bomba. The school room itself has only 8 desks and fewer than 20 chairs, with a world map, days of the week and various other learning aids painted directly onto the concrete walls. I didn’t see any books, only a couple of small notebooks and simply nothing else – no pencils, paints, arts and craft paper – just nothing. I did notice the pot on the desk at the front of the room, containing the mealtime snack of rice and milk that is given to the kinder kids each day – sometimes, their only food of the day.
Yet, little kids still want to play, young ladies still want to gossip and giggle together and we were very warmly welcomed by the whole community. The school age children gave us an impromptu recital and singing session, with one young girl featured as a solo singer. I heard a story whereby she had almost drowned after falling into the well when she was 11 and seems to have taken to singing as a thanks for her own life.

The fantastic volunteers from San Diego handed out candies and crayons to the school children and helped disperse supplies of beans and rice to the women of the community, with those women with more than 5 children receiving a second portion of each. At least we knew the families would be eating a hot meal that night!

A fast 2 minute lesson on the purpose and use of birth control pills was given and a few of the women accepted packets of them, but sadly, not all of them were ready to “get with the program” so to speak. I don’t know why but I do acknowledge that change of any sort, yet alone radical change, is very difficult to achieve and does take a lot of time.

So this is the community of Solares Nuevos, yet another program that Helping Honduras Kids sponsors and supports through the donations and sponsorship of others, the volunteer work of individuals and groups and the dedication of the folks right here in Honduras. Check out their website at http://www.helpinghonduraskids.org/ and see what you can do to help, please.

Correction: HHK worked with White Fields Missions http://www.whitefieldsmissions.org/ with each group buying half the land in question. HHK built the school room and White Fields has built 6 concrete block houses (some of which are one room duplexes). There is also a similiar campesino village west of La Ceiba near Bonitillo.

HHK Rio Cangrejal Trek aka Kid's Playday Picnic

2010-04-10T10:10:00.000-07:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time….

I was invited to join the HHK volunteers from San Deigo, the kids from the Hogar and a few other folks to go out the Rio Cangrejal and take the kids for a play day picnic on April 3rd. Okay, that sounded like it would be great fun to get out of the city, hang out with happy kids, go for a walk and play in the river. No problems, right? Hah!

We met up at the Hogar in La Ceiba and when the bus full of volunteers finally arrived, the kids from the orphanage couldn’t wait for them to get off the bus! Happy little kids, lunging with open arms for “their” volunteer and a mass hug alarm/attack ensued – what a great way to start the day….

Everyone got sorted out, settled in and extra food, clothes and water were packed into the passenger bus and the two other vehicles we were using for the day; three more volunteers were picked up in town and away we went.

It was a gorgeous day, lovely sunny bright weather and our caravan slowly made its way up the Rio Cangrejal dirt road. This used to be the main supply road for Dole in the days when they shipped product out of La Ceiba by boat and the road certainly hasn’t improved much since those days. Wash outs, ruts, washboard, narrow and twisty and a steady uphill haul past various tiny communities until we finally made it to our mustering place.

That’s when we were informed that we would be going down an extremely steep hillside, on a very narrow single track, to reach the river. Folks loaded gear, adjusted packs and rounded up “their” kid and away we went single file. At one point, we had to cram over to the sides of the trail as two men and horses were coming up hill, carrying metal cans of milk.

The Rio Cangrejal is a stunning sight and I thought would have made a perfect picnic site, but that’s not what was planned for us. We started across the river, with water up to our (adult) knees in the first crossing and that’s when I realized that this could get complicated, as the current was pretty strong. Volunteers grabbed kids, carrying the smallest ones, floating the bigger ones with life jackets and struggled across the second section that reached our waists! We thought we had lost the woman from Italy, as her thongs got away and she went tumbling into the fast water and finally popped up like a cork before smashing into the bigger rocks down river. Too much excitement for this woman and I was very grateful for my escort, Luis from Europe, a delightful, tall and strong young man!

Once we had crossed the river, done the head count to ensure we had everyone we started out with and calmed our pounding hearts, (at least in my case!) David told us that we now had a brief 20 minute walk to get to our picnic spot. With the river behind us and the mountain in front of us, it was too late to turn back so off we went seemingly straight uphill. Those little kids put all of us healthy adults to absolute shame! That’s when I started to refer to them as “mountain monkeys” – scrambling, giggling, grinning merrily as they bounded up the mountain side and bounced along the jungle trail, eagerly looking forward to their picnic while some of us older folks struggled and stumbled valiantly in the rear.

David was a great leader, stopping to talk to us about clearing the original site for building the orphanage, deep in the jungle terrain and then magically finding the turn off to lead us down (yet another steep hill!) to finally arrive at our river picnic site.

What a stunningly beautiful pocket of paradise! Tumbling cascades of water over huge boulders, shallow pools flowing over dinosaur egg rocks, a narrow beach on the far side encroached on by trees, plant life and vines and the sun shining brightly upon all of us.

The kids had a fantastic time! Splashing, swimming, collecting snails, building rock dams and floating leaves down river; volunteers stripped down to bathing suits and everyone got into the fun! I’m not steady on my feet so found myself a wonderful little sitting rock for a nest and simply soaked my feet in the cool waters while watching the fun and taking dozens of photos. That’s also when I started calling the kids “river rats” as they bobbed, floated; belly surfed and thoroughly, wonderfully enjoyed themselves in the water!
Lunch time finally came and as Ron stated earlier (HHK FB posting) the150 ham and cheese sandwiches, bags of chips, juice boxes and treats just weren’t enough! These kids play hard and like little kids everywhere, are ravenous when it’s time to eat, yet they waited patiently, shared wonderfully with each other and tucked themselves all around the site to eat. They started to slow down a bit after eating, so there were card games played and many, many cuddles indulged in as the conversations flowed back and forth.

David still wasn’t done with us though and off we trekked to yet another river site, wending our way along the single track trail through jungle, bush and clearings. More play time; more cuddles and more conversations ensued. There was yet another head count with Ron handing out “bonbons” (suckers with gum in the middle) as each of us passed by him on the trail and we made our return journey through the jungle, up and down hills, back through the Rio Cangrejal and finally up the last mountain side to reach the main road again.

At this point in time, we were beat – filthy, tired, with chewed up feet and numerous scratches and bug bites – all the signs of a great day of fun. One last surprise were bags of cold, cold water that had been saved in a cooler of ice for our return – what a marvellous blessing after our adventures!

So after all is said and done, it really was a great idea!

Oh, the things that I learn!

2010-04-07T10:53:00.000-07:00

Life continues to be an extreme learning curve! With that said, here’s a little story about what happened last night….

I had left the house at 7:30am (truly a far too early start to the day for me!) and joined up with the Helping Honduras Kids volunteer group for a full day of visiting the campensino village of “Solares Nuevo” east of La Ceiba, which was then followed by a drive out the Rio Cangrejal to visit with the kids and teachers at the Jungle School.

Both these programs are sponsored by HHK, and since I’m trying to do my bit to publicize their good works I spend a lot of time taking photos and interviewing folks, which with my limited Spanish can be tiring. I won’t even discuss the 150 steps and tires that lead from the road to the actual school!

So by the time I finally made it home at 5 pm, I was too tired to bother cooking dinner and decided to head over to Mowra’s “El Buen Amigos” for her wonderful fried chicken and maderas dinner plate. It’s only 50 Lp and honestly, I can’t cook something like that as well or as cheaply.

So I changed into blue jeans and a t shirt (mosquito proofing) and on my way out of the house, stopped to visit with Dona Luc, telling her of my plans and that I wouldn’t be late. You need to keep in mind that I was assaulted and had my purse stolen right outside the apartment in late January, and though I’m fine and got everything but the money back, I have been under a house curfew ever since. Yep, at the age of 50 I am now expected to be home by 8 - 8:30 pm at the latest, as Dona Lucy not only read me the riot act but actually waits up for me to come home.

Well, one thing lead to another what with visiting with Mowra, the family and various folks that came into the caseta and I finally made my way home just a couple minutes after 8 pm. Unlocked the main gate at the street entrance, slid it open and closed again, relocking the big padlock and made my way through the pulperia and up the stairs to my apartment.

Unlocked my door and due to the place being rather warm, left the main door wide open while I went into the bedroom and changed into a loose shift and put various bits away. I had forgotten to put the doorstopper in place, so within a minute or so the wind slammed the door shut with a horrendously big “Boom”! Certainly startled me but I knew what had happened and finished doing what I was doing.

The next thing I knew, I could hear Dona Lucy’s voice calling my name from the bedroom window (she had come up the back stairs from her place) and I turned around to see her standing in the shadows just outside my window.

Standing there, in her night dress, packing the biggest damned pistol I have ever seen!!!

I think I must have gone into shock at the sight of this tiny, respectable, church going grandmother packing a pistol big enough to put John Wayne to shame! She’s babbling in Spanish about making sure I’m safe because that there are too many thieves in the neighbourhood and I’m babbling (in Spanish!) that I’m safe, it was the wind that slammed the door, I’m sorry I scared her, and on and on… I did note that she held the gun pointing up and away from both of our heads and that the hammer wasn’t cocked, so it seems that she does know what she’s doing with the weapon!

Both of us finally calmed down and stopped babbling; she went downstairs and I collapsed in my chair shaking my head at what I had just witnessed. So I’ve learned a couple very important things – one, that there is unbelievable security within my house and apartment and two, appearances are terribly deceiving!

By the way, I won’t forget to use the doorstopper ever again……

Semana Santa aka Silly Season

2010-04-05T12:04:00.000-07:00

Semana Santa is the name of Easter Holy Week here in Honduras, or “Silly Season” as my friend Kenneth used to state; you’ll understand why in just a moment.
Semana Santa, at least from my experience here in La Ceiba, has very little to do with religion. Most government offices and schools are closed for the whole week prior, the work week for most workers ends on the Wednesday of the week and banks and other larger stores start closing on Wednesday or Thursday. Even the street markets are closed for Good Friday, as well as their usual Sunday, during this time.

Semana Santa is regarded as the first week of summer and a prime time for vacation travels for Hondurans. As La Ceiba is called the “novia” (sweetheart) of Honduras, it is also a favoured destination and literally thousands pour into the city from throughout the country to take in the beaches, the party atmosphere and even the shopping for those so inclined.

What I call “instant villages” pop up on any scrap of beach, generally starting at the far east of town at the Seaview and stretching from there past the Partenon (as long as Mother Nature has left them some beach after winter storms!). There is a huge empty lot located there where a beer company, “Salva Vida” sets up their own bright yellow village of beer gardens, music stages and various games or “beach soccer” competitions.

This Salva Vida Village is located in Zona Viva, and the rest of the area fills up in the evening with street vendors, sidewalk beer stalls, and street stages with various bands competing for the most ear splitting volume. You can watch (or partake in!) the punta dancing competitions, snack of foods grilled out on the sidewalks, buy a paper glass of beer (wondering which brand? Haha) and slowly stroll the length of the strip if you can handle the noise and the crowds!

During the day, the beach side instant villages are filled to overflowing with families bringing the kids for a play day in the water. Dory’s will charter rides, some towing blown up tube shaped “boats” with 2 to 6 folks in life jackets clutching the handles on top as they go rocketing across the waves. Even the local fire department brings out their zodiac to provide some level of water safety!

Needless to say, the beach and Zona Viva are scenes of celebration that continue for the week, (and long into the nights if you’re unfortunate enough to live in the area), thus the nickname of “Silly Season”!

April 2nd was Good Friday of the holy Easter season, and though I no longer practise any form of traditionalreligion, I respect those that do. That being said, in the early hours that morning I actually received my very first glimpse of anything to do with the resurrection or any other aspect of active religious celebrations during this time of “Semana Santa” in La Ceiba.

The procession consisted of a person in a long white robe, dragging a large wooden cross, accompanied by two purple robed people, a truck with its loud speaker and a procession of about 50 people slowly walking along behind. A woman’s voice led bible scriptures interspersed with a mournful chanting dirge that the whole group accompanied as they slowly walked up and down the streets of the barrio. They stopped at one home and continued their recitations before finally adjourning to the local church after almost two hours of public appreciation of their faith.

Sadly, my photos from the patio didn’t turn out but I’m glad to have witnessed at least some small element of spirituality in the midst of “Silly Season”!

HHK Grandma's Kids program

2010-04-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

One of the community programs that Helping Honduras Kids sponsors is called “Rio Cangrejal Grandma’s Kids” with these families located in the village of El Naranjo.

The special feature of this program is to provide the economic and physical support for the “Grandma’s”, those older women who are raising a number of their own grandchildren.

Quite frankly, the fathers have left or are unknown and the mothers are frequently victims of HIV/AIDS, leaving the children without parents. Thus the responsibility of raising younger siblings can rest with girls as young as 10 years, attempting to feed, clothe and house them all. This is where the Grandma’s step in to provide some semblance of a home life, teaching basic living skills and trying to keep the families united rather than sent to orphanages or government institutions.

HHK provides basic food supplies, clothing, medical care and school supplies, uniforms and fees in order to assist these children in achieving some level of education which in turn provides them with the opportunity to have a future.

A large group of volunteers from San Diego and Europe, board members and guests and about 22 children from “Hogar de Amor”, HHK’s children’s home in La Ceiba paid a visit to the tiny village of El Naranjo on Saturday, April 3rd to deliver gifts of stuffed toys, clothing and candies to the Grandma’s and their extended families.

This young lady, holding her mom's arm, was the one who donated all of the stuffed animals from her own collection!
These are two of the Grandma's that HHK sponsors.

This village is extremely impoverished, even by Honduran standards and our visit was certainly a highlight of the week for them. We were able to meet and visit with two of the three sponsored Grandma’s and some, though certainly not all, of their children. There are about 30 children from toddlers to teenagers being raised by the three grandmas and needless to say, their life isn’t easy.

Yet, these children are simply glorious! They started gathering to greet us when our vehicles arrived, standing quietly and politely, yet most interested in visiting with those of us who spoke Spanish. When most of the families had arrived from further away, volunteers started handing out the huge collection of stuffed toys and a candy to each child in a rather en masse scene. One little boy actually declined a second candy, as he had already gotten his and didn’t want to be greedy! Clothes were dispersed by hand, given to whomever they looked likely to fit and all the leftover clothes were bundled up to be taken home to share with the rest of the families who weren’t present.

One tiny toddler became quite upset, crying plaintively when it’s Grandma left for a moment and another volunteer simply picked him/her up to cuddle and stroke and comfort. That single moment of pure caring and love personified all the work done by each and every volunteer and member of HHK!

If you’ll check in with HHK’s website http://www.helpinghonduraskids.org and look under Community Programs, you’ll find the link where you can sponsor either a child for $25 or a whole family for $100 monthly. Please think about this for yourself or any social organization that you are a member of! HHK presently has about 60 – 70 sponsors but realistically need about 400 to continue maintaining all of the programs and assistance they provide. Every penny, every moment of energy and volunteer work goes directly to these children and families in order to provide opportunity, education, hope and love to break the cycle of poverty and your contribution can and will make a real difference!

Just click on the photos to enlarge them!

Just Another Day at the Grocery Store!

2010-04-01T12:37:00.000-07:00

One thing I've learned about living in La Ceiba (or anywhere!) is that life is best experienced when you expect either the least or accept the unexpected.

We used to have a chain of grocery stores called "Ceibeno" and with four outlets throughout the city they were creatively titled simply by the numbers 1 through 4. The second largest and most accessible was Ceibeno #1 located at the edge of downtown La Ceiba, next door to Swinford Park and within easy walking distance of the street markets.

A few years ago, the chain was purchased by Walmart (Yes people, Walmart is alive and well in Honduras!) and a couple of the outlets were closed. The original Ceibeno Uno is now called "Paiz" and still provides a fair selection of grocery and department store goods.

When I first moved to La Ceiba, some of my original forays into the world of food shopping were not only frustrating, but desperately nerve wracking as well. Keep in mind that I don’t particularly like to shop, for anything! But given that food is a necessity, I enjoy cooking and dislike the unknown content in restaurant or fast food offerings even I had to learn to do it here. I admit that I copped out and made use of the large Ceibeno Uno because I could find most of what I wanted with a minimum of attempted Spanish, and still remember my early forays with the grocery list in one hand and the dictionary in the other as I tried to decipher if what I saw on the shelf was what I had on the list!

To this day, there seems to a rather curious approach to supply and demand. You never know when any of the shops will have an item that they usually have; if they run out there is no guarantee of when it will return or even if said item will return and finally just because a commodity is a staple, don’t be foolish and take it for granted that it’s always going to be available. So many of us find shopping for basics either a curse or a bizarre form of treasure hunting – you never know when or where you’ll find said item, so you stock up or do without!

But there have also been some more pleasant adventures in the grocery aisles… Like the day the perky, scantily clothed young ladies were handing out free Flor de Cana 4 year old rum samples. Gotta tell you that certainly lowered my anxiety levels!

Or the day there was the big stage, with even bigger speakers, set up in the parking lot complete with (yet again!) perky, scantily clad young ladies dancing, the band playing raucously and between songs there was the evangelically inspired speaker vehemently preaching the sins of drugs and alcohol and promoting a local milk producer!

Yet, because I don’t want to support Walmart and my Spanish has improved slightly, I rarely shop in the larger stores anymore. Yesterday was the exception to the rule as I needed my bi-monthly loaf of “Bimbo” multi-grain bread and my usual shop, Tienda Palmira, was out of it so I broke down and went to Paiz.

What a surprise! And what a commotion was going on… There was this person dressed in the over-padded costume of the Bimbo bread company mascot, a gentleman with a microphone and camera, loud music blaring and all this right at the very entrance. I just wasn’t ready for it and stopped in my tracks, with a bag in either hand as this same mascot lurched forward to greet me. Without thinking I threw out both arms, bags still firmly clutched and blew “it” a kiss hoping that it wouldn’t hug me! Well, just like at the circus, the audience of clerks, customers, small children and security guards loved it and were even applauding as I made my escape to the package “put away” counter.

As the saying goes, in for a penny – in for a pound, so I proceeded to take a photo and then stand back and watch the show with everyone else as the mascot danced, pranced, had photos taken with people and generally made a very happy nuisance of itself at the check out counters.

Just another day at the grocery store!

Helping Honduras Kids, non profit group

2010-04-01T09:59:00.000-07:00

The following is an advertising note written by Dave Ashby, the founder of Helping Honduras Kids (HHK). I've been meaning to write a series of articles about this organization because I honestly believe in what they are doing. I have met local organizers, have met folks from Canada who have come and volunteered for a month at the school and I've also met a number of the children from the "Hogar" , the orphanage, while they were out with Dave for a play day afternoon at the beach.

HHK is unlike any other "helping children in third world countries" organization that I've read about! They truly practise their mantra of providing hope, education, opportunity and love with these children, and volunteers who have come here tend to experience not only the culture of Honduras but also achieve truly life changing experiences within themselves and their own lives. Many of the volunteers are actually "returnee's" who came and did it once, gave their time and experience in whatever area they were useful in and because of being in the presence of both adults who practise their beliefs and children who will steal your heart in thanks of your sharing, they immediately start planning when they can return to do it all over again!

So, learn more about this group by checking out their website, joining their group on Facebook and consider either enlisting as a volunteer or giving up a couple of Starbucks coffees every week to deliberately sponsor a child for $25 (US) a month.... Come on, I dare ya, double dare ya! I'm doing my bit by promoting HHK anywhere and every where I can think of! Stephanie

THIS IS DAVID'S NOTE:

I would like to introduce you to Helping Honduras Kids, a 501c3 non-profit, and Ayudando Niños Hondureños, the sister Honduran non-profit operating in the La Ceiba area to provide hope, education, opportunity and love to more than 200 children in 4 programs.

In the city of La Ceiba, we have our Hogar de Amor orphanage with 22 children living in a rented 3 bedroom, 2 bath house. They have been with us since May 2007. In August of last year, gangs with an AK-47 shot at our old orphanage located in the Lisa Lopes building in the village of Agua Caliente, Jutiapa, and after a week of threats we had to emergency evacuate our children to La Ceiba. This had a high emotional and financial toll, but we are slowly recovering.

In the Cangrejal river basin, located on a hill high above the river, we have our private, free Jungle School, with 77 children in grades 1-6 and 15 in kinder, with 2 classrooms and 3 teachers. We are currently trying to finance and build a much needed 3rd classroom. This is one of only a very few schools in the country that is completely free to students from poor mountain families. Some children walk on muddy trails for 2 hours one way to attend classes. We provide them all school supplies, uniforms, shoes, gym clothes, backpacks, children and adult clothing, a hot noon meal, vitamins, outings, parasite treatment and medical care. There is no registration fee nor monthly fees. Our Hogar de Amor children attend this school and get up at 3:45 a.m. weekdays to get ready for classes.

We are also helping 30 children living with their Grandmas in El Naranjo, farther up the Cangrejal river road, 10 children in High School and about 100 children living in 2 campesino (peasant) villages, where we provide food, clothing, outings and vitamins.

Helping Honduras Kids is therefore helping >200 children, and feeding nearly 100 daily. All of our administrative staff in the USA and Honduras are volunteers, and we have the help of international volunteers and work groups from around the world. This is a 24/7 labor of love.

If you have it in your heart to help us help these children with no hope, please visit our website at www.helpinghonduraskids.org or call in Honduras to 9991-5866, or our US number (answers in Honduras) 1-714-610-9596 (early mornings or evenings only). You will be glad that you helped a needy child.

Sponsorships are $25/child/month and payments can be made on our website using the secure Donation-Net link on the homepage. If you wish to donate to the orphanage or Jungle School in Honduras just contact us for our HSBC business account number for deposits. Checks can also be sent to HHK, PO Box 111777, Campbell, Ca 95011-1777.

Thank you for caring and for sharing,

Dave Ashby
President and Founder
Helping Honduras Kids, Ayudando Niños Hondureños
La Ceiba, Honduras

Appreciation for Jully's Beauty Salon AKA Censored Materials

2010-03-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

First of all this article comes with a strict warning! The ensuing material is not recommended reading for men who would like to maintain their ignorance of women’s “personal maintenance” and additionally is not appropriate for either very young or faint hearted women. That said, it’s your choice to continue onwards….

There appears to be a somewhat more relaxed approach by general society about women and body hair here in Honduras, possibly based on the fact that said removal is not considered a priority or readily achieved. Who knows? All I know is that I’m still North American enough that I prefer to have “smooth” (read hairless) legs.

It’s a sign of changing times here in La Ceiba that now there are a number of salons that offer leg waxing amongst other services but over the course of the last few years, I have had my adventures in this department.

There have been the dimly lit cubicles, the various approaches of waving the wax in the air or blowing franticly on it to for cooling before applying it to the hapless victim; the use of metal weaponry to remove stubborn hairs, and the sometimes not so gentle slapping or tapping to either secure said wax strips or to promote circulation. I have no idea why that specific technique was used! There have been the sometimes horrendous health standard deficiencies but recently I have gradually noticed an improvement in both physical surroundings and much more professional tactics.

The following is something I wrote for a group of women friends after my very first experience with leg waxing in Honduras. Again, I repeat the warning that it is not suitable for everyone because even though the language is clean it is rather graphic in nature!

But the purpose of writing this article is to actually promote and publicly appreciate the very professional services of Jully and her salon. She is a delightfully calm and efficient professional aesthetician, with an ergonomically correct work area. The table is high enough that she doesn’t have to strain her own back and is both well lit and private. Everything was very, very clean throughout the whole salon and she was well organized to boot! The wax was the correct temperature; she uses only baby oil to clean up with afterwards and finishes the procedure by using a commercial after wax cooling gel. Even the fact that she doesn’t speak English and my Spanish is still quite marginal didn’t prevent us from doing business with each other!

Jully's Salon is located near the Stadium, in Colonia El Naranjal, just east of Rainforest Gifts in the two storey building with the tall, white iron fencing. The number on the sign is her personal cell number, as the office number may not always be answered. PS I just found her proper address written on a scrap of paper - Shop Telephone is 440-0805 and the physical address is Colonia El Naranjal, at the intersection of Calle 10 & Avenida Victor Hugo, Casa #453

Suzie Got Done… February 7, 2005

“Vanity, thy name is woman!”

Ladies of the 25th Luncheon, can you guess what Suzie learned today?

Suzie was introduced to the Honduran version of leg waxing today, and when she and her legs finally recover from the trauma, maybe -just maybe- she’ll be able to laugh and call it just another adventure. For the uninitiated, and those fortunate females who are not automatic winners of the annual Ladies Luncheon hairy leg contest, you need read no further. If you choose to, Suzie will not be held responsible for your future psychoanalytic costs.

If you’re still reading, be prepared… Suzie sure as hell wasn’t! It is well known that Suzie is what polite society would refer to as “hirsute”; in real world language it means she’s as hairy as the proverbial ape, and fully admits that whoever her sperm donor was, he was out of Mr. Darwin’s evolutionary tree only long enough to fall upon her birth mother and then immediately return to said tree.

Suzie can’t resort to some of the more mundane, or humane, methods of leg hair removal. There isn’t a razor built that can be effective for more than 4 hours; she almost needed skin grafts the last time she tried one of those cream removal products, and she was rather hoping that she wouldn’t have to resort to the tweezers in order to avoid that “au naturale” sensation of her hair literally blowing in the breeze. (The hair on her legs, Ladies!)

So Suzie found a woman friend, with effective and fluent English, who was able to tell her that yes, women did wax their legs in Honduras; and yes, there was a professional salon in town and gave her directions to it. Well, with myriad and sundry wanderings into places she wasn’t supposed to be, Suzie finally found said salon. And stumbling through the language barriers, with numerous positive and negative gestures, was able to establish that she wanted her legs waxed and was willing to pay the 200 Lp charge for same.

She should have realized she was in the wrong place, for the wrong reasons, with the wrong women, when she entered the dimly lighted back workroom/storage area. No air conditioning like there was in the main room of the salon; ratty scraps of towels drying on the window bars, concrete floor complete with numerous and various sized ants, and the lonely little pot of wax on the card table. She still didn’t have the sense to back away quietly and calmly and run like hell for the street. She may have actually been in denial of reality and therefore allowed herself to be draped in a gown, removed her baggy shorts and placed herself in the prone position on a bench seat that was no more than 12” wide and definitely less than 5’ long. Please keep in mind that there was no disposable paper sheet covering the bench, and it was discovered during the ensuing debacle, that the bench seat was not attached to what was underneath it.

Grasping for any element of health standards, basic hygiene or even a semblance of the euphemistic “professional” status of the establishment, Suzie took it as a good sign when her technician began cutting fresh cotton strips. That was the one and only pretense of what Canadian women would recognize as a leg waxing….

It got worse. Suzie had learned the Spanish word for “HOT!” last year when she got her legs done in Mazatlan, and is grateful that the ensuing burn mark continues to get smaller as time goes by. There was no need for that word this time.

Cool, thick wax, applied to either large portions of the leg, or to the very long cotton strips, which were then applied, repeatedly, to Suzie’s legs. The technician, (read Attila the Hun) then proceeded to display a rather disturbing technique which consisted of standing upright and applying brute force in removing said cotton strips, (remember about the unsecured bench, Ladies?) This technique was accompanied by clear signs and sounds of distress with her either immediately clutching the same section of violated skin, or her head and/or hand after she smashed it into, or off of, the cupboard positioned less than two feet over Suzie’s prone, and now shell shocked, body.

Obviously one of the very few English words the young woman understood was bikini, and she proceeded to attempt to give Suzie a Brazilian wax. For those of you who have not watched that episode of “Sex In The City”, this consists of removing every single pubic hair, rather than simply wearing it off as Pamela once told us, when she was asked if it turned white as we aged. At this point Suzie realized she was going to have to rescue herself if she ever wanted to be able to make use of what the good Mother gave her again! No linguistic skills were necessary, what with one hand protectively clutching her groin area and the other hand flailing madly to get the wax away from down there!

Communications completed, though the clutching hand now firmly ensconced “down there”, Suzie allowed herself to be flipped over in order to finish the other half of said process. The finishing technique consisted of horrendous quantities of a highly perfumed Jergens hand lotion, the application of a tool that looked like a cross between a pair of pliers and something that should not have been used to open beer bottles; copious mutterings on Attila’s part, accompanied by the now random twitching, and borderline whimperings, of the pretty much comatose Suzie. In the interests of supposed professional standards, Suzie was then subjected to an extremely determined dry towel scrubbing to remove the largest poolings of leftover, and now hardened, wax. Thankfully, Suzie had been wise enough to bring along the legs to her shorts, originally to avoid sun burning newly waxed legs, but now critically necessary to simply cover the remains and was able to shakily exit said establishment.

Ladies, to put it bluntly, there was enough wax leftover in the nether regions, fore and aft, that if Suzie had been foolish enough to sit down, she could have, (and probably would have!), permanently sealed shut the supposed “gateway to pleasure”. As it was, she discovered that copious amounts of soap, hot water and intense scrubbing were not enough to remove it, and resorted to a second shower consisting of a dry scrub of canola oil, followed by the same amounts of soap, hot water and scrubbing. There is evidence that some hair was actually removed, though needless to say it wasn’t the longest or darkest ones on the public portions of her legs, and Suzie is now left wondering just how long it will take to get the remaining bits, chunks and streaks of wax off of her body.

Suzie has now resorted to using her 12 year old bottle of rum as an antiseptic, with applying copious amounts to her interior, while attempting not to concern herself about the potential life threatening, or at the very least, permanent exterior damage.
Hmm, vanity: ever notice that it rhymes with stupidity?

P.S. Next morning: Definitely lots of hair remaining, but no gaping wounds…Safe, but certainly not unscathed! At this point, Suzie doesn’t give a flying fart if Hondurans wind up believing that all Canadian women come complete with a year round winter pelt!

For the Birds!

2010-03-28T11:19:00.000-07:00

I'm just going to post a handful of photos that I re-discovered in the process of trying to edit the literally hundreds that have accumulated in the past 6 weeks!

I have watched the egrets stroll calmly through the slews on the beach or in flooded grassy lots after a heavy rain. One enterprising fellow saw me taking photos of this egret so decided to “help” me by chasing it to make it fly, but I missed the shot thanks to my slow batteries!

I am fascinated by the amount of bird life here in the city of La Ceiba, there are so many different varieties that I can't even begin to name them. I've been fortunate enough to become aware of certain patterns - the egrets that fly east in the late afternoons, the pelicans that commit their aerial parade along the shoreline shortly after dawn and before dusk. I’m still trying to get a decent photo of what I call the “Pelican Parade”!

There are the blackbirds (Brown Jays, possibly) that make the most amazing series of clicks, chitterings, squawks and shrieks every morning and night as they roost in the almond tree behind my place. These birds are also outright heathens – very similar to the crows and ravens in Canada who have learned that plastic bags can contain food!

The pigeons run rampant throughout the city and barrios, cluttering up the streets, perching on telephone wires, balanced on roof tops with their feet scittering on the tin and constantly cruising for food on my own patio!

I’ve also noticed that a lot of Hondurans keep birds as pets and have literally stopped in the street to look up and listen to brightly coloured, caged birds converse with each other. Once, in Utila, I was out on the hotel patio and kept hearing “Help, help, let me out!” and was convinced it was somebody’s child until I spotted the caged bird on the deck of the next building!

Glondy wasn't at all certain that she wanted to hold the

Macaw for this photo, but since we're such good friends, she was willing to do it for me. Though we did have to rescue my ring from his beak and keep a really close watch on the bird as he was thinking about checking out her earring! This little parrot has the best of both worlds as he is Momma Rosa's pet and sleeps in the cage in the house during the night and flies about the yard freely during the day. He's also pretty bossy about demanding his share of the planteno chips as well!

Follower's Gadget & Blatant Bribery

2010-03-13T11:37:00.000-08:00

Okay, back twice in the same day – rather like the weather today, it doesn’t just rain, it pours!

I am going to make a request of folks who actually take the time to read my wee scribbles. I’ve added the “Followers” gadget and am asking that you sign up as one, please.

Simply click on the Followers icon, sign in using an account that you already have by clicking on one of the coloured symbol thingies (wow, I love technical language!) or create your own Google account using your email and a password.

Also, I’m going to ask for more feedback and comments… Everything is constructive in some way or another and it would really help me try to stay somewhat marginally disciplined about posting new material or photos.

I’m also putting out a request for help! Can someone (who has the spare time, HA HA!) walk me through the process of adding things like a weather strip, a translator function and a promo plug for Honduras Living. (Psst, Patty, I’ve got your socks. Maybe we could barter next time you’re in town?)

Thanks folks! Now I really am going to finish the floor and make the chow mein – heck, I’ve still got clothes so the laundry can wait!

Blogging, The Ultimate Love Hate Relationship!

2010-03-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

I think this title says it all for me….

I could apologize for being away for the last five weeks. I could give all kinds of valid reasons like my husband visiting for a month, factual explanations like trips to Copan Ruinas and Utila and even fantastic excuses like I went north because I missed the snow, (yeah right!) for having been away. Or I could simply admit the truth.

I hate Blogger. I hate cyber gremlins. I hate not knowing enough to make these creatures do what I want. I resent the fact that when I go in to do one small thing like add the Follower button (more on that later), the next thing I know the clock is telling me that I’ve been missing in action for the last hour and a half! I resent the fact that I have so many great ideas for small articles, some incredible information for larger full scale articles and probably thousands of photographs that could be featured here but have yet to do anything about it.

I do love to write but will admit that I refuse to have any discipline regarding clocks, schedules, priorities and the like. There are times when the niggling little voices remind me that I’ve been ignoring “Musings & Mutterings”, that I’ve been procrastinating about editing photos or scribbling notes and finally, that I’ve started something here that other folks are interested in (many, many thank you’s to you!) and I’m letting you down by refusing to discipline myself.

I admit that I have no concept of boredom, that there simply aren’t enough hours in the day for everything that I want to do or am interested in learning about. I also admit that I am selfish enough to simply love living alone. I waunder from one task to another, be it cleaning the floors (half the apartment is now clean), cooking a meal (the pork is marinating for chow mein later), doing laundry (okay, it’s sorted and in the bag!) and other sundry mechanics of life.

Living in Honduras for me means that there is always time. Time to watch the rain fall or take pictures of my patio lizard or read a story book; time to natter with friends on FB or write long, caring letters of real communication with friends and family up North; time to take outrageously long walks exploring facets of La Ceiba that most folks don’t see or to stop to have a beer with friends from all walks of life. And especially, there is time to follow up on blogs by other folks in Honduras.

I am envious! Just how do you folks do it?! All of you are involved with immediate and extended families, raising babies or chickens, growing gardens or ministries, living in remote island places or building a home – where and how do you make the time for your blogs?

Yes, I admitted to a deliberate lack of discipline but that also goes hand in hand with procrastination, and the longer you put something off, the easier it is to continue doing so! Throw in another fact of life – I’m leaving in the next couple of days to do a “passport visa stamp” trip to Belize which means I’ll be without my computer for a week. I’m planning to travel really light – spare change of clothes, bathing suit and skirt, tooth brush and camera – and want to be able to go where and when I please if a new place or idea strikes my fancy.

So, that’s my story of love and hate… I’m back and even put up a new photo to prove it but I’m leaving so won’t be posting. Argh, truly the ultimate love-hate relationship!

This Woman Walks!

2010-02-05T09:48:00.000-08:00

I am a maniac for walking - especially since getting my hip rebuilt last year and can now actually enjoy the exercise!

One reason I indulge myself on a daily basis is because the weather is usually great and there is always something new, no matter how minor, for me to see and discover. But I have caused a fair amount of confusion by consistantly refusing rides from friends who honestly think that they are offering me a favour!

One gentleman, Mr. Leno, is a taxi driver who lives on my street and though I have made use of him professionally for airport runs and trips to the Estadio Deposito for cases of beer (he'll carry them up the stairs for me) he simply doesn't understand my passion for the freedom of walking. I can't count the times he's pulled over and tried to give me a ride when he's spotted me en route to El Centro and he has even gone to the extent of assuring me that it would be a free ride. A free ride from a taxi driver? Unheard of here in La Ceiba... So, I enjoy our little conversations, make my good byes and head off walking again...

Walking also means that I can waunder off the main routes, do some exploring, learn a little more about this city that I live in and use my camera for the most ridiculous purposes. I've written about concrete construction in La Ceiba, but during one of my "waiting for the laundry" walks found this little place tucked away out of sight and snapped away merrily simply because the man working was actually using a breathing mask! It's the first time I've ever seen someone working with concrete making use of safety equipment and was a real surprise to me.

If you want better detail from the pictures in this blog, just click on the photo and it will enlarge itself for you - I'm very slowly learning how to make use of Blogger, now if I could just convince the cyber gremlins to leave me alone....

Water Delivery Timing Opps!

2010-02-03T11:36:00.000-08:00

There are three companies that deliver 5 gallon jugs of drinking water door to door in our barrio, generally on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday each week. My personal favourite is "Aguazul" reputed to be the cleanest but "Arroyo" and "Pingoino" are also used by my neighbours.

Generally, I start hearing their call outs a couple streets away and have lots of time to get out on the patio to wave them upstairs for my own delivery. Each company has their own "short form" call - though "Agua, agua" is the predominant announcement. Arroyo sounds like a long "a row ho", Aguazul is more a "agua zoo zoo" and Pingoino is the most confusing for me as it sounds like a rapid "eeno eeno".

Usually, the companies follow each other in about half hour installments but there must have been a mixup this morning as the two trucks were nose to tail with each other as they wended their way through the barrio. Given the size of these trucks and sundry vehicles parked along the narrow street, as well as my neighbours' preferred water choices, there wasn't a chance for either of them to get out of the log jam!

So the workers called out, hustled in and out of homes and managed their deliveries in record time as no other vehicle traffic could access our street during this course of events.

For me, a slightly-disabled small woman, having 5 gallons of water delivered into the stand in my upstairs apartment is a blessing and for only 27 Lps ($1.50 USF or just under $2 CAN) a jug. Some things are affordable for "supposedly rich" gringas here in Honduras and quite frankly, this isn't light work for the employees either!

A "Thrifty" Discovery in La Ceiba

2010-02-02T14:30:00.000-08:00

I do have a knack for finding thrift stores, consignment shops and various other kinds of “new to you” places in Canada but now realize that I’ve expanded my talent for discovering such places here in La Ceiba, regardless of my lack of Spanish and geographical skills.

I was just having a long, lazy stroll around a different part of town when I spied furniture, tastefully arranged on the boulevard (rather than thrown out) and accidentally found what looked to be a good old fashioned thrift store. It's called "Nueva Para Mi" (New For Me, translated literally) and was crammed with furniture, kitchen appliances, televisions, tools, computers and pretty much a bit of everything else thrown in for good measure, including used medical aids like crutches and walkers (not that I need those anymore!)

Well, I can’t resist a good browse through other people’s supposed junk and stepped inside and was greeted by the owner, Allan Lorenzana, a charming gentleman who is also a bilingual Catracho. We proceeded to have a delightful conversation about the business and the various services that he offers to both Hondurans and the expat community, all the while he was tending to customers and I was browsing and being quite thankful for the air conditioning.

He also specializes in both a consignment service (you set the price, deliver it to the shop and he sells it for a percentage commission) and an "encargo" service. In English, I believe this to be an expediting service whereby he will find what you want (new or used) in the USA and then arrange shipping, customs and delivery to you. He'll determine all the costs, confirm with you that you're still willing to pay said costs and take care of all the ensuing hassles for you.

Given some of the nightmares I’ve heard about people moving here only to live without their furniture and belongings for weeks (even months!), while they struggle to get the correct paper work to the correct official in the hope of ransoming their shipping containers, the expedited service Don Lorenzana offers seems like a true blessing!

So here’s my little bit of promotion for Nuevo Para Mi and a taste of the simple adventures that I find for myself in La Ceiba. Happy browsing!

*Catracho is a more respectful term of address for a Honduran man.

Business in the Barrio

2010-02-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

I do love living in my little barrio! There’s always something happening, starting in the wee early hours of the morning, going on throughout the whole day and finally winding down sometime in the mid to late evening. We won’t discuss the neighbours who like really loud, really late night music though…

There are the door to door deliveries of water, various companies on various days, all with their own distinctive calls that I’ve learned to recognize over time. There are the horse carts selling green plateno by the single pound right on up to the giant stalks of more than fifty or sixty at a time.

There are the hand carts full of vegetables or citrus fruits, (complete with their swinging scales) that are pushed along while the vendors call out their sing song of wares for the day. There is the man who uses a hand pedalled, bicycle cum cart who comes around selling huge, fresh avocadoes for 20 Lps a piece and the Garifuna women who stride along with their big plastic tubs full of fresh “pan de coco” or “casaba” balanced on their heads, calling out their own song of wares for sale.

But today I watched something new for me. It appeared to be a scrap metal buyer that drives through each street, in each neighbourhood, using his loud speaker to announce that he will buy your scrap metal, car parts and batteries, corroded lawn furniture, aluminium window frames and even dead and dismembered electric fans for cash. Not necessarily cash on the barrel head, simply lempira passed out of the passenger window.

Two young men do all the physical work of collecting, hauling and miraculously loading onto the truck, the various and sundry items that people have stashed in their carports or yards rather than discarding into the garbage. The buyer, who is also the driver of said over-worked vehicle, watches from his mirrors and determines the value of the booty and hands over small or large amounts of lempira to the seller.

One elderly gentleman determined that his “junk” was of greater value so the buyer lumbered out of the truck to continue the payment negotiations in plain view of said goods and it appeared that both men were satisfied in the end.

Then he climbed back in, fired up the truck, started repeating his spiel through the crackling loudspeaker and trundled off down the road with his workers hanging onto the back of the overloaded and definitely over-used pick up truck.

I guess there’s always room for one more piece, isn’t there?

Welcome to Little Canada!

2010-01-30T10:52:00.000-08:00

I’ve stated that I have two lives, in two different countries, but I don’t mention often enough that I am also blessed with two separate families. In Canada, I have my husband and two grown children, a couple of grandbabies, and an assortment of siblings and their own children, not to mention some very dear friends…

Here in Honduras, I have what I call my “Hondo Family” and right off the bat I want to make it very clear that this is NOT meant to be a negative name in any fashion whatsoever! It’s just a shorter form of Honduran, that’s all.

And the family now consists of my woman friend, Glondy, in her early 40’s, her daughters in their 20’s (one with two baby boys) and her 12 yr old son who is half Canadian. Sadly, her Canadian husband passed away in 2008 but our own friendship has not only continued but even strengthened over time.

It’s a confusing mix of folks sometimes! Some of the confusion arises primarily because of language but also because of different cultural backgrounds and personality types.

Thankfully the 12 year old is fully bilingual, (when he wants to be, in typical pre-teen fashion!), Glondy and her daughters have marginally competent English and I stagger along in Spanish, very slowly picking up vocabulary though sorely lacking in grammar skills. Conversations can be awkward when we try to get past the basic niceties of day to day life, but we’ve learned to be patient with each other with lots of hugs and laughter and reaching for the Spanish-English dictionary when in my home.

They’ve taught me a lot about life here in Honduras! Little things like how to cook chicken on an outside grill, where to find the best chicarrones in town, where not to swim in La Ceiba and most recently how to use a cell phone.

I am almost completely incompetent with electronic devices, have a dislike for speaking on a telephone because I can’t see the persons’ face and need a lot of repetition before a new skill is actually set in my brain. After 3 weeks, I am no longer frightened when it rings (which Glondy and the family found endlessly amusing!) and have progressed to the point where I can enter contacts, dial out and usually answer an incoming call – that’s my level of incompetence with electronics!

In return for great companionship and Honduran food, shared within a family, I am able to give back in my own little ways. Every year I take numerous photographs and print out albums for them to keep, complete with CD’s of the same. Right now, I’m helping Glondy deal with the probate of her husband’s estate as she has no experience with business and is incapable of standing up to any authority figure. Our joke is that she is too nice and I am too difficult, so we make use of our personality differences.

One of the things that I love to do the most is to have the family over for a meal every week or so, complete with a varied spread of “boccas” incorporating Honduran favourites like chicarrone, plantenos and casaba with salsa but adding Canadian based treats like vegetable sticks, crackers & cream cheese and the 12 year olds personal favourite of “ants on a log”, simply peanut butter on celery sticks with raisins on top.

I’ll make up homemade spaghetti sauce, chilli con carne or chicken stew but the latest adventure was the night of the fried liver with onions, garlic and fresh mushrooms over mashed potatoes. Not typical Honduran fare but very well received and appreciated by all. I’m starting to think I may have been a short order cook in a past lifetime as I only have a two burner propane cook stove in a very small galley style kitchen!

So there’s a glimpse of my second family, in my second life, and just one more reason why I keep returning to Honduras……

Where Does the Time Go?

2010-01-30T10:22:00.000-08:00

It's a gorgeous, sunny day here in La Ceiba and I've just spent the last 6 hours cruising the blogs that I like to follow, admittedly with time out for a meal and numerous trips to the fridge for cold lime water!

Please, if you’re here right now drifting through my scribbles, make the effort and check out my own “Blog List” posted under my archives. There are blogs from La Ceiba, the Bay Island of Guanaja, San Pedro Sula and Trujillo just to give a taste from around this country of Honduras. Some folks are Honduran by birth, some are Americans retired here, some are expats and married to Hondurans and all have notes of interest if you’re curious about our lives here.

In my personal opinion (and many others’ opinion as well!) the best one for coverage of Honduran life and politics is La Gringa’s Blogicito with great research, media links and solid writing skills. Normally, La Gringa writes about her daily life in La Ceiba, dealing with home construction (and inadvertent destruction like when the floor tiles erupted!) gardening and other facets of an ordinary life. But she has been the absolute power house when it has come to reporting, researching and relaying hard fact about the political crisis that took place here in the past year, much to the chagrin of main stream media. (I hope!)

So, in the midst of your northern winter time and overwhelming "Owe" Olympics “will we have snow” nonsense, stop and take a time out with those of us here, in Honduras. We do welcome new friends and visitors!

Chicarrone y Tajadas

2010-01-24T09:39:00.000-08:00

It’s common knowledge that I not only love food, but that my sense of adventure doesn’t balk at culinary unknowns. Yes, I’ve had a few bad adventures but on the whole, the risk has always been worth it to me…

I have to admit to a ridiculous passion for foods we just don’t see up North. I remember trying to eat my body weight in ceviche when I first discovered it in Mexico and have taken to making a version of the fairly raw, marinated shrimp dish at home. I’ve made baleadas up in Canada, though they just don’t taste the same as here in Honduras, even though I once packed home the correct flour, soda and refried beans.

Locally, I indulge in the crisp little planteno chips, for 20 Lps a bag, (unsalted) that I buy from the back of a pickup truck near one of the major stores; the garlic flavoured casaba from the Garifuna women on Avenida Julio 14 (same price per bag) and various and sundry other bits like sweet, salted green mangos sliced in a bag to munch while walking down the street. But my absolute favourite has got to be chicarrone.

Chicarrone is basically boiled fatty pig skin and comes out crisp on one side with remnants of juicy fat on the other. When freshly cooked, we just squeeze fresh lime juice overtop and gobble it, while bouncing it hand to hand to avoid burning your fingers and when cold, simply break it up and eat it like potatoe chips with dabs of salsa. Yummy and I don’t have to worry about cholesterol and things like that!

Another favourite of mine is the staple dish of tajadas, just sliced plantenos cooked and served as a dinner staple like Canadians use potatoes. Add a little brown sugar sauce, cook until almost mushy and you have “maduras”, a sinfully sweet and totally satisfying side dish.

While out in El Pino one afternoon, family friends had killed a young pig and were cooking up a batch of chicarrone y tajadas. So there we were, with the communal table in the back yard, bags of salt and limes to the side with the open fire brewing up a vat of first chicarrone and then reused to cook up tajadas.

Health standards, what health standards? I work on the principle that the locals have survived their own cooking for generations, I’ve been here long enough to build up some kind of “Honduran immune system” and I rarely get caught out. That day was no different, with all of us thoroughly enjoying ourselves and myself taking a small measure of pride in not holding myself above them. Honduran families can be overly generous when they have the opportunity, and I would make a poor guest if I refused over squeamishness about a few germs!

Post script: Reputed to be the best place in La Ceiba to purchase chicarrone is Chicarronera QuiQue, located on Calle 19 about 3 blocks east of Avenida Julio 14. Check it out! Yet, again, sorry about the photos - Blogger hates me!

A Stormy Day in Corozal

2010-01-22T09:14:00.000-08:00

Corozal, a small Garifuna village just outside of La Ceiba, has always been a favourite runaway place for me when I decide to escape from the city. By chicken bus (retired, dilapidated school buses) it takes about half an hour to wend your way through La Ceiba and east along the highway, stopping constantly to pick up locals and their bundles, for the princely sum of 11 Lp.

It's not your average tourist destination, no fancy restaurants or nightclubs, no mega malls or air conditioned bars, but it is built along the Caribbean Sea and no matter the level of poverty, nothing can deter from the draw of the ocean for me.

I've watched the changes over the years, the influx of Spanish Hondurans and the occasional "gringo"; some signs of larger homes being built, though not always finished. A large hotel and restaurant was developed on the most easterly end of the beach but now appears to be somewhat empty and neglected. Overall, most of the village is still the same, for me and the people who live there.

Generally, I’ve gone out on sunny days just to spend the afternoon walking the beach, collecting seashells or playing in the waves and then finishing the day with a cold beer and a great seafood meal.

This past Sunday I just couldn’t wait out the pounding rain in the city so bundled up, grabbed my “brolley” and took myself out to Corozal in the hopes that there would be less rain. At the beginning it looked like I may have guessed right – slight sprinkles during the drive out, marginal pitter-patter of rain while walking the beach – but then it all went to that proverbial hand basket down under! The wind roared in, the surf got thick, heavy and dirty brown, and the skies smashed rain down upon the whole of creation!

There is a long established restaurant, “Tio Fito’s” at the west end of the beach that is a weekend runaway for folks from La Ceiba, as well as being a hang out for locals folks, and though there is almost no English spoken there, the folks who run it are quite adept at making sure you get what you need.

By the time I made my way through the village, I arrived at Tio Fito’s soaking wet from the waist down, clutching the remains of my umbrella which had been blown inside out for the final time and simply revelling in the energy of a great storm. Tucked myself into the “locals” side, which also happens to be farthest from the screaming jukebox and curled up with my scribble book while waiting for my meal.

I’m not much of a fish eater, but always look forward to their “Camarones y Ajo”, simply the best garlic prawns I have ever feasted upon. In hindsight I should have taken a photo of my dinner plate – tons of fresh prawns, coconut rice & beans and “tajadas” (sliced plateno that is fried to be both crisp and tender, rather like our “french fries”) but couldn’t wait to start feasting!

As is common here, I shared my leftover tajadas with two little boys, who under the pretext of selling “pan de coco” where also hanging about hoping for donations of leftovers. I had watched them finish up other plates, quite hungrily but also very politely stacking the dishes at the wash up area. Over time, the children have learned to beg for money, which I heartily refuse to give but at the same time, I do feel it’s completely sinful to waste food, thus my own little donation to their cause. And was amply rewarded by their saying “Gracias, amiga” before they dove in to the food.

No matter the pounding rain, blowing sea mist and soaking wet blue jeans, yet again Corozal gave me yet another delightful afternoon adventure…

PS Sorry about the lack of finesse with positioning the video and photos - Blogger doesn't always cooperate with me!

Sometimes, Draconian Measures are the only option

2010-01-20T09:05:00.000-08:00

I know that I’m going to get some emotional backlash for this piece but at the same time this is just one of my experiences here, and my personal opinion about it.

Sometimes, draconian measures are the only option…

Up until about 2004/2005 there had been a huge problem with street kids. We’re not talking about children who simply didn’t have a home or were beggars or serviced pedophiles, either. I’m talking about feral little kids, addicted to sniffing glue that had never had any level of home, parenting, nutrition or education and then at the ages of 12 to 15 were reproducing themselves. Yes, babies having babies, with all of the deficits caused by the above factors.

I remember one day in 2004, Kenneth and I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk outside of a good hotel in downtown La Ceiba to visit with a friend from Utila. This is a really typical Honduran thing to do and the pedestrians simply flow around the knots of visiting folks. Well, I wasn’t part of the conversation so was standing less than a foot away from Ken’s elbow when these two little boys came up to me – small (maybe waist height on me), dirty faces and hair with tattered, filthy tshirts and shorts and barefoot. I was still a complete novice here and immediately grinned and nodded a greeting to them. Just as I was doing that, both men suddenly surged in front of me, aggressively ordering the boys away, waving their arms and making a fairly noisy scene. For the first split second I was incredibly shocked. These were just little kids, right?

Wrong!!! Both men proceeded to read me the riot act about not letting street kids get physically close to me as they were incredibly dangerous at times, and once I got over the shock, I believed them. You know why? Because when I looked at those kids eyes, there literally wasn’t anyone there – as if they had no souls. That’s the part that shocked me the most – dull, flat brown pupils with no soul there….

The next year when I came back I noticed that there were very few street kids hanging around downtown and when I asked Kenneth about the change, he told me a story that I refer to as “Cornfield Fertilizer”. The story goes that in order to clean the streets of crime for the safety of Hondurans and tourists, armed forces had rounded up street kids into trucks, drove them out of town and deliberately shot and killed them en masse. Thus the phrase, cornfield fertilizer…

Yes, this is a most terrible human tragedy, and still wrenches my gut when I think or write about it but at the same time, you have to stop and think logically. These poor kids could not be “saved”, they truly were far too damaged from even before birth in many cases and simply didn’t have anything within them to be salvaged or redeemed. So logically what could have been done instead?

No, I’m not a proponent of population cleansing; people do not have the right to make decisions like this for any reason but at the same time I can understand why that choice was made. So that’s my dilemma…. What do you do? And, please, I know I’m going to get a lot of emotional backlash for speaking so bluntly but keep in mind that this is a reality, not just in Honduras, not just in third world countries but absolutely everywhere in the world.

I also want to acknowledge the people right here in La Ceiba and throughout the country, that have dedicated and devoted their lives to doing everything they can to rescue children through establishing orphanages, developing rural schools that provide not only education but a daily meal; individuals who sponsor children’s educational costs and many who are medical missionaries or are involved with community works projects.

I do what I call “charitable donations”; a little money to the blind elders led around by family members, a tipico meal in the market for street friends of all ages, small “loans” here and there to folks who are trying to work and deliberate purchases of items like hair clips, hand towels, peanuts and the like from street vendors I recognize from over the years and understand have no income when the weather is bad like it had been. I do try to help in my very small way but it also has to be balanced with taking care of myself. I’m a gringa who lives here regularly, but by no means am a rich woman!

I’m not informed enough about everything that is being done, but I will admit that even the least bit of effort, if done for the right reasons, does have a chance of some small success. There is true worth to the adage “one person, one effort” that can accumulate to make positive change even when it feels like just a single drop of water in the ocean of life.

Safe Arrival in La Ceiba, Dec.28th 2009

2010-01-17T08:12:00.000-08:00

La Ceiba, Honduras…. 10:30am and it’s already 28C (82.5F) with high overcast, 1000% humidity and brief moments of blazing sunshine!
Yes, Northern friends, you have permission to call me bad names but I’m barefoot and comfy and as happy as can be what with major construction happening in the hotel courtyard. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!
After a marathon 31 hour session of roads, airports, buses, security checks, border crossings and a maniacal van ride I arrived safe and sound at the Hotel Paris to find that not only did I HAVE a reservation (a small miracle) but that they had me booked into a ground floor room, just as I had requested (a BIG miracle). I truly didn’t expect it given how Honduras works…
In the past I’ve flown from San Pedro Sula to La Ceiba, on a small “milk run” ancient plane, running the gamut of whether the airport will be open when/if we arrive and paying $109 USF for the joy of doing so. If you’ve followed stories from past years you’ll know about landing in the storm that destroyed the pier (2008), the fact that there wasn’t enough new duct tape on the plane (2005) and other adventures entailed in actually getting to La Ceiba. And upon arrival at the LC airport there is still the additional $10 - $12 USF taxi charge to actually get to a hotel in the city.
Well, I may be somewhat slow in catching on to new tricks but I’m not stupid so I’ve discovered the trick of simply hiring a taxi from wherever I am in La Ceiba direct to the San Pedro Sula airport, complete with the driver dealing with the bags and being receptive to stopping en route. All for the grand sum of $100 USF! That worked so neatly when I returned to Canada last February that I deliberately didn’t book a SPS – LC flight this time, working on the supposition that I could just hire a taxi once I arrived.

Honestly, I think some of the folks from our Houston flight were still going through Immigration when I left the airport. Scooped up my bag, took off my socks and marched right through the airport to the outside patio. Politely declined the services of the money changers and negotiated with the first taxi driver who got to me and within moments was loaded into a van. I still have a problem with some of the money numbers (for the life of me I just can’t catch on to 50’s in Spanish) but when the fellow wanted $150 for one person I definitely understood and immediately refused! We finally settled for $120 and away I went on the next installment of my adventure. Post script: This is the cost for the whole taxi – if you’ve got other passengers, split the fee and save.
Actually, we somewhat flew… Drivers are completely insane in this country and taxi drivers take that to the psychotic edge with an element of carnival thrown in for amusement’s sake. Thankfully, I know this and with the additional caveat that the driver doesn’t really want to die a horrible, fiery death I simply put myself in their hands and try not to make any frightened noises. It’s conceivable that they believe that all gringas are naturally white knuckled, pinch faced and short of breath but I did really well without distracting him.

Speeds posted at 40km for the narrow switch back 2 lane highway meant that Enrique drove 80; highway speeds posted at 80km meant he drove 120km per hour – are you seeing the picture yet? Now, add in passing anything and everything with no regard for solid lines, signs or stray animals and children; then throw in a dozen or so small pueblos (villages) with lots of pedestrians, a few horse carts and finally add in the infamous “speed bumps” that are technically built right into the highway and you’ve got yourself an adventure! I think it’s quite clever that enterprising persons have chiselled out the speed bumps to accommodate drivers that don’t want to slow down, though generally the flat spots are in the opposing lane therefore…. You fill in the rest of the sentence!
In one of the smaller pueblos, in one of the brief moments that he wasn’t doubling the speed limit we had a small incident. As we were passing a knot of folks, adult and children, all clustered intently around something on the ground, I got curious and stuck my head out the window to see what was happening.
I’m not certain of the chain of events after that but some details remain. A loud burst of rapid-fire large popping noises, a good healthy shriek from me, finding myself crouched down into the tire well and Enrique howling with laughter and slapping the steering wheel with absolute glee.

I just wasn’t expecting the fireworks.

Baleadas: The Breakfast of Champions!

2010-01-17T08:01:00.000-08:00

I'm "recycling" a couple of scribbles I sent out when I first got back to Honduras last month, enjoy!

Those who know me understand that I literally live on baleadas while in Honduras; I've even gone to the extent of bringing all the makings home in order to do it myself, even though they just don't taste quite as good as the real ones.
By the real thing, I mean the street corner wagons with their burners and metal pans and great messes of "stuff" or else the semi-permanent stalls set up on the old trolley tracks on Avenida La Republica, not a "tourist" type of zone.

Basically a baleada is simply a flour tortilla, hand patted and flipped on a hot sheet of metal. Then you add the refried beans (a rather unattractive sight) using the back of the serving spoon to smear it, and finally add a sprinkling of dried cheese. Fold it in half, slap onto a sheet of tin foil, slip it into a plastic bag and away you go. Many times I've simply opened it up, splashed on the "chili" (hot sauce) and if I can see it, I'll also add a splat of pickled red onions.

If you're fortunate, there will be a short plastic stool to sit on, right there on the sidewalk, and otherwise you simply stand and eat right there with all the pedestrian and vehicular traffic going past you.

Even though I’ve probably broken every rule for tourist travellers – yes, I eat on street corners, chew ice cubes, order salad if I’m eating out, etc. I’ve also set some marginal rules for myself. Never, ever, ever order a baleada “con carne” tends to be a hard and fast rule for me, because the meat is totally unrecognizable and therefore you have no idea who it used to be.

I also really like the bags of fresh juice that you can buy at street stalls – I have a passion for the orange juice because you can faintly taste that citrus peel tang in it. Besides, I think it’s quite clever how they throw the straw in, do some kind of twist and flip motion and then you’ve got a little “tail” of plastic bag up at the straw that you can hold onto while drinking or carrying it.

Thus, I went out hunting my first morning in La Ceiba, to score my own version of a breakfast of champions and was quite pleased to see that the prices hadn’t risen too much. I paid 10 lempira (60 cents CDN) each for my baleada and my bag of juice and strolled back to the hotel to eat. Tasted great, didn’t hurt when it landed and worked just like rocket fuel for me as I took off to face the day of business transactions.

I have been completely betrayed, after spending last night trotting back and forth to the bathroom. I am going to blame the juice, since I can’t bear the thought of the baleada being at fault! Not too worry – I'm moving home today and a home made grilled cheese sandwich should fix things up proper!

It's Friday!

2010-01-15T06:52:00.000-08:00

It’s Friday! Wow, fantastic and throw in a couple of halleluiah’s for the gods! I am thrilled, excited and almost ready to forget the touch of “la grippe” I picked up…

Remember me saying I didn’t know if I could wait for another Friday just to see the sun? Making a comment about the weather gods gifting us a sunny Friday last week and commenting that Friday, Jan. 1st was a bright sunny day?

It’s not the end of the work week for me; it’s no big deal if it’s the beginning of the weekend either. It doesn’t mean my social calendar is going to be busy or even that I’ll let down my hair with friends tonight.

What it means is that the sun has returned! The weather gods have blessed us with full blazing sunrise skies and even now, a couple of hours later the clouds collecting along the Cordillera Nombre de Dios mountain range are the innocuous cumulous ones that look like smeared marshmallows.

It also means I can open all the windows to air out the apartment, do my laundry and keep it dry afterwards and get out and walk, which is my personal passion.

Here are pictures from last Friday’s gift from the gods. I am determined to stay positive, and not to think that the gods are indulging in taunting us with hope for the end of the rainy season. When you receive a gift, all you can do is say “thank you” and I am.

I Brought My Wool Sox

2010-01-12T14:40:00.000-08:00

Welcome back to La Ceiba, Honduras folks!

Last year, December of 2008 and January, 2009, I was whining about the cold, rainy weather and stated that next year I would bring back my wool sox.

I did. I also brought along a pair of heavy hemp sweatpants, a favourite warm sweater and extra pairs of blue jeans. People were convinced (yet again!) that I was crazy. I wasn't....

I realized a few years ago that I had acclimatized to Honduran weather and when it is cold, windy and rainy for days on end, I am freezing!

I just shake my head at the fact that back in 2004 and 2005 I didn't bring a single pair of blue jeans or socks with me. I remember walking down the street, in the worst of the weather wearing light cotton trousers, bare foot in my sandals with a bath towel over my head and shoulders against the torrential rain. Oh, how my world has changed!

The cold damp gets into your body and soul; even with the benefits of a non-leaky roof, glass in the windows, extra clothes and bath towels complementing my fleece blanket at night, you just can't shake it. It's dimly dark through most of the day, with nightfall occurring shortly after 5:30pm and the wind whistles and wails through the gaps between the window frame and the walls and in under the doorways.

We had a great weather day on January 1st which I celebrated with beach walks in a skirt and tank top, followed by endless days of rain pounding and smashing on the tin roofs at all hours of the day and night. On January 8th, the weather gods gifted us with a day of sunshine peaking through broken clouds and held off the rains until the following afternoon.

This week has been even worse by local standards with temperatures dropping to the high teens Celsius (equating to mid 60's in Fahrenheit) with very high winds coming straight off of the north Caribbean Sea. I just don't know if I can wait for another Friday to see the sun again!

Paradise isn't all beaches and beers, fellow Canadians - sometimes it entails freezing your butt off! Regardless of my tongue in cheek whining, I am simply horrified for the poorer local population; I'm not joking or exaggerating when I say that people will die of exposure or respiratory diseases due to this lengthy cold spell. So if you pray, please pray for the locals. This transplanted Canadian woman can tough it out!

Diary of a Ducha ("Doo sha" Spanish for shower)

2009-02-05T11:19:00.000-08:00

Day One: Moved into the apartment today. Don Stephan has fixed the water so I now have water in the bathroom sink, the toilet, the shower (not much water pressure though) and in one of two faucets in the kitchen sink. Much better than my last morning here when I had two hours to close up the apartment, wash dishes, shower and get to the airport by 7:30 am. After shrieking down the stairs (found out that he does understand some English!) he delivered 4, 5 gallon buckets of water to the apartment and I did everything with buckets and a kettle.

Day Three: I’m just so grateful that the suicide shower is working, now that I thought to flip the breaker for it. Finally have hot water after two days of cold showers during the rainy season.

Day Forty Three: I realize that I’ve gotten used to the lack of water pressure in the shower. I’ve also learned that when I wash my waist length hair, it takes almost half an hour and I’m wondering just how much water the roof top cistern holds. Mind you, I don’t think I’m actually using much, the water just dribbles and spits while I scrub and rinse but it sure takes a fair amount of time!

Day Forty Four: I’ve become somewhat eccentric about living alone. Every time I turn on the shower water, I’m pleasantly surprised and when I reach up to turn it off, I always say “thank you, thank you” in both languages. Hmm, at least it’s some form of practising Spanish….

Day Forty Five: I think the shower is getting tired. There appears to be even less water pressure and therefore less water coming out of the suicide shower head.

Day Forty Six: The shower head is definitely getting somewhat useless. The holes that used to deliver water (only half of them ever delivered !) are now sort of dribbling out across the showerhead and joining together to make a “splatting” kind of trickle. Hmm, I do hope it manages to fix itself.

Day Forty Seven: It got cold again today so I turned on the water and then the suicide shower heater only to wind up scalding myself when I stuck my hand under the dribbling splat. It appears that the heater is working fine but with the lack of water being delivered, the heat is not dispersed. Put ice cubes on my hand and washed at the sink.

Day Forty Eight: The shower is definitely sick. Damn. The dribbling splats have now decreased to mere occasional drops. It took almost 5 minutes to collect a handful of water (I was hoping it would increase if I just left it running!). Washed in the sink again; good news is that the bathroom floor is clean once I mopped up all the water.

Day Forty Nine: I spoke with Dona Lucy this afternoon and told her that I had no water in the shower though the rest of the apartment was still working fine. She’s very sympathetic and said she would tell Don Stephan.

Day Fifty: Filled both my buckets in the kitchen sink, added boiling water from the kettle to make it tepid and “bucket washed” in the shower stall. Worked out okay and didn’t have to clean the bathroom floor again.

Day Fifty One: Finally saw Don Stephan today. I told him I had a problem with the apartment because there was no water in the shower. He responded immediately with enthusiastic sympathy and says he’ll have a look at it tomorrow. Bucket washed in the shower stall.

Day Fifty Two: It’s Sunday. Maybe that’s why Don Stephan didn’t come to look at the shower; but I didn’t think he was a member of Dona Lucy’s church group. Oh well, I suppose it’s still a day of rest for him. Bucket washed. The bedroom floor is now clean since I spilled one bucket en route to shower stall.

Day Fifty Three: (Politely!) accosted Don Stephan when he came upstairs this morning. I repeated the issue with the shower and no water. More sympathetic promises of assistance; he ignored my raised eye brows. Bucket washed.

Day Fifty Four: Bucket washed. Had an early appointment in town but just as I was leaving Don Stephan arrived to look at the shower. Turned on the tap, nothing dribbled or splatted or leaked out of the shower head. Oh, he now understands I have a problem with the water, hooray! I’m losing my sense of humour, was late for my appointment.

Day Fifty Five: Glondy, my Honduran girlfriend came over while I was filling the buckets in the sink. She thought I was going to wash floors. HA! I explained about the shower problem and got more sympathy. I’m starting to dislike sympathy and my sense of humour is sorely lacking. Spoke briefly with Dona Lucy; by my translation it appears to be a problem with the pump. Great, but why is there still water every where else in the house? Don Stephan saw me filling water buckets in the kitchen sink and went back down the stairs muttering “agua, agua” to himself. My morning greetings to him are becoming somewhat surly.

Day Fifty Six: Glondy came over early, at 7am so I asked if I could go to her house to wash my stinking, greasy, filthy hair. No problem, come over whenever you want! Perfect! Rounded up all my shower stuff, got tidied and headed for the door. ENEE had a planned power outage for 8am that morning. Bucket washed. I’m now considering getting a crew cut again; note to self – stay away from the scissors.

Day Fifty Seven: When I came home from town yesterday there was a length of plastic water pipe lying on the patio floor. Ah, progress! Today, the pipe made it up onto the roof by 8am. It’s now 3pm and there has been no further action. Glondy hasn’t been home all day and her house is locked. Bucket washed. French braided the obscenely filthy hair. It now feels like a horse’s tail. I have absolutely no sense of humour.

Day Fifty Eight: Refused to answer Dona Lucy when she saw me leaving for Glondy’s with my towel over my shoulder. I’m no longer a cheerful tenant. I think she is aware of my lack of humour now. Don Stephan no longer comes upstairs to exchange morning greetings. The pipe is still on the roof. Glondy’s shower head does not work so used the faucet and bucket routine. Finally have clean hair.

Day Sixty Two: I haven’t seen Don Stephan in three days. Still no shower water.

Day Sixty Three: Came home with two bags of clean laundry. Don Stephan has forgotten that I hate him and because he is such a gentleman, carried the bags upstairs for me. I promptly informed him that I had no water in the shower, before he escaped. Surprised shock and abject sympathy when I turned on the tap and absolutely nothing came out. Some amusing physical contortions while he made it clear that the pipe appeared to be choked i.e. plugged with sediment. Sincere promises to fix it tomorrow. I’ll believe that when I see it!

Day Sixty Four: Terrible noises from the roof while video conferencing with Hubbie; refused to investigate said noises. Shortly thereafter Don Stephan arrived asking if I had any water at all. Slight moment of complete horror on my part – what did he do up there?! I now have not only water in the shower head but increased water pressure throughout the whole apartment!

Just shy of two full weeks without water in the shower is not really that big a deal; if you’re going to live in Honduras you must, absolutely must, be able to roll with the punches and find ways to compensate. This includes anything to do with household mechanics, shopping for basic supplies, dealing with taxis or transit and those times when you require supposedly “special” services. Remember the time the post office ran out of stamps? A sense of humour is the only appropriate survival technique!

I Should Have Brought My Wool Socks....

2009-01-22T09:58:00.000-08:00

This morning my apartment registered a staggering temperature of 67F (19.5C) at 8:00am.

When I went to bed last night it was a cool 70F. After spending the early evening fetchingly garbed in socks, blue jeans, layers of tee shirts and a toasty bath towel, I decided to finally break down and close all of the window louvers in the hopes that the apartment would warm up during the night. It didn't.

The good news is that there has been no rain in almost 24 hours and the stiff WNW breeze from yesterday did stop. The sun has been trying to peek out from the dark clouds hovering against the mountains, but sadly isn’t producing much in the way of actual heat.

I’m starting to wonder just where it is that I am trying to live.

We had reached amazing lows in the high 60’sF in late November during the rainy season which is also Honduras’ version of winter but it is now nearing the end of January and spring is supposed to be happening here.

After attempting to avoid reality, I finally broke down and checked into the La Ceiba airport weather report and have now given up hope. The good news is that there is only a 20% to 30% chance of rain over the next few days; the bad news is tomorrow will be just as cool running from a low of 16C to a high (huh?!) of 24C with very gradual improvement until the end of the weekend.

Today’s adventures will be either purchasing a wool sweater and yet another pair of socks or checking the bus depot and the travel agent and escaping to Costa Rica, once I check the weather reports. I checked, it doesn’t look any better than here, so it’s off to buy a sweater for me.

To all my Canadian friends and family, I’m not asking for sympathy, nor am I willing to hear your comments about the weather in your neck of the woods. It’s supposed to be freezing up north! Next year, I am definitely bringing my wool socks to Honduras….

Dona Doesn't Giggle Anymore

2009-01-19T13:03:00.000-08:00

Life is full of small adventures that occur when you least expect them, and some days before I’m even out of bed.

My apartment is on the second floor of a private house, which also includes a small pulperia (corner store) downstairs. The family consists of my landlords, Dona Lucy and Don Stephan and their adult daughter, though it’s hard to tell as there is a steady stream of adults, children, grandbabies and various other friends, customers and delivery people flowing in and out all day and early evening.

Dona Lucy is an older Honduran lady, not quite 5 feet tall with a lovely plump face, lively big brown eyes and dark wavy hair that she tries, (in vain some days) to keep under some semblance of control. She is a busy, hard working woman with a propensity for gossip, grins and generalized well-being.

Mornings start early in Honduras with the infamous 4:30 am chorus of barking dogs and crowing roosters, followed shortly by Don Stephan’s diesel bus firing up at 5:15 am. By 6:00 am it is full daylight and the pulperia has been a busy little centre of activity with children, youths and women coming in for their morning supplies, treats for school and other sundry items.

The phone rings off the hook, everyone who enters the patio or stops at the side gate calls out “Buenos!” to announce that they are there and Dona Lucy is in her element. She greets everyone in return, and there is the continuous babble of responses, requests, questions and tidbits of barrio and family gossip since they last saw each other. There is a flurry of bustling, joyful involvement of self with others, in greeting another morning that can be such an oddity for us solitary and self contained North Americans.

This morning I woke early, toasty warm under the fleece blanket and happily, because the rains had finally stopped. I curled up lazily in my bed, quietly listening to the morning begin downstairs. The dogs released their pent up vocal energies, the traffic started on the main road and I could hear the surging surf two blocks away. And just like clockwork, the bus fired up and drove off, the telephone started ringing off the hook and the voices began downstairs, with Dona Lucy the constantly chirruping, giggling metronome of the morning music.

As I laid there grinning sleepily, I realized something had changed. I could hear a man’s voice, rapid, sibilant and gaining in exuberance but I couldn’t hear Dona Lucy. No cascading giggles, no chirruping voice, no exclamations of surprise, simply silence -which is unheard of. Just as I was becoming concerned, with a quizzical frown on my forehead, the silence burst!

Laughter erupted from Dona Lucy, barrelling up through her round little body, chortling its way up her throat and bursting its way past her lips. She was trying to speak and the laughter simply overwhelmed her, increasing in volume and cascading upwards in sheer passionate joy! She started to gasp for air, with little shrieks of glee and you could almost feel the laughter rolling up and out of her. The man who was speaking cannot, and is laughing uncontrollably, slapping the counter top in glee!

The stairwell is echoing with laughter, the window slats seem to be shimmering with the sounds bursting through them and Dona Lucy is still building to the crescendo of raucous, uncontrolled, roaring delight and I am helpless.

I have no choice as I roll with glee under the covers, giggling, grinning and finally joining her in deep belly laughs that shake me from top to bottom. Finally, she slows, interrupting the gales of laughter, and regaining her breath begins to speak, still bubbling with small chortlings of glee; the man can finally speak again and I am left wiping tears of joy from my face.

Dona Lucy doesn’t giggle anymore…. She is a passionately erupting fountain of laughter that sweeps you along in the early morning dawn. What a wonderful beginning of a new day!

Gecko: The Moth Killer!

2009-01-09T09:29:00.000-08:00

I have a personal passion for geckos and took a look at Wikipedia for some hard facts such as the following:

They are a small member of the Gekkonidae family, approximately 3” to 6” (7.5cm – 15cm) in length; somewhat aggressive, definitely prolific and (usually) nocturnal. They are frequently seen crawling up walls or across ceilings, in search of prey that are attracted to porch or interior lights. They prefer warm and humid climates and can be found almost world wide, given appropriate climatic conditions.

It was also stated that geckos had been introduced to a number of countries by being stowaways on sailing ships (clever!) and through discussions in Honduras Living I learned that Dr. Gene Ostmark (a highly respected scientist and human being) has been credited with the deliberate introduction of geckos to Honduras.

So much for the clinical data…

They are a delightfully useful creature to have around the house because they eat all kinds of insects, spiders and moths, as I discovered last night. They are also well known for their chirping call and are quite vocal in their conversations with other geckos.

I’ve gotten into the habit of verbally welcoming them to my home when I hear them and this morning was listening to one chirping away, well after daylight when it was supposed to be asleep. Maybe it was the one I saw last night with the moth, and it had a belly ache after such a large meal!

It has also been documented that geckos can “drop” off their tail when they are alarmed, and after reading that I’m feeling somewhat more reassured. I had moved a heavy plastic crate last week, which made a loud shrieking noise against the ceramic tiles and only then noticed one of my house geckos making its escape.

Its tail stayed on the floor, wriggling and writhing, and I was horrified at the thought of having accidentally hurt the poor creature. Now my thinking is that this would be a brilliant survival tactic, with leaving behind an edible, moving morsel for an aggressor while rapidly removing itself from the scene.

I’ve also witnessed the occasional one simply falling off of a ceiling or patio roof, landing with a splat and then being able to run off, so they appear to be pretty tough.

One thing that I deliberately do is to try and not use pesticides or more toxic cleaners in my apartment as I think geckos could be easily poisoned and I would much prefer having them living here to keep the bugs under control for me.

I was certainly surprised last night to find one climbing up the outside window screen and since the camera was within reach, I took a series of photos of the gecko killing the moth. They are incredibly fast moving and once they capture something large in their jaws, they clamp down and proceed to shake it while gulping more of the main body into its mouth. Just like a dog shaking a rat!

So, there’s a bit of information about one of the most interesting, and useful, creatures I’ve found here in Honduras.

PS Thought I was quite clever and made a movie of the photos I took. Blogger isn't clever as every time I tried to load the movie, the whole computer froze. Argh....

PPS Jan 14th I saw "Stubby" (the tailless one) and a larger gecko come out from behind the fridge, during the daytime. "Big Guy" caught a large house fly while I was watching so I'm quite pleased to have them as permanent house guests!

Neat tricks with Chicken Bones

2009-01-01T09:50:00.001-08:00

This is a neat trick you can teach a child (of any age!) that is fast and easy, yet rather fascinating. Please don’t ask me for the scientific reason why it happens; all I know is that my father taught me and when I taught my 10 year old Honduran friend, he was rather impressed at the strange things I know how to do!

Next time you cook a whole chicken, simply save the breast bone (wish bone) intact, clean it and let it dry out thoroughly.

Drop it into enough white vinegar to cover it completely, cover it the container if you want and let it sit for 36 to 48 hours. Check it if you’re impatient and you’ll feel the difference as the bone get rubbery and squishy feeling. Kids love this!

Once it is completely softened, just tie it in a knot!

If you leave the bone out in the air, it will stiffen up again and the trick can be repeated. I’m not certain but think that if you left it in the vinegar long enough, it might just completely dissolve. This trick works with turkey bones, and probably other poultry wish bones as well. Have fun!

Ultimate Pudding Pie

2009-01-01T09:39:00.000-08:00

Here’s a quick and easy dessert recipe called “Pudding Pie” that I’ve introduced to my Honduran family. I generally make this concoction and pour it into a graham cracker crust

but I’ve found that the pre-made ones are not always readily available in La Ceiba. It works just fine if poured into a pie plate or simply left in the bowl that you made it in.

I prefer to choose a combination of gelatine and yogurt that are similar to each other i.e. strawberry gelatine and strawberry yogurt. You can also decorate the finished pie with a similar flavoured or coloured cookie and prefer the wafer type ones.

Ingredients:

2 boxes of gelatine, 85 grams

1 cup boiling water

1 cup very cold water

1 pkg flavoured yogurt, 500 grams

Do not follow the gelatine package instructions! It will be too soft to re-set after adding the yogurt. Add the boiling water to the dry powder and stir until completely dissolved, then add the cold water and stir well.

Place in the refrigerator until partially set (maybe an hour?) and stir again. Simply check occasionally over the next couple hours with mixing it well, to keep it fluffy rather than flat set. Even if you forget it, just beat vigorously until fluffy looking.

Once the gelatine is fully set, gently stir in the whole package of yogurt until thoroughly mixed together. Now you can decant it into the graham cracker pie shell, an empty pie plate or simply keep it in the original mixing bowl and place back into the refrigerator until time to serve. If decorating with wafer cookies, simply add them just before serving as they get mushy if set in too early.

This is a reasonably healthy and delightfully light dessert that goes well with either summer meals (almost all the time here in Honduras!) or a heavier meal.

Enjoy!

Living in Interesting Times

2008-12-30T10:06:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the second installment of “Be Careful What You Ask For”…

Yet again I had great intentions for the day. Yet again, those plans were completely destroyed by 8am. I’m now considering refusing to make any sort of plan until at least noon of the day!

Today’s adventure was to taxi the full laundry bags over to the coin laundry in Miramar, washing and drying the entire mess and returning home to hang fresh curtains, make up the bed with non-paint splattered covers and having fresh clothes to wear once again. The sun is shining after last night’s 12 hour storm and before this afternoon’s regular 3pm showers and I wanted to get out for a walk on the beach while it was warm enough. That just isn’t going to happen today…..

Ken taught me the rule of thumb of only planning one adventure per day, with the caveat that the original plan would rarely be achieved, yet alone smoothly. I know I’ve been a little too enthusiastic about my intended activities but overall, I’ve been successful with getting chores completed, business dealt with and mundane realities of living (like cooking) accomplished. It’s time to return to the original adage of one plan per day, with the additional rider of not every day.

My original house painter returned this morning. I’ll politely refer to him as Mr. Paint Man, as I’m not feeling respectful enough to inquire his proper name. This is the same gentleman who waylaid my plan Christmas Eve day plans of cooking and visiting and generally having a very pleasant, companionable day and also resulted in my resorting to hard physical scrubbing of floors and furniture instead.

I made certain that I showed (yet again!) Dona Lucy the exploding paint in the bathroom and the paint chips gently sifting down upon my bed and repeated my request that this be redone and correctly, please. Well, he’s been out on the patio for 3 hours now, scrapping and painting merrily, complete with the cigarette hanging from his mouth as he crept along the patio railing painting over his head. Thus I’ve had to keep the window louvers shut tight to slow down the rate that it flies into the apartment and also preventing fresh air coming in as well.

I honestly believe that Mr. Paint Man is a respectful, genial individual but given the fact that I have been living in a renovation nightmare for a week now, complete with filthy paint-splattered floors and spackled screens that glow brightly in the evening dark, I am exacting my revenge.

First it was the fact that he suffered terrible confusion when he heard two very different voices speaking while knowing that I was the only person here. I was on video link with my husband in Canada at the time and explained we were talking through the computer. Then it was the fact that he has been listening to me talk out loud, with various levels of volume to the computer while I scribble this note, complete with bursts of laughter and giggling. Lastly, I doubt the gentleman has ever heard of, yet alone experienced, Janis Joplin blaring at high volume but this is my revenge!

He has just completed the patio so before he could leave I very gently apologized for having a problem and proceeded to show him areas that needed re-doing. He is a delightful man but given the water saturated roof area, all I can reasonably expect is that he scrape a slightly bigger area, repaint it and make his exit.

There’s always a way to make the best of a bad situation and my approach generally involves a fair amount of rather twisted humour though not at the other person’s expense. I may be living in interesting times, but Mr. Paint Man will not forget his little adventures of dealing with the “poco loco gringa”!

Feliz Navidad aka Be Careful What You Ask For

2008-12-28T09:11:00.000-08:00

My apartment is on the top floor of a private house and has been suffering from a leaky roof for a number of years now. On occasion another piece of tin is hauled up and secured into place, thus constituting a repair. The result of that sort of repair is the fact that the ceiling leaks water in two out of three rooms and has permeated the entire ceiling with water.

I had noticed rather drastic topographical changes in the surface of the paint while I was here last season but when I returned in November, the situation was no longer to be avoided. Black mould had established itself in various locations and the paint was literally throwing itself from the ceiling in sheets, chunks, chips and gently floating minute particles. Dishes in the drying rack had to be covered from the white mist of paint; preparing food consisted of towels covering everything while I leaned over the chopping board to prevent the paint from landing. Sweeping floors entailed sweeping all ceilings first; bedtime involved brushing the paint off of pillows and bedspread and morning wakeup included brushing paint chips out of my hair.

I really like Dona Lucy and her husband Stephan; we’ve known each other for five years now and they have always treated me like a (slightly odd) member of the family. I also dislike any form of confrontation but the snapping point for me was the day that paint landed on my laptop while I was working. The paint is white but I literally saw red at that moment!

What ensued was a gentle but firm conversation with their daughter, pointing out various areas and the resulting messes and clearly stating that I loved the apartment, did not want to make problems for the family but something had to be done before my husband arrived in February. I will “stretch” the truth when necessary and made it clear that no matter how much I loved living here, if my husband saw this he wouldn’t allow me to stay here any longer. In truth, my partner is my equal in decision making, but “male dominance and control of money” is a common attitude here and I chose to put the blame on him.

Well, shortly after that I was informed by both elders that I would be getting both a new roof and a new paint job for the apartment within the next few weeks. I was ecstatic and rather exuberant in my appreciation for their efforts and considered the situation dealt with.

A couple days later I was woken at 6am by the screeching sounds of tin being hauled, flung and dragged upon the patio and roof. Not a pleasant way to waken but I reassured myself that the new roof was happening and that would be worth tolerating the noise. It rained at 7:30 am, (a brief but amazing deluge) all work stopped and simply did not start again that day or any other.

December 24th started well with me in the kitchen by 7am creating “pudding” pies for my 10 year old friend, boiling a chicken and various vegetables for soup stock and thoroughly enjoying myself with my plans for the day.

That plan was completely waylaid by 8am.

The painting man arrived, complete with step stool, paint and assorted tools and I was informed that he was going to paint the apartment right now. In the course of the next four hours, every moveable piece of furniture was shoved out onto the patio, my computer was secured in its travel case and the propane stove disconnected.

I could hear him scrapping ceilings in the bathroom and bedroom while I packed up the main room. I could hear him moving my bed back and forth, his step stool screeching across the ceramic tiles and kept reassuring myself that all was well with his work.

I resorted to cleaning the bathroom while he worked in the main room. I swear the majority of the paint never got near the ceiling when I saw the evidence of smears and streaks dribbling down the tiled walls and the sprayed splatter of white paint that covered the floor.

I have stated clearly that I do not like housework but I also firmly believe that if you’re going to do something, do it right. I’m also not very mobile or flexible anymore so getting down on hands and knees is an orchestrated procedure. I was a fetching sight with my bucket of cleaning water, mop up rags and scratch pad in hand, kneeling on a sacrificial pillow and scrubbing every square inch of floor to remove the copious amounts of paint.

Dona Lucy is a rather mischievous woman and took grand delight in telling me that the new paint was my Christmas present. That was early in the morning when my sense of humour was still partially intact. She returned at 1pm to deliver me a plate of hot food and when she stuck her head into the bedroom to tell me it was on the table for me, I didn’t even bother trying to get up from the floor and quietly thanked her for the meal. I resorted to muttering obscenities under my breath, vigorously scouring the floor, entertaining thoughts of “Happy Ho Ho” to you while keeping my temper in check and managed to get half of the bedroom finished by 3pm.

That’s when I realized it was getting quite dark. The afternoon rains were about to arrive and I dashed about rescuing belongings from the patio before they got soaked. Finally by 5pm I had everything indoors, regardless of the state of the floors and was collapsed in my chair when my 10 year old friend arrived.

I had been expected at their house at 4pm and he was sent to check on me. During our conversation I learned that all the children were waiting to open their presents and would not be given permission to do so until I arrived. With abject apologies I assured him that I would shower, get dressed and get over to his house as soon as possible.

To be honest, the last thing I wanted to deal with at that point was any semblance of holiday cheer, small children or noise, but I dutifully arrived by 5 pm with a happy face pasted on and proceeded to make myself enjoy the evening. Thankfully I really enjoy the family and with judicious applications of rum and tamales, I had a thoroughly pleasant evening.

Christmas Day did not evoke any semblance of peace and serenity as the first thing I saw upon waking was peeling paint on the ceiling above me. When I removed the pillow from my face, it was still there. Shortly afterwards, after dragging my very sore body from my bed (remember the hands and knees scrubbing and furniture moving?) I realized the bathroom ceiling paint had simply erupted with chunks of paint hanging down, a fine mist of particulate matter drifting down and encasing not only my hairbrush but toothbrush as well.

I haven’t believed in Santa for a number of decades but at this point in time I swear I will be very, very careful about what I ask for in the future.

PS Anyone know a good roofer and professional house painter?

My First Honduran Christmas

2008-12-26T09:23:00.000-08:00

This has been my “first” Christmas to be celebrated in Honduras and overall, it’s been a very pleasant learning experience. Originally, I was somewhat appalled at the level of commercialization of this religious holiday, with excessive store displays, huge amounts of various decorations, presents and other assorted stuff available to purchase and the sense of urgency for buying and selling throughout the city of La Ceiba.

Thankfully, there were other much more positive aspects of the season that I discovered. There was an early evening when the hymns from a church service came floating through the air into the apartment and there were the sounds of stereos playing familiar Christmas tunes in both English and Spanish. Admittedly, “Frosty the Snowman” doesn’t work for me in either language but I was totally enamoured with “The First Noel” in the soft sounds of Spanish.

It seems to me that a Honduran Christmas is primarily celebrated on the evening before, complete with presents for children, food, refreshments and family gatherings lasting long, long into the night. The decorations have been up, set out and plugged in for weeks beforehand; fireworks of all sizes and explosive qualities are set off literally 24 hours a day for a least a week before and non religious folks celebrate by the sharing of food (tamales are a favourite) with all friends and family. Thus my Christmas Eve was spent with my family here, with friends and neighbours joining us to dance outside on the patio, enjoy small boccas and drinks and lots of laughter, music and general fun for all ages.

Christmas Day was a quiet day, with me sleeping in from the night before and then indulging myself in lots of cooking, as I’d invited the family to my place for Boxing Day dinner. There was time for making an ever increasing list of the reasons why I’m thankful to be alive, to be here in La Ceiba and blessed with the companionship of caring people (here and elsewhere!) in my life. There was time for visits with my girlfriend and her house guest, time for a walk on the beach (before the afternoon deluge!) and a lovely lazy evening curled up with a good story book.

Wishing you all blessings of peace, joy and love in your lives, and still making my “thank you’s”, Stephanie

Honduran Snowman

2008-12-21T12:36:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, you just have to make your own fun!

I’m a northern gal, where the snow has been on the ground for 6 weeks (or more!) by the time the official first day of winter arrives and though I no longer welcome cold weather there are some things that I do miss.

Tobogganing down the hill on our main road, stamping out messages in the snow for others to find , discovering various footprints left behind by passing four legged friends large and small and building snowmen (and other assorted snow creatures!).

The fridge finally had to be defrosted, as the freezer door no longer opened and this is a job that I particularly dislike. Mind you I’m not happy about doing any form of housework because no matter how good a job you do, it just doesn’t stay done.

Well, one of my silly notions struck, I grabbed a spoon and scooped out some of the ice and here’s the result of my own foolishness. Happy Solstice everyone!

It's a Lovely Day in the Neighbourhood

2008-12-15T10:07:00.000-08:00

This is something that I tried to post on Dec. 15th. It appears that Blogger and I are having issues with each other and I haven't decided just what the problem is - me or it!

It’s just amazing what a little bit of sunshine can do!

After the weeks of cold weather and the severe flooding rain just four days ago, our little piece of paradise has decided to let the sun shine once more, bringing comfortable warmth and renewed hope to everyone.

The barrio (neighbourhood) is busy and noisy again with folks working on home repairs, children and dogs running merrily amok and the enterprising vendors cruising the streets once more.

There were three men, carrying a couple of ornate mirrors, a large carved rocking chair and even a five drawer chest on a dolly, who came through our street earlier today trying to sell their furniture door to door. There were a couple of hand cart vegetable sellers calling out their wares, a yard man (complete with his gum boots and machete) going gate to gate looking for work and at the beginning of the video you can hear the man selling shrimp, calling out “camarones, camarones”.

It’s the small minutiae of life that amuses and entertains me so readily and now that the blue skies and sunshine are back, it’s so very easy to be happy here again.

A very different Christmas

2008-12-14T09:12:00.000-08:00

I’m not a fan of the commercial aspects of the Christmas season, nor am I a practising Christian so there isn’t a religious element for myself but being here in La Ceiba for the past few weeks has opened my eyes, with reactions ranging from appalled shock, some amazement and sheer endearment at other moments.

Firstly, I’m from the north where the snow starts sometime near the end of October and by the time mid December slips up on me, there’s lots of snow on the ground. We go out on our own land and bring home a (used to be) live tree to decorate with a treasured assortment of momentos that have been created and saved over the years. Every year I buy a sacrificial poinsettia plant that might last the two or three weeks of the “holidays” as long as someone else cares for it. I swear if I look at them, they die!

I send out family based newsletters that encapsulate the lives of our family (including the four legged members); some years I create photo collections to share as gifts with family and most years I turn into a combination of “mad scientist” and “assembly line baker” and produce enough shortbread, fancy cookies and squares to induce a diabetic shock just by passing through my kitchen.

This year, my decision to return to Honduras (before January) came somewhat abruptly and in the two weeks before departure, I managed to finish off the newsletter and print photos and get “care packages” into the mail by November 21st. This is a complete time record for me! I always have great intentions but then life interferes with my silly plans and mail outs have been as late as Dec. 17th in the past.

Well, now I’m in Honduras. Admittedly there isn’t any snow but with the extended rainy season still grasping us by whatever she can reach, it’s been cold, grey and damp. I am both perturbed and amazed at the level of “decorating for the season” that occurs both commercially and domestically, for those who can afford to do so, of course.

One of my top ten most appalling scenes is the golden Coca Cola Christmas tree on the main floor of the MegaPlaza Mall, with a very close second being the stunning proliferation of multi coloured and flashing strings of lights found everywhere. Maybe I’m the Grinch for thinking that with the cost of electrical power, the money could be spent elsewhere or maybe I still believe the old wives tales of strobe lights causing seizures but I’ve developed the nasty habit of wincing when confronted with them!

Another pet peeve is the plastic (usually bent in a few places!) trees that are for sale everywhere and the fact that the majority of decorative signs are in English rather than Spanish. I know Walmart is universal, but English isn’t the only language in the world! (Yes, Virginia, we have a Walmart in La Ceiba – it’s called Paiz)

During my walks around El Centro I have seen the excessive glut of commercial decorative efforts. One place has a Santa in a box (that pops endlessly up and down) with an 8’ tall Frosty the Snowman and hand waving Santa standing guard. There are plastic trees in colours ranging from green, gold, pink, silver and white (complete with the seizure inducing flashing lights!) that range in size from 12inches to 12 feet in height. The clerks at the Paiz wear red Santa hats as part of their uniform and absolutely everyone has something “Christmasy” to sell.

Now that there’s only 10 shopping days left, I’m finding vendors setting up on street corners with their own variety of Christmas oriented gee gaws for sale. Bastante! Enough!

So with that sentiment in mind, enjoy the accompanying photos.

I know my girlfriend thinks I’m being a difficult Canadian because I refuse to jump on the commercial bandwagon and decorate my own little place. So I bought a box of tissues (complete with a Disney Christmas motif), put it out on the table and informed her that “there, I’ve done my decorating for the holiday season!” Thankfully, she’s a sweetheart and just laughed at my humour!

The Rains have paused...

2008-12-12T21:38:00.000-08:00

The city of La Ceiba is sprawled out within a fair range of physical geography, with the Caribbean Sea on the north, Rio Cangrejal with its sandbars to the east, and numerous smaller rivers to the west. The southern side of the extended city spreads through hillsides that lead to the Cordillera Nombre de Dios mountain range.

In essence, La Ceiba is built on a flood plain and viewed from the air after heavy rains can be an impressive sight, with its outlying villages and plantations laid out on a grid-like pattern of cleared areas, raised roads and irrigation canals. I flew into La Ceiba once and witnessed the sight of miles and miles of murky brown water trapped between the slightly raised highway and borders of various trees.

It is quite stunning from a “bird’s eye” view but a horrible occurrence for those on the ground and struggling to cope with the after effects of such flooding. Food and commercial crops either washed away or simply submerged; no clean drinking water supplies, no access to services due to roads being either washed out or bridges closed in advance of washing out.

The rains are not stopping…… This started approximately 4:30 am yesterday and it’s now 27 hours later. The news coverage has been simply appalling with people waist deep in water, a woman and her children being picked up by a passing loader, a man in a boat in the middle of the street and the list just goes on and on…

The rain finally eased about 9am this morning and though the clouds are still terribly low and heavy, I did hear two flights coming in so there’s a presumption that the airport is open and thus hopefully the roads leading to and from it!

On my side of town, the northern Caribbean Sea side, life has pretty much settled back to normal. Normal for after heavy rains that is! Some flooded side streets, some amazingly angry roaring surf and everything soppy, over saturated wet with folks bundling up in whatever they can find to keep warm in the damp and cold breeze.

This part of La Ceiba is the original area and is actually the highest part of the town, though only meters from the open sea you wouldn’t believe it. Obviously there has been extreme flooding in Miramar, Guadalupe and other areas slightly further west but these have always been marginalized and lower lying areas to start with.

The extreme flooding that has occurred has been more to the south of the town – in the newer subdivisions and outlying areas whereby there has been extensive building and development without the necessary infrastructure of drainage, sewage, land stabilization and such. It is those areas where almost all of the video coverage is coming from and though some of those people may be somewhat more affluent, no one, absolutely no one can afford the costs to home, family and self that this disaster has caused.

I noticed that my tap water smelt slightly of sewage but I’m able to have drinking water delivered. I’m one of the fortunate ones.

I did get out today, along the shore barrios and truly there really isn’t much more than the usual amount of street flooding that normally occurs after any heavy rain. All of the El Centro was attempting to do business as usual, though with such poor weather, and just sheer cold!, there weren’t the numbers of folks that I normally see. I stopped and spoke with a few market vendors. One woman said her daughter had lost her house, another said her brother’s family had lost theirs, some injuries were mentioned but overall, my sense is that folks are simply exhausted.

They’re exhausted by the fear, the weather, the cold, the stress, the uncertainty of knowing if the rainy season will ever end; everyone has family or friends that have been horribly affected and yet it supposed to be Christmas so very soon.

I will assure you, my friends that I am perfectly safe, dry and secure but my heart is breaking for so many people here. I know that you’re dealing with hard or bad weather yourselves but at least you have a familial and social safety net to rely on when hardship happens to fall. What if everyone around you lost everything at the same time, what would you be able to do? That’s what a lot of folks are trying to deal with here.

Feliz navidad, amigos….

This video shows Playa Taty's Restaurant and La Quinta Real Hotel, two of the top end places in La Ceiba. The storm surge has been so powerful, so quickly that the debris is still coming in, yet alone being cleaned up.

If You're Afraid of Spiders, STOP!

2008-12-12T07:08:00.000-08:00

WARNING: If you have arachnophobia , STOP right now!

I’m not generally squeamish about bugs and critters: doing laundry for little boys who forget to take their fishing worms out of their blue jean pockets (Thanks, Bro!) and gardening with little girls who want me to re-attach legs to a dead locusts ("Fix, Momma!") ensured that I wasn't going to be able to have issues about our smaller friends.

Okay, okay.... I will admit to doing my own version of the “cucaracha dance” when I discovered cockroaches in my beach-side motel room (complete with high pitched shrieks) but other than that and a small issue with large moths inside my northern home, I’m generally pretty calm and rather respectful in most ways for this world’s “other” creatures.

This philosophy has been seriously challenged the last couple of weeks in my apartment in La Ceiba.

The first episode with an extremely large (close to two inches in length!) spider occurred in the bathroom, late at night, and resulted in blood curdling screams! And a definite lack of sleep that night as it had moved much faster than I did, and vamoosed its way into the wooden door frame – complete with the loud clicking of its articulated legs.

The second episode turned out worse. I (somehow!) managed to stomp this specific spider but not completely, as it left three legs behind and kept on moving under the wall in the closet! I reassured myself that it couldn’t possibly live and calmed down enough to be able to sleep later that night.

Three days later, I discovered “Brown Buddy” alive and well on the bedroom ceiling and with a series of broom flailings, stomping, hyperventilation and the dreaded adrenaline, not only managed to kill it but also retrieved the remains to ensure its discontinued existence! Yes, in the midst of the shaking I did inform it that I was sorry but, quite frankly, it had to go!

So, anyone got any good bug books? I know spiders are supposed to be our friends thanks to their appetite for other small creatures but I’m having an issue about sharing space with these critters.

Hope you have a good sleep tonight!

Top and Bottom Views

And to think it lived for three days, sans legs!

Local TV Channel: Flooding in La Ceiba

2008-12-12T06:13:00.000-08:00

Here are a series of photographs I took of the local TV channel pictures of the flooding in La Ceiba. Sorry for the poor quality but at least you can see what's really happening here!

I'll get out later today and gather my own series of photos, and hopefully video, to include in another post. And you thought I was sitting bare foot on the beach, tipping back a "cold one".

HA HA HA, I should have brought my Wellingtons!

This Is Rain!!!

2008-12-11T17:00:00.000-08:00

The latest weather report stated that there was another cold front going to move in today and that there might be a minor amount of rain involved in its arrival. HAH! So much for technology!

This latest storm arrived about 4:30 this morning, with me lying in bed wondering what the noise was that had woken me. It took a few minutes for my brain cell matter to kick into gear and identify this particular noise and when I finally registered that it was rain, I lurched out of bed to close the bathroom window.

Too late, this storm had come from the north and the wind had driven the rain through the louvers to make a briskly flowing little stream that I spotted before slipping and sliding on the wet tiles. So there were a few minutes spent closing all of the windows and mopping up what had already arrived indoors. What a lovely way to start the morning!

It has been an unseasonably long and extremely damaging rainy season this past two months in Honduras and I’ve listened to reports (prior to this particular storm) of main highway closures, major roadway wash outs and towns like Trujillo being cut off from supplies and reliant upon air delivery of basic necessities like clean drinking water.

Even my own arrival here November 25th entailed a prolonged wait at San Pedro Sula airport, waiting for a van to drive us to La Ceiba, as its airport was closed that day (and evening!) due to weather. That particular 3 hour long, night drive also included the driver coaxing our van over the single lane (which was all that remained of the original bridge) after being allowed through by the federales stationed there.

I’ve talked and written about the torrential tropical rains that we get here in La Ceiba, in the past but truly this must have been the mother of all storms that arrived today. Heavy rains with individual reports of 25cm (10”) in the first 12 hours; horrendous thunder erupting immediately over the house over the course of 2 hours this morning and there is no end in sight.

I turned on the local news channel and watched the clips of whole barrios (neighbourhoods) being washed out complete with people standing or walking in thigh high waters, buildings collapsing, taxis with water up to the door windows and sewage canals overflowing throughout the whole city. There were pictures of parks with two and three feet of water running through them and there are reports of the bridges on the main highway leading to the airport and to Tela being closed, for fear of them washing out. Needless to say, there won’t be any flights arriving while this continues!

Everyone here is at the complete mercy of the weather. You can’t get around town, there’s no business for the market sellers or street vendors and the poorest people who live in the tin and wooden beach shanties in Miramar or other extremely impoverished areas are suffering grievously. I’m convinced that people may well die today because of the flooding as well as the fact that there will be a high increase in the number of infectious bronchial and contaminated water diseases over the next days and possibly weeks.

This is just another side to living in Paradise and in my estimation, only the toughest survive, sadly enough.

I've included a 10 second video so make sure your sound is a high volume to get the full effect of the rain on the tin roofs of my barrio. Now imagine this sound going on for hours and hours, all day and all night.....

Things Your Momma Taught You

2008-12-08T09:18:00.000-08:00

Do you remember your Momma teaching you the adage: “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all”?

Well, that’s rather how I’ve been feeling about my sadly neglected blog postings this past seven months. It’s not that I’ve changed my mind about Honduras, not at all! Turning my back on this country and her people would be akin to removing a glorious part of my heart and soul and I wouldn’t want to live without the ongoing adventures that happen to me here.

My difficulty with maintaining the blog arose from health issues and a most unseasonably cold summer in northern Canada. I’ve been living with progressive osteoarthritis for ten years now and the past year has been one of the more difficult ones with regards to pain management and mobility issues. But my pain specialist has been very effective and I’m now on a 6 month wait list for a hip re-surfacing operation, so there is new hope in my life for being independently mobile again. (Maybe even without my funky Honduran walking stick!)

I returned to La Ceiba, Honduras, November 25th to escape from the cold and snow of a northern Canada winter and will be soaking up the heat for my cranky bones now that the rains appear to have ceased. The rain will be another topic for a posting; it’s the first time I’ve been here this time of year and it can be cruelly damp and cold!

I do NOT want my health issues to become either the focus of my own life or of my blog postings which is why I referred to the adage about keeping quiet if you can’t be positive.

Returning to my simple, selfish little life in La Ceiba has does wonders for renewing my soul and positive energy reserves, so that’s why I’m finally back to writing again. Be patient while I re-learn how to manage the posting and other details (I’m really not computer literate, so it’s almost as hard as learning Spanish!) and let me know what you think of my stories and writing style.

Grinning from ear to ear, Stephanie

Street Noise!

2008-04-28T09:57:00.000-07:00

It’s been an interesting month in my barrio.

At the end of March, I realized that there was this horrendously loud noise coming from the street behind my apartment. It seemed to consist of an air compressor and some sort of metal cutting blade and would go on and off for hours at a time.

My first thought was “Oh no, someone’s started an auto body shop in their yard!” which has been known to happen as there are industrial shops right next door to family homes in most barrios.

After a couple days, it appeared that the noise had moved off somewhat and that’s when my curiosity kicked in. So off I went, following my ears and discovered some pretty big changes just around the corner!

Great mounds of dirt and debris right in the middle of the intersections, huge, gaping holes in the pavement and a series of lines cut into the pavement of the streets of the whole neighbourhood. I found it quite amusing to be able to simply climb right up on the piles to take photos without being questioned or stopped by anyone. No barricades to protect pedestrians from themselves, taxis and private cars slowly creeping around various mounds in order to traverse the streets and not a worker in sight.

The work is progressing, slowly but surely and has now reached the point where some of the underground infrastructure is being established. I’ve learned that this whole endeavour is to provide “black water” (sewage) lines from individual homes, to a central pipe and thus (hopefully, though I’m not certain!) to a treatment plant.

There aren’t a lot of technical or specialized tools used. If you look closely, you can see the nylon line tied to the rock and stick that is used for establishing the cutting lines. I’m left wondering whether or not there will be powered jack hammers or simply labourers with pick axes used when it comes time to lift the segments of asphalt.

I do find it quite disturbing to watch both the operator and helper of the machine that is used to cut the pavement lines. Yes, they have hard hats, a short sleeved over shirt and work boots but I have yet to see hearing protection, work gloves or any form of air mask! The residents are curious about the work but at the same time terribly accepting of the overwhelming noise levels, with an attitude of “it has to happen”.

I’m leaving the country in a couple of days so sadly won’t be able to keep a complete record of this major project though I am hoping that it will be completed before I come back again next winter!

Anyone interested in taking their life in their hands and getting a job in La Ceiba?

Who Deserves the Better Home?

2008-04-28T07:34:00.000-07:00

As you know, La Ceiba and the rest of Honduras, is a third world country with appalling rates of poverty, a severe lack of basic services like potable water and decent housing and gaping holes in the education (and availability thereof) system.

There is also an increasing level of visible and active organized religions, primarily Catholic but increasingly there are various Evangelical groups. I am grossly uneducated regarding just how many religions there are, their specific names and how they function but at the same time, I’ll just state my basic philosophy regarding organized religion. Bluntly.

I am a casually practising Pagan, with a basic belief in the Mother Earth and my immediate connection with Her. Mutual respect is my primary ethic and because of this I expect myself to respect other people’s religious and spiritual choices. I honestly believe that each person’s choice of personal belief is based on the premise of providing themselves with a form of assistance, comfort and support through either private rituals or group practises. I also regard this as a primarily positive endeavour on the part of the individual.

There are times that I find myself highly frustrated with the fact that though religion may be a great theory, it is only as good as the individuals involved.

Colonia Miramar is one of the poorer barrios in La Ceiba, located at the west end of the beach area.

Barrio Ingles is equally poor though somewhat more centrally located, on the beach and bordered by a sewage canal. Both neighbourhoods are near to where I live and I frequently walk through the streets and am a witness to the varying levels of housing that people survive, and only occasionally thrive, in.

The poorest homes are small, with marginal security and appear to be not terribly weather proof, to put it mildly. I take a lot of photographs during my “walking adventures” yet at the same time find myself unwilling to intrude or impose myself on the local people. Yes, I feel marginally shamed by the fact that I am (technically) a rich gringa and also regard it as incredibly rude to snap pictures of living conditions thus embarrassing or exposing the people living in same. That said, I still manage to acquire a broad spectrum of real photographs.

I recently strolled down a new road for me, in the impoverished Miramar barrio and discovered a huge, newly constructed, highly secure and well maintained “iglesia” (church) for a local religious group.

I am completely incensed when I think of the money involved in this structure and its grounds, for the comfort and ease of its membership when I think of all of the men, women and children, in this very same barrio, who would honestly benefit from clean drinking water, proper tin roofs, real doors and even windows in their own small homes!

This is something that I cannot respect, regardless of my ethics and even though it happens all over the world, for numerous self absolving reasons, I actively resent being a witness to such a misplaced waste of time, energy and money. All I can think of is the good that could be accomplished if these same people actually went into their own (or adopted) community and physically practised what they profess to believe.

I also acknowledge that there are many religious people in this country who do actively practise what they preach, and I do respect them and thank them for their efforts. So I’m not completely on a rip and tear rant here folks, just blunt like I said I would be.

Construction, La Ceiba Style

2008-04-26T07:28:00.000-07:00

I’ve watched many changes La Ceiba over the last five years, some good and some not but I am constantly fascinated by the very basic approaches that are taken to accomplish various projects, large and small.

I’ll also admit to a certain macabre fascination at the lack of safety, health and environmental standards that I have witnessed. I’ve done a fair amount of construction myself therefore have some experience with the health and safety requirements of the workplace in Canada. All I say is that if any of “our” standards were imposed here, nothing would be accomplished! Yes, I do believe that there should be improvements to protect the workers but at the same time I still have to admire the sheer audacity of how things are done here.

There was the day that I stopped for photographs of the men who were taking a large limb off of one of the trees in the Central Park Square. This is a very busy part of the downtown core and there were no barricades or crowd control, as you can from the men sitting in the bench watching with some trepidation. Myself, I was impressed that the workers were using a ladder and had also tied a rope to said limb in order to control the fall. Yet the worker in the tree was using only a machete to chop his way through the limb, non grip sole shoes and no gloves. Thankfully, the mission was successful with no injuries!

One enterprising individual decided to build a street side vendor stall, brought in his supplies and started his construction, right in the midst of the busy street life of the market in full swing. I have a real fear of electricity and simply couldn’t believe the casualness of his standing above ground, his hammer and various overhead lines tucked under his elbow as he positioned the roof brace.

The cement was mixed on the street and the structure simply lifted up and placed into coffee cans of concrete in order to both brace it and to prevent its “accidental” removal. This stall was completed the following day, with its “for rent” sign and in the month following its completion, I have yet to see it used.

There is a phenomenal amount of concrete construction all over La Ceiba and on one of the busier downtown core streets I’ve watched a two storey building progressing over the last two months.

Concrete is mixed in a pile right on the street surface and carried in 5 gallon buckets or wheelbarrows to where it is needed, building debris is piled on the sidewalk or street, supplies are piled wherever there is space and life continues in and around the construction site with no consideration for pedestrians or traffic. You can see the roasted corn vendor who has maintained his working space right at the edge of the building site, complete with airborne debris and his food sales are probably booming given the proximity to the work site.

The men work in whatever clothing or shoes they possess, I have rarely seen work gloves and have never seen a hardhat on a construction site. There are no safety harnesses, telescoping ladders, power tools and only the most rudimentary hand tools. Yet, these projects are completed!

Street Vendor's Reality

2008-04-26T06:30:00.000-07:00

I have a friend in La Ceiba, whose name is Marcos and he is a 46 year old Honduran who works for a living selling small goods on the street. Marcos is one of the more fortunate street vendors. He is pretty much fully bilingual, a practising Christian that in five years I have never seen (nor heard of) take a drink of alcohol, smoke a cigarette, use illegal drugs, swear or express a violent thought or threat. He has been raised with courtly “old fashioned” manners, is fastidious about his clothing and person hygiene and has always treated me as a proper “lady” regardless of my choices to enjoy a beer or smoke a cigarette in public. Sadly, he is also becoming increasingly deaf with no medical assistance.

There are many other street vendors who sell CD’s and DVD’s; women who sell hand towels and sandals; children selling packets of gum; young and old men who dangle their handfuls of shell, coral or coconut shell jewellery; elders who sell hair clips, school supplies and small household items arranged on a board to be hand carried with extra items in their backpacks or plastic shoulder bags.

There are the Garifuna women who walk about with large plastic tubs carried on their heads, of coconut breads and candy, casaba or fresh coconuts whereby they machete them open, plunk in a straw and you can drink the watery milk. There are also the vendors, of all ages, that sell food, drinks and snacks at the bus depots throughout the city.

Marcos’ self employment as a street vendor means that he walks miles, daily, in order to meet up with more prosperous folks and attempts to sell them watches, belts, wallets, perfumes, and the occasional oddity like a photo frame clock or new tennis shoes.

This system works whereby the vendor will buy an item like a watch for 150 lp and then attempt to sell it for as much as 250 lp; a leather wallet will cost 80 lp with a resale value of 150 lp; perfumes or aftershaves 50 lp for resale at 80 lp. Got the idea, folks?

Well, add in the reality that these street vendors walk miles every day in either the heat, humidity or rain of La Ceiba, to cover their circuits of bars, eateries, markets, tourist gathering places and any other potential buyer sites, putting on their public persona of being genial, reasonably low key marketers who constantly face varying degrees of mild to incredibly rude refusals.

Now add in the fact that there are usually a very small number of potential buyers and the additional fact the majority of these few potential buyers always try and barter down the price.

This is how these people attempt to earn enough money every day to buy a meal, a soda, a bed to sleep in that night, support others in their families, as well as enough money to make up for the days when there are no sales, no buyers and horrendous weather that keeps even them hunkered down indoors, some place, any place.

Marcos had his house broke into (the fourth time that I know of in the last three years) last month and literally had every piece of clothing, foot wear, small personal goods and all of his vending materials stolen. He explained to me that it was the people who steal to buy drugs who did it and that there are many of them in his neighbourhood. His only solution was to hope to be home another time when they broke in again, remember who they were and report them to the police.

He was also as close to totally defeated as I have ever seen him. Left with absolutely no potential of retrieving his personal goods, no goods to sell to buy a meal for the day, no decent clothes or shoes to work in, absolutely nothing but what he was wearing on his back. He is also a proud man who has never asked me for a single lempira in the whole time I’ve known him, even refusing my offers to buy him a soda while we are visiting if he has just eaten and is full or so he says. Needless to say, I did slip 100 lp out of my wallet while we were talking, fold it up small and slip it into his hand simply saying “a little something to help, Marcos.”

The reason why I am writing this is that there are some gringos here who are grossly misinformed enough to make comments stating that “these people have no interest in working for a living”; “they’re all lazy”; “you can’t do anything to help because they just don’t care” and other equally racist statements. I no longer try to educate those stupider than myself; I refuse to discuss their opinions and frequently resort to saying simply “just watch, could you do that and for how long?”

There’s a lot more behind the scenes of the waving palm trees and beach sand in La Ceiba.

PS It’s been a month now and Marcos has managed to acquire enough goods to start selling and supporting himself again. No thanks to anyone but his own indomitable spirit!

Garbage AKA Basura

2008-04-26T06:06:00.000-07:00

Over the past years, I’ve spent many, many hours walking simply everywhere in La Ceiba and with my curious greedy eyes I see a lot of the small details of daily life.

Garbage is a huge problem here in the city and on the beaches. The Hotel Majestic in Colonia La Alhambra has two 45 gallon barrels out front for their garbage and by collection day, you can’t see the barrels for everything that is either bagged up or spread loose around them.

Sadly it’s common to see a commercially sponsored half barrel labelled “Basura” that is empty while the ground six feet around it is completely obliterated with plastic and paper trash. You find it stacked in and on top the raised bins for collection, strewn on the ground, blowing down the roadways, dumped in alleys and ditches, stacked at the edges of the railway tracks, piled on the boulevards, simply and literally everywhere.

Canada has a reputation in Honduras for being a clean country that people regard with appreciation and I try to explain that children are taught from an early age that garbage is to be contained and that littering, the act of dropping small bits on the ground, is actually against the law. Frequently, this is met with that polite but quizzical look of mild disbelief and the conversational topic is changed. There is absolutely no educational process whereby the majority of people are taught to keep garbage contained for health and ascetic reasons.

By the same token, many people who are working, middle class and higher social strata work diligently, daily, to keep their homes, courtyards and boulevards as clean as any you could hope to find anywhere.

In the downtown areas, I have frequently seen the small armies that of solitary women with their push brooms and long handled whisk pans who sweep the curb sides of the main streets. Some even have their two wheeled garbage bins with bags and brooms tucked along side that they trundle along on their specific circuits.

I am not certain, but I believe these women receive a very small pittance from the municipality with the hope of monetary assistance from the business owners that their cleaning areas cover. Needless to say, these are the extreme of the lowest working class earners.

There is also a municipality organized schedule of garbage pickup in the various areas of La Ceiba. I have learned that my barrio, Colonia La Alhambra has their pickup day on the Tuesday of the week and have watched the process.

It’s an open back 5 ton truck, wooden sided with no back gate with a driver, two or three “runners” and two more workers right in the back of the truck. The truck drives along slowly while the runners grab huge bales, bags and oversized plastic barrels of trash and force or throw them up into the back of the truck. The workers in the truck then try to force it forward and on top of what is already there. None of these workers have safety boots, work or rubber gloves, masks or sometimes even long pants. No rakes to bundle up whatever has come loose, so it stays behind on the ground.

This past year I’ve noticed that there is now a market for scrap metal and some form of recycling for plastic bottles and aluminium cans which now means that there are more people digging through the trash that is put out, looking for said items. It also means that the actual garbage collectors are opening bags and going through them (bare handed!) to separate out those items that could be sold for cash.

Yes, it’s an incremental step towards an effort to recycle and curb garbage but sadly at this early stage of the game, it only makes the problem worse with even more loose garbage spread about willy nilly.

Lemonadia

2008-04-14T09:56:00.000-07:00

One of the advantages to a very slow paced life here in La Ceiba is the simple fact that there is time. Time to watch sunrises with a morning coffee, time to sit and watch drunken butterflies stagger by, time to simply wash your soul clean of all foolish stresses and nagging concerns that plague so many of us up north and sadly, even here.

One thing it also means is that I’ve got the time to wonder and explore and follow up on my little curiosities in life. My latest adventure was to wake one morning to the most delicious scent and following my nose, I opened the main door to the patio and soon made my discovery.

It was something light, delicate and mildly orange-citrus and I finally tracked it down to coming from the neighbours’ tree which just crests the patio wall. It’s covered with new clusters of tiny white flowers, bursting with gnats, flies and butterflies all feeding franticly and home to a number of my favourite little green lizards. It really reminded me of the smell of the mock orange from the house in Canada.

Dona Lucy, who takes quite a level of amusement with me and my wonderment, informed me that it was called “Lemonadia” as she noticed me hanging over the edge of the patio, snapping photos. As I kept repeating, “lemonadia, lemonadia, lemonadia” to myself (one to remember the name and secondly to pronounce it properly) she had another of her giggling episodes, shaking her head at this childlike middle aged woman who drifts through life at the top of her house.

One thing that I have noticed it that this tree seems to have a monthly cycle of new blossoms that last about 3 days is full effect, completely wither and fall over the next couple days, continues to produce shiny new leaves and then starts its blossoms all over again the following month.

Just one of the little things I’ve learned recently!

Sunsets on the Caribbean Sea

2008-04-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

I admit that I have a slight fetish with photographing sunsets over the Caribbean Sea but for those who share the same passion, enjoy!

Sunset series from the Tranquillo Bar, Utila, Bay Islands, taken in February 2008.

Series taken at Zona Viva Playa, during Semana Santa, March 18th, 2008

Sunsets at Miramar Playa, March 16th, 2008

One of my own favorites, taken from the La Ceiba dock January 5th, 2008!

What I learned at the Immigration Office in La Ceiba

2008-04-05T10:34:00.000-07:00

I’ve been following a number of discussions involving Canadians and Americans who have moved to Honduras, plan on living here permanently and thus want to become legal residents. Needless to say, there is a high level of bureaucratic paperwork that must be accomplished, with the assistance of a Honduran lawyer. There have been stories whereby the process has gone on for upward of three years, with thousands of dollars spent and in some cases, they are no further ahead than when they started.

We all know the difficulties of dealing with paperwork, government officials and changing laws or political parties but I dare say that Honduras must lead the race in mass confusion and arbitrary interpretation of said laws. Notice that I haven’t even used the word corruption, which is a well known fact of life when dealing with bureaucracy here!

I have never considered becoming a resident of Honduras, as I am unwilling to invest in business, purchase a home, drive a vehicle or stay here year round. I’ve too many friends and family that I love to see when I return to my first home in Canada! At the same time, I do regard myself as a law abiding person, and especially in a foreign country, I want to do everything I can to stay within the laws of the country I’m in. Remember my philosophy of life being good, if you keep it simple?

As a visiting tourist to Honduras, I am granted a 90 day visa when I pass through Immigration on arrival in San Pedro Sula airport. Therefore, since I insist on staying four months every year, I realized I was going to have to go to the local Immigration office in La Ceiba, to purchase a one month extension. Sounded like something I could get accomplished, especially as I thought ahead and brought along a Spanish speaking friend just in case the clerk didn’t or wouldn’t speak English.

We arrived at 10am, the appointed time for the clerk to be available and proceeded to spend the next full hour standing in line. There were only three other people ahead of me so I foolishly kept thinking that it really shouldn’t take long. I counted 6 people after me, not counting the 5 that gave up and left and the number that just looked in and decided to try again another day.

The good news is that the young woman spoke perfect English and in the course of two to three minutes explained to me that she couldn’t help me. The laws had been changed last year and I could only purchase an extension in the capital city of Tegucigeulpa. She also proceeded to show me the schedule of the fines that will be imposed when you do try to leave the country and since I’m going to be 28 days over, I’ll be fined 1,946 Lp. That is just over $100 US funds and I am simply furious. The fines schedule also makes it cheaper the longer you overstay your visa, so there is no incentive for attempting to obey the law!

Every single centavo that a tourist or expatriate spends in this country is absolutely free money to the whole economy here. I admit that I live very well by local standards and will wager I spend close to $500 a month between rent, necessities and entertainment. I’m left feeling that the Honduran politicians have decided that they aren’t making enough money from us and quite frankly are using a machete to cut off their noses to spite their face. My $100 of spending value could do a lot more in actual benefit to individuals than they will ever see from the government here and I resent being held hostage to any bureaucracy!

I apologize for this rant! But it honestly appears to me that the present government is making it more difficult for those from wealthier countries to be able to come here and simply live. It is one more example of mindless government and when you consider the depth and severity of the problems for people here, surely their energies could be better directed.

And in no way, shape or form does my opinion of Honduran government change my true feelings of respect and appreciation for the majority of the Hondurans that I meet every day!

Stephanie's Ceviche Recipe

2008-04-05T10:09:00.000-07:00

I will never profess to be a teacher of any merit but I do enjoy cooking and wanted to share one of my favourite dishes with folks. Keep in mind, I don’t actually use recipes and have not been known for measuring ingredients. My approach is rather akin to aim and fire, with tasting along the way!

Ceviche is basically marinated seafood mixed with vegetables and spices, served with crackers as a side dish. I happen to love it with fresh salad and good rye bread.

Ingredients:
4 Roma tomatoes
1 small field cucumber
1 small jalapeño pepper
1 medium red onion
4 large cloves garlic
1 bunch culantro (cilantro is much tastier!)
1 -2 fresh limes, juiced
1 lb large shrimp, cleaned and rinsed

Add a couple dashes of salt, pepper and chilli (hot sauce) to taste and a pinch of cayenne pepper to marry the flavours.

Finely mince the garlic, pepper and cilantro. Fine chop the remaining vegetables.
Dip the shrimp into boiling water, stir quickly, remove and rinse in cold water.
Chop the shrimp into halves or thirds, depending on original size.
Mix all ingredients together, adding more seasonings to your own taste.
Allow to marinate in refrigerator 3 – 4 hours before serving. Enjoy!

Street Adventures during Easter Week

2008-04-03T07:57:00.000-07:00

I tend to regard even the simplest events as a potential for adventure and La Ceiba certainly provides me with ample opportunities to witness the curiosities of life! An ordinary walk into El Centro to purchase fresh food in the market can present some amazing moments in life.

One day it was a live band on a street corner raising money for a local charity, complete with the sound system plugged into an extension cord from a nearby shop. Another time it was the police truck that had rear ended a taxi thus closing St. Isidro, a main artery through town, for over an hour.

Two years ago it was witnessing the Hotel Los Angeles burning to the ground and watching the crowds and fire fighters and National Guard. That was also the day that I decided to never leave the apartment without my camera again!

During this year’s Easter Week (Semana Santa) I spotted a wandering band of Garifuna men and boys, all dressed as women, some with shocking Halloween type masks and all carrying empty plastic jugs and small wooden sticks. I stood back across the intersection and pulled out my trusty digital camera and started taking these pictures as I watched them accost pedestrians and vehicles that came near.

They were banging on their jugs, dancing up and down, waving and shaking their arms though didn’t seem to be actually frightening anyone. Then I noticed that they were given small lempira notes or coins, stuffed into their plastic containers and the pedestrian or vehicle was freed, so to speak. They swarmed a number of vehicles as I watched, with one passenger even taking photos and then charged off down the street to another location.

Later that same day, I met up with a few members of this original “tribe” and was able to get some wonderful close up shots of the costuming and masks. These men were quite pleased to see the photos on the monitor but wouldn’t explain why or what they were doing, except to have me make a donation! Which I did rather happily as they gave me the photos; a good exchange in my eyes!

I have always wondered the “why” of this business of (most definitely male!) young men dressing as women and think I’ve found an answer. It appears to be a modern day equivalent of an original Garifuna fighting tactic; taken from a war dance whereby the men wore brightly coloured masks, layers of women’s clothing and would present themselves to their opponents as wildly suggestive women, dancing most invitingly before pulling out their weapons (from under their skirts!) and attacking. Talk about shock value!

Needless to say, I could be completely wrong but the tie to their original history makes sense to me.

Only in Hondo Land, "No Hay"

2008-04-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

Only in Hondo-land…. That’s an expression expats and gringos (and even the occasional Honduran!) resort to when things happen that just cannot make any logical sense, no matter how hard you try to fathom it.

I had started writing postcards March 27th, planning on getting them mailed out by March 31st so that it might be possible for them to get to Canada before I did. Seemed like not a bad idea…. I then ran out of postcards.

Okay, no problem I’ll just stop at the souvenir shop on Friday, buy some more and pick up my stamps at the same time. That was a good idea but they close from noon to 2pm, it was 12:10 and I wasn’t going to hang around town until they opened again. One fact of life is to simply accept that just because you have a plan does not mean its going to happen, so move on.

The next good idea was to simply reprint a couple photos of my husband and I, (they are postcard size after all) and simply mail them out, instead of buying more of the same ones thate have been in La Ceiba over the last five years. So I set up the printer and got to work yesterday and by the end of the session had 44 postcards that were ready to go except for still needing stamps.

My next good idea was to take a taxi straight to the “Correos National” at 3pm, while they were open, buy the stamps, stand there to do the “lick and stick” routine (yuck!) and get everything in the post. Therefore it would be mission accomplished and a big piece of work finished for me. Yeah team!

I got to the post office, waited my time in the line up, got to the counter and made my very simple request, with nice manners and a pleasant demeanour. That was the beginning of the end for me and my good ideas!

The bane of anyone’s existence here in Hondo-land is the expression “No hay”, (sounds like no eye) and is generally pronounced softly, apologetically, loudly or firmly depending on the person speaking.

What it means is “We don’t have any.”, “I don’t want to look for your item.”, “I don’t feel like selling anything right now.” or “I don’t care if you want it.”

How can the National Post Office run out of stamps!?!

I realize that I’m catching a cold, that my sense of humour is not operating at full strength but to add insult to injury I was informed that no one else in town had any (which may or may not be true), they didn’t know when they would get any more and I could try again tomorrow. That sure sounded like “manyana” to me and for the uninitiated it does not mean “tomorrow”, it actually means “just not today”!

Therefore the postcards will be mailed from Houston International airport on April 30th and I know that they will get home to friends before I get there from my visit to Whitehorse, Yukon. There is some small satisfaction in the realization that I won’t be standing in a line up for 20 minutes to be, yet again, told “No hay”.

POSTSCRIPT: I changed my mind... All the postcards were mailed April 2nd, from the National Post Office here in La Ceiba. It was purely by chance that I decided to try again! No line up, no excuses and no problems purchasing 44 stamps. Except that the real costs were 15 lempiras for the stamp on a 10 Lp postcard (total of 25 Lp is about $1.75 Canadian).

The "Rose Coloured Glasses" view of La Ceiba

2008-03-30T14:30:00.000-07:00

WARNING: I wrote this for a realtor site! Yeah, promotional writing is right next door to the "world's oldest profession" and this is definately NOT the whole reality of La Ceiba. I will write another one, with some of the harsh truths (photos included) to give a better balance, so please don't immediately "slam" me..... Enjoy the photos included here, these are real!

La Ceiba is a town for those with a zest for living each moment to the fullest, indulging in all the modern day conveniences yet wrapped in an Old World charm that brings you back to simpler times.

La Ceiba is a photographer’s ultimate destination; nestled between the Caribbean Sea and the Nombre de Dios mountain range, surrounded by banana and coconut plantations and ranging from white sand beaches through to red volcanic soiled hillsides. With its lush vegetation, riotous floral colours and myriad species of local and migratory birds taking their own southern sojourn from northern winters and breathtaking sunsets, it is a visual feast!

Stroll through the various "colonias” (neighbourhoods) each with their descriptive names, featuring pastel coloured homes with walled yards of stonework. Wander through El Centro with it’s indoor market and street stall vendors selling fresh fruits and vegetables, the daily catch of huge shrimp, brilliantly coloured fish and live crabs and cruise the sidewalk tables and their collections of house wares, music CD’s, DVD’s, clothing and souvenirs. Discover for yourself the tiny, tucked away shops, cafes and bars that you’ll be hard pressed to find again in your travels.

Photograph of yard wall on

Avenida Victor Hugo

Photograph of El Estero, left side.

Drift down, simply a few blocks, and take in the beaches with their upscale restaurants, hotels and the infamous El Bacalao, where the “gringos” meet on a casual basis. Slip off your sandals and walk barefoot along the white sands, collect sea shells and conch shells and then reward yourself with an inexpensive cold drink while listening to the waves and welcoming that million dollar sea breeze to cool your sun kissed face.

Photograph of Dee Jay's Champa, Miramar, La Ceiba

Wave down one of the innumerable taxis and take a drive through town to visit the Butterfly Museum, the Mega Plaza Mall or catch a round of golf at the D’Antoni course. Take a moment to stroll through the Central Park, with its impressive church on one side, and take photos of the various statues before slipping into the courtyard of the Hotel Paris. Discover Swinford Park, the botanical garden and outdoor train museum which is an oasis of calm in the busy center of town.

Photograph in Swinford Park, still maintained by Standard Fruit Co.

Photographs of street market in La Ceiba.

La Ceiba is becoming known as the “Eco Tourism” centre of Central America, with tours available in national parks and marine reserves or the outlying islands of Cayo Cochinos. You can indulge in hot springs; white water rafting or canopy zip lines if you are more inclined to real adventure or amuse yourself with the pseudo trolley train tour of the city, complete with expressive guides.

La Ceiba is known throughout the country as the “novia of Honduras”, (the sweetheart) and maintains a reputation of being both a gregariously welcoming city and a nightlife hot spot with its Zona Viva located along the eastern beach neighbourhoods. Learn your Spanish greetings, use them with a smile and you will feel that you are a new member of an affectionate and respectful family.

Is La Ceiba the place for you? You won’t know until you come for a visit and discover her many secrets for yourself. Admittedly, it has its own problems with poverty and crime but for the serious adventurer, who wants to have a winter home, a retirement investment or to satisfy their zest for living life to the fullest it is most definitely an option worth exploring!

When things go BOOM in the night...

2008-03-26T17:08:00.000-07:00

The clouds had moved in late afternoon yesterday, forced up against the “Nombre de Dios” mountain range and layered, deep and black, over the city of La Ceiba until you felt you couldn’t stand upright for the sheer weight of them above you. The waves on the beach surged and salt spray coated your skin and lenses almost immediately, blocking the view of the nearby park and the traffic on the main road.

The winds howled and roared and whipped laundry from the lines, buckets and brooms off of patios and threatened to tear your clothing from your body as everyone hustled to get indoors before the storm broke.

And then we waited as the wind blew harder, the clouds lowered, the pressure built and still no rain fell. The storm waves smashing the beach raised their decibel levels to the point where they echoed through my apartment, almost two blocks away from shore.

Surprising, the electricity stayed on! This is a small miracle in its own right, here in La Ceiba, and a massive improvement over the past five years of service (or the lack thereof!).

My day starts early, so sleep comes shortly after 10pm and thus I was curled up in bed when the skies opened. Imagine the force of a flushing toilet’s water churning down the pipes and then expand that power to cover a whole city.

Streams and sheets of water smashing straight down while the sky blurred from the almost horizontal waves of rain cascading by; dozens of rhythms crashing, ricocheting and dancing to triple time. The sound of this onslaught on the tin roofs was akin to a steel drum band run amok!

I’m accustomed to the fury of a tropical torrential rain storm now, so simply went back to sleep, grateful that I was warm and dry in my wee abode.

Hours later there was this horrific BOOM that woke me from a sound sleep! I laid there orienting myself, wondering if it had been a bomb or something similar. Car alarms in the next street had been set off and finally were stopped; I heard no one stirring in the house or people in the street, so simply listened to the rain until I slept again. Shortly thereafter, there was a second explosive sound seemingly not as close by and the ensuing car alarms were finally silenced yet again.

When I woke at 5:30 am my neighbourhood was surprisingly silent and it took time for me to realize that though the rain was persisting and people were stirring in the pulperia (corner store) downstairs, there were no radios, stereos or TV’s blaring.

Then the light went on… The power was out, the explosions I’d heard during the night were transformers and the only electrical activity there was going to be was with my braincells!

I’m so impressed that we were re-supplied with power by noon today. Many times in years past it would be considered normal to go 18 – 24 hours with nary a complaint!

It’s now after 6pm and the rain has yet to stop. Generally we’ll get a break of a couple hours between storms where you can taxi downtown for groceries or walk to a friends for a visit but not today! So it’s been a “home” day, with a fresh pot of homemade lentil stew, a good story book, some postcards written for Northern friends and family and a heartfelt wish that I’ll be able to leave the apartment tomorrow without fear of drowning!

Fishing in Utila

2008-03-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

One of the adventures we had over in Utila was to hire a local fisherman, Alan (the son of Captain Hal) and have him take us out at 6am one morning. We ventured out in a 25 foot dory, open and not five feet wide, diesel motor and a small tarp roof over the “captain”, two benches, two rod and reels and one ice chest. Off we went, through open seas riding 6 – 8 foot swells to the Pumpkin Hill end of the island and joined up with half a dozen other local fishermen in their dories. Literally the “benitos” (a small member of the tuna family, running about 1 ½ to 2 lbs each) were flying out of the water and roiling up like liquid popcorn!

The locals tend to “hand line” which is simply a heavy test line, a large hook and a plastic “inky fish” (Islander for squid or our Canadian “hoochie”) attached and then proceed to haul the line back in by hand, no matter the size of what they have caught! I saw them using ropes attached to the wooden rudders which allowed them to sweep through and circle back into the schools of fish. These are tough men!

The “benitos” are also used as bait for larger fish – simply tie one onto a float ball, attach your line and let it go behind the dory. My husband was like a kid in a candy shop, and after the first hour we’d lost track of just how many he’d brought in. The finale of his fishing fever morning was being able to land an 8 to 10 lb tuna, like the ones you would be served in local restaurants and that made the whole adventure more than worthwhile.

After about 4 hours of trolling and watching the rain clouds gather, Alan decided it was time for us to make for shore. En route back to the townsite we spotted a water spout just east of Pumpkin Hill and tried to get photos of it; and though he tried to beat the storm we got caught about 10 minutes out from the dock. Wow, what a wild rain that was! I gave up immediately and put my glasses away and had to keep a hand cupped over my eyes to protect them from the stinging slap of rain drops pounding down on us like hail. By the time we made it to shore, we were sopping wet, grinning like banshees and thoroughly pleased with the mornings adventures! My husband has frequently called me his little “Storm Queen” given my passion for the sea and a rollicking good storm and yet again I revelled in the passion of Mother Earth.

The “benitos” are sold locally for bait at about 10 LP a pound so our captain made a tidy little profit between our fare and the spoils of the “hunt”, hopefully enough to cover the exorbitant cost of the fuel. Alan also skinned and filleted the larger tuna for us to share with friends at Alton’s Dive Shop, so quite a number of folks benefited from our “tourista” indulgence.

Hmmm.....

2008-03-13T12:06:00.000-07:00

My very first posting has been offered up to the cyber gremlins!

I was so excited that I’d been able to create my own blog and had stated that I was hoping that the rest of this technological adventure wouldn’t be as complicated or scary for me and then something happened. I have no idea just what though….

When in doubt I simply blame it on the “cyber gremlins” (which is more fun than admitting to operator failure) and they have received their share of unintended offerings in the past. Thank goodness for writing to a flash drive and using the copy/paste “thingy” so I’ve got a record of what I was babbling about.

The question “Who else is a Luddite?” is a polite form of asking who else is completely useless when faced with computers, software programs, the internet and other electronically operated things. I am the woman who refers to the television remote control as the “idiot stick” because I’m the one who can’t make it work; note I said nothing about programming it!

The only reason I’ve learned the minimum about using a laptop and the internet is simply because I love to write, scribble, keep a journal, wonder about various moments in life, stay in touch with friends and family via long distance and type writer ribbons are getting hard to find.

One purpose of this blog is to post some of the many photos I’ve taken over the past few years, both in Honduras and in Canada and to share the stories from those times and other ones that I’ve written as communal newsletters. Other than that, I’m not sure just what else I want to do here – maybe swap recipes, garden adventures, travel stories or ideas about writing with other folks; maybe provide a space for folks who are as curious and sometimes as confused, about the world we live in as I am. Who knows, I’ll just see how this evolves.

This is going to be a ridiculously complicated learning curve for me, so if folks who stumble on this blog have tips for me, please share. Information is power and I’m the first one to admit it when I need help.

Okay, let’s see if this gets posted or if the cyber gremlins are still hungry……