And I'm out of here!

Firstly, let me appologize for the normal amount of spelling errors in my posts. Usually I don't have the energy to go back and fix my bad typing skills. Let it be known though, that i DO know the difference between too and too and all the theres[.. I promise! * plus, as a little added extra, this keyboard does not have any letters on it, they have completely rubbed off.. so my typing may be even worse than usual...:)

Classes are over, but the experience will last- my first teaching stint was a success! It opened my eyes to many things I would not have thought about, and at times made me gasp with horror
one example of an  "eye opening" experience was teaching the teachers. They have a pretty solid english    base, so we worked mostly on speaking and writing. but oh dear, was it hard. Like pulling teeth. The first   thing we did was draw and random picture, and later (I thought) we would write a story for it. My lesson    plan included 5 minutes for drawing. I gave them an example on the white board of something random and -crazy. I drew a shark and a waterfall and a castle.. all with my less than fantastic drawing skills in  30 or so -seconds. An hour later, THey were finally done theirs. What were they? All four of my teachers drew a flat roofed house, a cow, and some potato fields... thinking outside the box is just never done here!

Sad but true, they are taught from a young age not to explore beyond the familiar. I  looked after some kids in a nursury for a few days, and we colored.. with ONE color of crayon. (reason being aparently that the kids intentionally break them, so they just get one.)

Even more eye opening, I decided that we would colour on BLANK pages ( never done, you must color within  the lines of preprinted coloring pages.) They asked me what to draw, and when I said whatever they sat there, still as  minature statues for a lonnng time. Finally a little girl, thank goodness, started --------to draw a dog.. so all the kids copied her and drew a dog. Ahhhhh..

Still, the kids were great, very studious.  However Despite cackling at my spanish they still seemed to be unable to talk to me directly. The few that gathered up the courage to speak with the light haired flip flop wearing me( it is Winter, don[t you know? I was told.. winter, yet 27 degrees in the sun..) were very nice, and loved talking about their lives. I'll miss them, and my English classes. Spanish is so much easier when you know exactly what the equivalent is in English!

I went to the prison TWICE. because it was just so interesting.The first time I went there with a old missionary from Germany, and the second time by myself. The missionary teaches, has made a church available to the men, and has done some good work. It was plain to see that his presence was greeted happily by the inmates and the guards. It gave them something to do in their spare time * not to mention the food he brought in was greeted by cheers, haha). One of the guys spoke really good english, so i just cruised around, looked in barracks, and asked questions through my interpreter. The GUARD told me,  before I went in, that probably half of the guys are innocent, so it was wierd trying to view them as men serving their time for worngful acts, because who knows if they did something or not? In Honduras, often you get thrown in jail because someone said you did something, and you wait and wait and wait for your trial. More often you serve your whole sentence without getting to argue your case. 10, 15, I taked with guys who had been in there for 20 years, whose case had never been heard by a judge. Then again, I talked with guys who  said they killed their wifes lover in a drunken rage with a beer bottle..a little bit of everything.

The thing I found the most interesting was the saftey. The guards never go into the prison. They just stand on the roof looking into the open courtyard with machine guns. However, the store keeper (also an inmate) told me he has never been robbed. His cash box is an open basket full of crumpled bills. If someone  wrongs another, they "take care of it" and the gurads turn a blind eye. A few of the guys said 'trust' is all they have. They have to live, shit, and eat side by side, so they can't go stabbing eachother in the back.

Just like the hospitals here, if you want a blanket, juice, toilet paper, you have to buy it yourself. Beans and rice are provided twice a day but everything from shoes to shampoo and beds  are provided  by the inmates or their family.  The beds were crazy, four high, hanging from the ceiling, you have to jump and climb to get to the highest ones.If you don,t have money to buy a bed, you sleep on the concrete.

I spent two months living like a queen with a family. My breakfest was laid out for in the morning, and supper with the family was made for me at night. They refused to let me help, and it  took a few weeks to cojole them into letting me do my own laudry. Who wants another person hand scrubbing your undies?!

They constantly corrected my spanish and we had some interesting and lively conversations.The father in particular was interested in asking about my "foreign morals, and white girl thoughts". jaja. He was a super nice guy, but thought he was this liberal and  modern father and husband. He, who had no job, swept.. once a week.. and watered outside. He said he had no problems with Homosexuality, yet would not tolerate it with his daughters. He slept through the morning routine of getting his kids to school, and woke up with me to a breaky already made. The dishes stayed on the table, to wait  for Patty, his wife, to come home and do them. Sometimes it was hard to keep my mouth shut. Patty and the kids played games with me, and explained wierd festivals and cultural dances. Patty even taught me how to make pupusas, and we made them Kristin style with rosemerry and spinach one night for supper. I learned later that Patty had to go the a different town to get the spinach, because it is not normally eaten here.. oops!

Different, but a fantastic family. I am sad to have left  (especially the morning treat!), but I am on to different things!

A twelve hour chicken bus, and I am back up in Guatemala, which is by far my favorite place. I have two days to shop and get anything I want  ebfore I fly out of Guat city on Wednesday. I have a 17 day rafting trip waiting for me in Arizona, wish me luck!

La Esperanza

Got here, settled in.. Some great things and some great people.. Also some mildly crazy people. You can meet them all down here in quaint La Esperanza!

I was greeted at the bus station ( rather.. A large shoulder on the road..) by an older gentleman who drove me to where I would stay for a week until Susan, the head honcho of Ël maestro en Casa¨ came in from the States.

Welcoming and knowledgeable, this gentlemen is a great tour guide. However you have to take everything he says with a grain of salt ( if more bull  equates to needing more ¨grains of salt¨, you may need a good cupful   of that skepticism...). This Santa look alike American is here as a missionary to help those less fortunate. Straight from the ¨Bible Belt¨ he brings his beliefs and his church ( or as he would say ¨ I am the church¨) to the ignorant Catholic Hondurans ( again, his words not mine.) He calls the local poor lazy, and after seven years of living here he has learned less that a dozen words of Spanish. Why? Why, English is more superior, because it is the language of the bible. (duh.) He teaches the problems with evolution and ¨them science terms¨, the sinful and hell bringing consequences of birth control  and bible to the church and to the prison. (I went to the prison.. The only way I will ever go back is if I am dragged in!)

He believes me to be ignorant too, and tried to teach me all about how America is going to hell because ¨The Blacks¨are taking over and aim to show those previously in power how horrible it is to be a slave.

I admire the missionaries who come here to help, and it is plain to see all the different agencies and individuals who have helped over the years, they have left a positive lasting impression. However it is hard for me to see the good in actions that are so close minded and don´t benefit the people.

 Despite all this, I really believe that even though he is a disillusioned drawling Southerner,  it is still admirable to leave the comforts of home for what you believe in.


ANYWAYS. I still enjoy listening and asking questions to this man who I thought only existed  50 years ago or in films. Real eye opener.

From the dozens of Aid and development organizations, I managed to find one that fit exactly what I wanted. No religious agenda, community based, and not a ¨volunteer holiday¨kind of gig. El Maestro en Casa is a small school that helps La Esperanza and the surrounding communities to reach their education goals. The public education system here is disgustingly corrupt. The schools are full, falling apart, and don´t have many of the necessary supplies. Kids rise grade through grade passing if they deserve it or not.

To parents who had no education, receiving a pass is all they need to show them that their child is progressing. However, the kids arn´t learning. The teachers are always on strike, and half the school year is cancelled.  EMEC gets kids regularly in seventh and even eighth grade who can´t spell their name. No joke.

EMEC also helps those who can´t get to public schools because of isolation or economical situations. Mostly of the Lenka community, these indigenous people live in the mountains with  rice, corn and coffee crops. Kids are often needed in the fields, so EMEC and its once a week distance education program is really tailored to their needs.

Susan, the 70 year old, fit, expressive, amazing director started this section of EMEC a long time ago, and now is trying to wean herself away and let the others run the school ( former graduates). She has for years gone back and forth between the states, living for a decade here in Honduras setting up this project and others like it. I saw her house.. It was in the middle of nowhere, no running water, no electricity.. No road.. Much to remote for me not to go crazy!

I have two months to do a semester of the Bachillato program ( highlights split into two years), to give daily lessons to the teachers, bi weekly beginner English lessons, and to make a decent semester of lesson plans for the next volunteer to follow. It is great, I feel like I am doing something worthwhile, and improving my Spanish all at the same time.

After leaving here, I am going to do a day shopping trip in Guatemala City ( put in your orders now!!) and then I fly to Arizona for a 17 day rafting trip through the Grand Canyon!

Life is full of adventures!

Ok, Nicararagua.. where to start

    Well, inititial views of Nica were.. different... It was through my airconditioned, window seat Tika tour bus, like any other wheelly bag traveller. The bus dealt with customs; we didn't have to attempt to communicate with anyone, we didn't have to bargin for our entrance fee, we didn't have to pick a txi driver out of the swarm who followed us. Basically, I could have been in Canada and I wouldn't have know because it was just that easy.

   Not a bad experince, but I feel like I missed out a bit on the travel experience.. not to worry though, I get to go through plenty more dirty, dusty border checks.. not too mention the inexplicably long amount of no mans land in between...

    Past the border, everything looks pretty similar to Guatemala, just not quite as good. The Spanish architecture mixed with the startling bright colors are a bit more drab, and the local customs are similar but not quite as prominent. The people.. ughh the people almost ruined it for me!

   For various reasons I suppose, the people are rude. No chit chat, no politely listening as you attempt to talk in Spanish. Transaction---done. No smile, no help, I am a walking bank card to them and that is all. Ugh. It is the most frusturated I have  been on this whole trip. I understand there are asshole tourists who deserve a punch to the face and a good shot of manners, but shop owners and hostel workers and in the customer service industry. Put a freaking smile on your face!

    ok. It's out of my system.. on to some good stuff.



    After the boder I went to Granada and Leon, volcano towns !
New ones, old ones, erupting ones.. who knows, but if you pay, you can find someone to take you up anyone of them!
  

    I did  an overnight vocano hike on Telika, an active volcano with a 700 m wide crator. Smoke was pouring out of the center, making it hard to breathe and to see the lava underneath. But I did! I saw some freaking lava! Check on the bucket list for sure. The depths of the crator made a groaning crunching sound, which constantly reminded me that its most recent erruption was in 2011. Later when we had made it back to the vehicles, our guides said they were a little worried because of the increased noise and smoke. Pretty happy they told me that after we were out of the danger zone..

My second volcano experience was volcano boarding down Cerro Negro.
This volcano is so recent  that no vegetation grows on the sides, and the ground is hot to touch at the top. Reaching speeds up to 80 km an hour (radar guns are great!) we sled down the front of the volcano on crudely made toboganns. Fun!

After my volcano fun, I carried my dirrty self (ash and dust stick to everything..)  to Ometepe. Ometepe is an island formed by volcanoes (who would have thunked!)that sits in the middle of Lake Nicaragua, the biggest lake in Central America. This lake drains into the Carribean although it is closer to the Pacific. and is succeptable to fresh water bull sharks and back in  the day, Pirates.

    For unknown reasons, I had bag issues on the island. At the music festival all my gear in my day pack was stolen, and in the morning I couldn't summon up where I had left my large backpack. I spend a good chunk of the day on a rented bike, cruising around hoping to see the hostel that would jostle my memory.

    Bag found, and ferried back to the mainland I headed for San Juan Del Sur, and our Christmas house!

    The Christmas house was a mansion on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It had a pool, statues and a open style layout . You could open up three sides of the rooms, by sliding the mesh walls and the lack of bugs insured that we kept them open pretty much the whole time.
    8 of my new friends and I split the costs of this and a 4x4 to get there, not to mention copious amounts of food.. and *cough* 49 bottles of rum. We split cooking and cleaning up and survived it all without major dilemma. It was a great orphans christmas!

   The house was good but the beach is spectacular. This time a round I merely sat beside it in the sand and took quick swims. My brief struggle with surfing has stopped.. on the realization that the surfboard (and teammate "wave" ) was always going to win.
I had beach fires, complete with energy circles and massage sessions. ( All curtesy of "Shine"the self made spirit guide..)

    I saw thousands of crabs all washed up and having a group pow wow on the beach, and baby sea turtles (the ones that survived being poached) make their way to sea.
In four days of living in a hammock by the ocean I demolished three novels, ate out every meal, enjoyed my share of treats and rum, swam and played volleyball  all for a grand total of 27 dollars.
Ahhhh.. swweet paradise.

    This beach style living, specatular as it was, gave way to an unfortuante parasite.. that resulted in some ugly open sores. Ughh. Apparently caused by special Central American sandflies.. I got the special treat of a blood infection.

 Antibiotics should make these devils disapear, just in time!
I am on my way to Honduras to teach English for 2 months to second year Highschool students. Hopefully I dont look like a beast when I show up.. Please work drugs, PleaSE!