Carl Sandberg house and the hilly hiking trails

I am embarrassed it took me so long to make it out to the Carl Sandberg house in Flat Rock.  For two years I have been saying I wanted to go and when Scott lived in Hendersonville he was only one mile away; we always talked about going.  I am also embarrassed that I didn't know who Carl Sandberg was until I drove by his house several years ago, but isn't that why you visit houses and museums like this...to learn?

Goat barn view coming off of the trail

This morning I woke up and decided I would head out that way and try out their trails; I didn't go into the house because I am saving that for when Scott and I can experience it together.  I did walk around the house and read about Carl Sandberg.  I visited the goat house and barn area, lots of fun if you have little kids!  But the trails...WHEW!  They kicked my butt.

Pretty lake near the parking area

I hiked Glassy Mountain trail and some connectors to make four miles out of it, with a 873 foot elevation gain.  It was a hot and muggy morning and I had to stop at a bench on the way up because I was feeling a little light headed. The hills on the way up are no joke! Once at the top there is a flat balsam with a pretty view of the tall trees and I (think) Hendersonville.  Lots of people on this trail, very active with morning walkers and dogs.  Everyone was so friendly, waving and wishing 'good day!'

I definitely want to go back, loved exploring this area and learning more about Carl Sandberg.

Lots of goats for people to play with

Bearwallow Mountain and the Cows...

View from the Top of Bearwallow Mountain

Today I headed up to Bearwallow Mountain, it's a hike that's only 30 minutes from my house between Asheville and Chimney Rock.  Even though the directions said not to use GPS it turned out to be really easy to find and was a very easy hike.  Just one mile up to the top where a bunch of cattle greeted us, as well as bunch of satellites from the 1980's.  It was such a beautiful view and I had it all to myself, just me and Baxter...and two other people enjoying their picnic lunch of sushi. It takes a lot of effort to go buy sushi and then hike it up the mountain one mile before it gets too warm to eat.

Drive up the mountain

Careful where you walk

Once at the top I roamed around the abandoned buildings before walking back down an unmarked road that led me back to the car.  I was looking for little Bearwallow Mountain trail but didn't find it...I did find Trombatore trail that I'll go back and hike, I would have done it today but it's five miles and I just didn't have the time since I was headed to Diamondbrand kayak days on Lake Julian.

Man, what a great day to explore. The weather was perfect and not a lot of other people out there.  Another thing checked off the list...

Max Patch and the Appalachian Trail

I have been wanting to hike this trail for 2.5 years since I first moved to Asheville. It's one trail everyone tells me about, it's easy to get up to the viewpoint and from there you can add on as much length as you want.  Today I finally got up early and made it to the trail head around 9:15 AM, it took me a little over one hour to get there from my house.  The last 30 minutes was a 4-wheel drive road, so I'm finally getting the use out of my CRV that I wanted 😃 The cloud cover was still all around so it was pretty to see it rise above the mountains, plus I had the area mostly to myself.  Just a few campers from last night that were leaving.  Camping up there sounds like a good idea, but it was really windy and 55 degrees when I set off so probably not on my bucket list.

On the AT overlooking the mountains

This summer I'm trying to do all new things in the WNC area that I haven't done before. I feel so lucky to live in an area that people come to vacation in, I really want to take advantage of living here and explore my own backyard.  I hiked the long loop around, plus up and down the N and S part of the Appalachian Trail and an out/back side trail called Buckridge Gap, which takes you to neither a ridge or a gap, making it a 10 mile trek.  I wasn't disappointed, here are a few of my photos...

Top of Max Patch

Drive up to Max Patch

I would suggest wearing hiking boots, I wore my Chaco's, even though I had a pair of hiking boots and a pair of North Face hiking shoes in the car.  It's a pretty muddy trail once you work your way down there.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Wow, I haven’t been here for a while. It’s been almost 4 months to the day I left Peace Corps and a definite roller coaster it has been. Upon being given my one-way fare to return to my “home of service” record I flew back to North Carolina while Peace Corps sent my medical paperwork to the Department of Labor for “review.”  This has turned out to be a nightmare over the last 4 months, with never ending doctor’s appointments, claims being denied, a plethora of paperwork and daily phone calls and emails to see what is and isn’t approved for my body.  I am no longer afraid to talk with anyone about any part of my internal working systems and when the doctor asked me Thursday “So, what do you think about Peace Corps” I responded “I don’t think you really want my opinion.” 

The truth is the life of a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) is not easy anyways, and the life of a medically-separated RPCV in an economic downturn is even harder.  Trying to find a job, an apartment, a car, and put your life back in order after you have not-existed in the USA for one year is difficult, combined with the frustrations of weekly doctor appointments and the bureaucracy that is called Department of Labor and Post Service Unit (Peace Corps) and it’s enough to make you want to jump off a bridge.  One example of this was this past week on my final doctor’s appointment, where the doctor (maybe?) thinks he figured out what has been causing my stomach problems and sent me home with three prescriptions.  I called the PSU office to see how to get them filled and was told I had to send in a form to the DOL for pre-approval and would hear back in 4-10 weeks.  Google mapping a bridge right now….

What have I been doing when I am not at the doctor? Over the last few years I had begun thinking about opening my own business.  If the politicians aren’t going to be real with you, I will-the economy IS NOT getting any better.  In fact, I think it’s getting worse.  Seeing as how sending out 100 resumes still gets you nowhere these days and even if you want to work at McDonald’s you have to take a quiz online and (as they said on CNN yesterday) “it’s not just burger flipping anymore, there is a science to it, advanced training is required” I decided it was the perfect time to take the plunge and go for it.  The last few months I have been going non-stop attending small business classes at the local community college, meeting with the Economic Development Workforce, and speaking with county and state officials about the plans.  Together, with my dad, we came up with the name “Sausy Bites” and my friend Jacky has been great at helping me with the business plan.  I hope to have everything finalized and ready to present for loans/grants in the next couple of months.  If you guys haven’t checked out my website, please take a look (it is still in the very early stages) www.sausybites.com

I have also been working hard to rehab my ankle injury that I sustained around the same time the parasite found me.  I have been back in the gym and the hot yoga studio and have lost half of the 30 pounds that I found while in Honduras!  My body is feeling healthier and I hope these new meds will help my stomach. 

Finally, you all know that I cannot get the traveling out of my blood.  This summer I was lucky enough to get to visit Spain for the second time around and saw the beautiful beaches south of Barcelona, Munich (where I looked for Olympic Stadium twice, but continued to get lost), Asheville (where I got to hang out with my brother and mom for a few days), Vegas (just long enough to win), Dallas to see my family, and Myrtle Beach (where I did not get to shag).   

That’s about it from here.  I will try to be better about updating the blog again.  Until then, I hope you all have a great weekend!

-Jen

Gracias Cuerpo de Paz

May 19, 2011

Gracias Cuerpo de Paz

Me and my Spanish teacher Liz, at swearing in ceremony

Today is my last day as a Peace Corps Volunteer.  I think it’s a little ironic that my lunchtime fortune cookie read “You will soon gain something you have always wanted.”  I have completed exactly one year of service and can honestly say that I am looking forward to being back in the USA.  I am being medically separated because of a stomach infection that won’t seem to go away; after having numerous tests done, a hospitalization about six weeks ago, and a colonoscopy last week, I keep coming up clear.  That hasn’t stopped my stomach from constant moving, like an old washing machine detaching from the wall.  Since the colonoscopy I have felt A LOT better and the doc says it will just take time…that I probably picked something up from my last bacterial infection that just needs to “move its way out” or IBS.  If you don’t know what that is, I suggest you Google it.

Me and my training instructor, Javier, at swearing in ceremony

As I leave my time with Peace Corps, I went back to read my ‘Aspiration Statement’ and see if I had achieved the goals I hoped to so long ago.  I had written:

“While traveling through Latin America before, I learned how difficult it was for women to gain respect and leadership within Latino communities.  I tried to put myself in the shoes of successful international policy women, such as Condoleezza Rice and Hillary Clinton.  While admired in their home country of the United States, I found that they may not gain the same reception when traveling abroad for meetings and found that adopting this mentality helped me to effectively work with area leaders on a more successful level.  In Honduras, I expect more ‘machismo’ factor, and plan to best adapt by respecting the Latino culture, while effectively expressing to the community that women are smart, intelligent thinkers, whose ideas can be shared on an equal playing field.” 

FYI, THE MACHISMO FACTOR IS ALIVE AND WELL IN HONDURAS.  It doesn’t matter how long you live in your community, who you work for, or who your counterparts are, you will always be viewed as a woman.  It is beyond difficult to be a woman in Honduras and everyday I pray for the women who have to live there.  As a “gringa” woman I do receive slightly more respect, but not much.  

Awesome friendships made in PC; at the feria in Orocuina!

“Three times I have been fortunate enough to live with Latino families and immerse myself in their culture; Nicaragua, Panama, and Ecuador.  Each family taught me something completely different and I made friendships to last a lifetime.  During pre-service training, I hope to continue strengthening my Spanish-speaking skills so that I can succeed in my Peace Corps role, I want to listen and hear what are the top issues facing local Honduran families so that I can work with NGO’s to find solutions, and finally I would like to gain a true understanding of what a day in the life of an average Honduran is, so that I can see through their eyes what it is like to live in the country I will call home.”

The issues facing Latin American families are the same issues facing families in the USA; economic hardship, healthcare, and education.  In the USA everyone has access to an education, but parents and kids take advantage of it and right now the government is cutting teacher jobs (teachers who want to work and love their jobs).  In Honduras only 40% of kids make it past 6^th grade, where teachers go on strike all the time for 10 different reasons; you have kids and parents who want to go to school but can’t.  In Honduras you have people who want to get a job and work for $2/day to support their family, then come home and work over a hot stove all night long.  In the USA you have elected officials that can’t even get a recycling bin on the corner b/c they can’t decide on the right contracting firm to build the trashcan.  Really, America, let’s get it together.

“There is no telling what I will decide 27 months from now; 27 months ago I was working at the United States Senate when I decided to quit my job and ride the chicken bus through Latin America.  This decision led me to a volunteer opportunity in Ecuador and an application to the Peace Corps.  It has always been my intent in life to help those that cannot help themselves; if I find that my work in Honduras is not done in 27 months then I will continue to work with local organizations towards bettering the country.  Without a doubt, the Peace Corps will strengthen my Spanish-speaking skills and could lead me to return to the United States and help the Latino population in a leadership role. “

Yeah….so here I am 12 months later.  My Spanish-speaking is fantastic.  According to my fortune “I will soon gain something I have always wanted.”

All sworn in at the Embassy and ready to go

Thank you Peace Corps for giving me a great year of my life, for helping me make new friends from all over the small aldeas and communidades de mi nueva casa.  Make no mistake, Peace Corps is hard.  As the saying goes “it’s the hardest job you’ll ever love.”  That is correct; there is nothing more difficult than going into the unknown, thinking you speak the language, learning you don’t, living with strangers, eating strange food, eating the same strange food (day after day after day), get scabies, having men follow you around, watching guns fly up in the air, running past machetes, getting robbed, getting sick, hiking up a mountain in the rain, riding a broken bike 20K in the 100 degree weather, having no electricity/computer/iPod/TV for three days, cleaning a pila, finding out what a pila is, but there is nothing better than laughing and sharing ideas with people who have made the same decision as you to build new roads, bring water to the rural world, treat a bronchial patient that otherwise wouldn’t see a doctor, teach kids about HIV/AIDS and self-esteem, give someone a new stove so they don’t need cataracts at age 40, celebrate Thanksgiving with 20 of your best new friends bonding over the only turkey within 100 miles, watching Harry Potter in Spanish with your counterpart who has never been to the movies, and yes, even going on a date with someone who immediately calls you their “novia.”  Thanks for the memories Peace Corps, see you on the flip side.

Life is Like a Cup of Stool Samples

May 4, 2011

Each time I hit a milestone birthday, I always make a list of things I want to do, or hope to accomplish within the next five years.  I have been really fortunate in my life to experience many great things, like watching the Eiffel Tower light up at night, riding horses through the Kaibab National Forest, snorkeling with sharks in Belize.  (This past week I was able to celebrate outside the White House as our nation had one of the most historic days in recent history, another memorable experience)  The one thing I never thought I would have to do, at least for 30 more years or so is undergo a colonoscopy.  Over the last year I have learned way more than I EVER wanted to know about stool samples, big ones, little ones, liquid ones, blurry ones, you name it, I have done it.  The first time the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) handed me a small brown lunch bag and said she would have the courier pick it up the next morning I looked at her like she had dipped in to her medicine cabinet.  She wanted me to do WHAT? As I peeked into that brown lunch bag, which did not contain some fun snack my mom had long packed for me, I found a little plastic cup and a popsicle stick.  What the hell was I supposed to do with this?  This was obviously a “learn as you go” concept.  As the PCMO and I soon bonded over a scale of diarrhea, where I was to label how “liquid” my stool was on a scale from 1 to 5, I soon realized that my privacy issues had flown the coop.

Since that day last August, I have become a walking commercial for all those Imodium and Pepto ads you see on TV, and way too familiar with anything bowel related.  As Peace Corps Volunteers, I find it both funny and sad that many of our “coffeehouse” conversations often turn to who is the most regular at the time.  I once gave a stool sample in an old Gerber baby jar at the local hospital in Choluteca, the whole time wondering if that was the same baby jar that floated around my neighborhood in the 70’s.  This whole topic brings me to this last month, when I was in the hospital for the stomach pain and vomiting bacteria infection that left me watching late night novellas and “Chicago” in Spanish, surrounded by my PCV friends cheering me up.  Apparently there is still something in my system, although I’m not too sure what.  After singing the ever endearing child’s song “When you’re slidin’ into first and you’re feelin’ somethin’ burst…” for over a month now, PC sent me to a specialist who handed me more bottles than I ever care to see again.  Then, she gave me INSTRUCTIONS, that’s right INSTRUCTIONS on how to poop…

Excuse me ma’am, but I have been pooping for 32 years and I’m quite clear on this scenario.  But, now, it seems I have to do this on saran wrap and then dig into it for parasites?  If I wanted this job, I would HAVE KIDS!  I might as well wear a diaper and bring that back to the lab.  Then, after following all her instructions for three days (that’s right three days), I find out the lab test tubes have been RECALLED.  I’m sorry, but my poop is not good enough for you?  In case you don’t know the standard steps on giving a stool sample, please let me help you out:

1.       1. Eat as much fat and disgusting food as possible.  A little stool will not help; you want to make sure that you’ve got enough to help out the good doctor.  This is not a salad kind of day; I suggest potato skins lathered in chili or hot dogs from a street vendor.

2.      2.  Wait about two minutes, since your body is already in-normal anyways, it’s gonna kick in immediately.

3.       Apologize to your roommate about the bathroom situation (and also housekeeping).

4.     3.   Take the saran wrap and cover the toilet (I suggest doing this before you eat, since once it kicks in there may not be time).

5.      4.  Scoop up as many parasites and critters as possible for collection.

6.      5.  Sit back and wonder what the hell everyone is thinking about you.

Now that I have done all of these abnormal things, the doctor can’t find anything wrong with me.  Even though I still have abdominal pain and my life revolves around the toilet.  This is where the colonoscopy comes in; it’s like the Christmas bonus I never received from Peace Corps.  Muchismas Gracias Cuerpo de Paz!  I have been waiting for this day!  In excitement, I arrived at the doctor with two minutes to spare today, just in time to realize I was the only female there, as well as the only “customer” under the age of 70.  When the receptionist asked for my insurance, I’m pretty sure she wanted to say Medicare.  Obviously this is not the doctor’s office where I’ll be meeting my future husband.  Unless they’re bringing their grandpa in for a check-up.  Here’s hoping!

Staying positive…this weekend I have more stool samples to look forward to!  Yes!  I feel like I should have one of those repeat customer cards, 10 stool samples and your 11^th one is collected by Brad Pitt!  Next week, colonoscopy!  Woo hoo, if I’m lucky, maybe ER Doctor George Clooney will drop by.

Notes from the field: Thanks to everyone who voted for my Thirdgoal.org video!  I won and will receive $27 to REI to use for my site in Orocuina, Honduras.  

See the news here! http://www.thirdgoal.org/blog/

How to Be a Gimp When Lions are Chasing You

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Two weeks later, I find myself still in DC rehabbing my ankle and hobbling around this historic city.  PCV’s have different thoughts about being med-evaced.  Everyone is here for a different reason, some for surgery and rehab, some for counseling, some for far worse (assault, threats, etc).  It is like a mini-PC world in the middle of Georgetown, where PCV’s from all over the world find themselves bonding over war stories of villages and pueblos far away from the hustle and bustle of the Metro in mid-town DC.  Normally, this would be right up my alley, an extrovert like myself…the life of the party… “Let’s go out!  Let’s explore DC and get to know each other!”  But, with one leg in a brace and dragging behind me, I soon found out that Georgetown is like some third-world countries in its “friendliness”towards the disabled.  The cobblestone streets and brick sidewalks may seem like a good idea to the National Park Service and the Historical Societies, but to anyone with a crutch as an accessory, it’s just a nuisance.

Togo & Honduras make their way to the National Zoo

After a few days with my leg propped up in the hotel room I was definitely bored.  My roommate, Terri, and I decided to open the drapes and venture out.  The weather in DC has been less than stellar, in fact it has been downright dismal, with below normal temps and rain.  At any rate, we decided to hit up the National Zoo, where we sought out a wheelchair for my gimp leg.  What we found was a $25 fee and background check on our driving skills to take out the “rascal.”  $25?!?  What is the National Zoo coming to when a space boot doesn’t even get you a free ride around the lions, tigers and what was that…AN ANACONDA?  We were told we had to walk to the pandas to get a regular wheelchair, in which Terri would push me around, up and down the hills, where a field trip of kids later stepped on my foot as they raced to see the zebras.  One point for the wilderness, zero points for Jen and Terri.

So cold in DC; waiting for Cherry Blossom Parade to start

Land of budget cuts

Next, I decided to venture up to the National Peace Corps Association to see if I could offer up a combination of my volunteer and political skills all mashed in one.  As though it was my lucky day, the NPCA was begging, I mean advocating, Congress not to cut their .1% of the national budget.  Swindler that I am, I took those letters and hobbled my air cast right on up to Capital Hill.  Three days later we had collected ¼ of the signatures.  While pulling myself back up on the bus, I informed the driver I had accidently gotten on the wrong bus one minute ago and “did I really need to pay again, since the driver had only taken me one block?”  He said “Do you know how many times a day I hear that from people wearing a cast on their foot?”  

Actually, no I don’t, but thanks for reminding me how dishonest DC and the USA are.  Really?  I find it hard to believe that hoards of people are peddling their butts around the United States of America in casts just looking to save a buck.  Let’s just also insert a note here that I can bus it all around Central America without getting lost, but when it comes to our Nation’s Capital, I have taken the wrong bus twice this week. 

More awesomeness to being “disadvantaged” in a big city is having everyone and their grandpa asking “Wow, that’s a big boot, how did you hurt your ankle?”  Since the real story is totally not interesting, I have begun creating interesting and totally amusing lies to see where the day will take me.  Here are some of the best I have come up with (and that people actually believe):

-I am a gymnast and was training for the 2012 Olympics; I fell off the balance beam and broke it.

-I live in Honduras and we have really big lions living in the mountains.  They were chasing me as I waited for the bus. (The fact that people don’t know there are lions in Honduras is what is sad).

-I am a burlesque dancer and I was hanging from chandeliers during one of my performances; as I was swinging to the next one I slipped and fell onto the bar. (I’m pretty sure this one could be true).

National Cherry Blossom Parade

Despite my balance beam/burlesque performances, my ankle is healing.  The doctor has cleared me to return to Honduras at the beginning of May.  I now have a lace up protective brace that I’ll wear almost every day while in country.  I will also wear tennis shoes more, instead of my Chaco’s.  I have tried to take full advantage of DC, by volunteering with NPCA, meeting with Peace Corps Director Aaron Williams, visiting all the museums, and more.  After averaging two books a week while in Honduras, I haven’t picked up a book since being here, but I have read every exhibit at the US History Museum, Holocaust Memorial Museum, Newseum and more.  I have learned more about Abe Lincoln than I ever knew before and am definitely a master on all things Presidential. 

Thanks for the memories, DC, it has been fun.  Look out, Honduras, I’m (almost) back to normal and ready to return to country.  It’s about to get crazy!

DC Med-Evac

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Not only a boot, but also a WEAPON!

Last we spoke, I was heading to the USA for a week of vacation, relaxation, and air-conditioning.  No sooner did I land in the land of dreams that I walked through customs and into baggage claim where I tripped, slid and fell flat on my butt in front of everyone and their welcoming families.  Too embarrassed to notice the pain right away, I turned and looked at my friend Heather to say “Wow, that really hurt.”  Heather said “I thought you were trying some new dance move,” since I apparently landed on my knees and slid like Brittney used to before the two kids and daily-lattes.  But, no, there were no dance moves, I actually just wiped out and started my American-vacation with my foot up in the air and bags of ice surrounding the ankle to help with the swelling.  My ankle looked like a softball.  What was I supposed to do?  As a traveling PCV, I had no idea how to get ahold of the doctor in America, which made me realize how ill-prepared I was to be traveling ‘abroad’ in the USA.  After sending emails back to Honduras and calling the PC office in DC, I was finally hooked up with an orthopedic surgeon the following day over by GWU.  By then, I obtained a pair of crutches and hobbled my way around to the bar; if there is no medicine at your disposal, then I suggest large amounts of vino.  When I showed up at the ortho doc, he promptly ordered some x-rays and then proclaimed that it was a severe sprain, to which I was lucky b/c he had thought it was broken.  Dance moves, I think not.  The good doc set me up with all the bells and whistles of what I now call my space boot, an air cast and an ace bandage, as well as a follow up appointment a week later.  Let’s also not forget the physical therapy.  As I limped on out in my new accessory, I could only imagine what the hell I would look like walking around Honduras in this thing.  I called PC back and let them know the news; I was told that my vacation would be turned into med-evac.  Seeing as how I couldn't walk, this seemed fitting.

Cherry Blossoms in bloom

The boot goes for a field trip!

A few days later, I headed into the PC office, where I was met by my advisor, an awesome woman who helped me get my hotel and PC perdiem while in DC (the most important thing!).  I felt very fortunate to get this, since a few days later the gov looked like it would be shut down and I’d be living off the hot dog cart.  This past week I have started going to physical therapy, where the PT said my ankle is in bad shape (worse than I thought before), full of knots and not really able to move.  It seems my Chaco’s will be in the closet for awhile.  While it seems cool to be in DC, it is really cold right now (Hola, primavera, donde esta?) and I can’t really walk anywhere, so I have offered my services to the National Peace Corps Association and this coming week will be volunteering with them.  Not sure how long I’ll be here for now, but if you’re in the neighborhood, won’t you please be my neighbor?

Clowns on the Chicken Bus + My Honduran Novio

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Riding Through Honduras

Getting around Honduras is no easy task.  It takes a lot of planning, wishing and hoping.  Hoping that the bus shows up on time, wishing that it got you there faster/cleaner/less crowded, and planning all the hours that the busses connect.  You miss one bus, or it leaves late/breaks down, etc and you are stuck in some small rural area until the very next day.  The majority of Hondurans (and Peace Corps Volunteers) find themselves fighting for seats everyday among old American schoolbuses, commonly known as “Chicken Buses” usually paying anywhere from L15 to L80 depending on where and how far you are going.  A usual trip for me from Orocuina to Choluteca cost L15 and takes anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour; the bus has no “bus stops” per say, but just lets people off wherever they want.  This means that it can stop every 15 feet or so whenever people request it.  If there is a bus stop, you better be prepared to fight until you have a spot, for not even old ladies or pregnant women are spared from the elbow pushing and clawing.  I have actually stood for three hours before all the way from Teguz to Choluteca and still paid full price, L82, had two kids throw up on me, and called it a day.  So is the life of public transit in Honduras.  (Note: My odds of being puked on by a child are far better than most people.  It almost always happens, small children despise me and aim to projectile vomit on me as though they win a prize).

This past week I ventured up to the airport, which included one chicken bus, one “direct” bus (an old Greyhound), and two “rapiditos” (minivans full of people), for a total of 9 hours of exciting fun.  For it is no easy task returning to the USA.  It is also not boring; often on the chicken bus, you will be joined by preachers, bakers, but I have yet to see a candlestick maker.  I do often see clowns.  I don’t know why the Latin American culture is so fascinated by clowns, or why they enjoy them on a bus, but they do.  As I ventured up to the airport, I was joined by a clown (not the best one I’ve seen, but he was there anyway) and I was able to video him without getting my camera stolen.  I also got some film of all the vendors who come on the bus selling everything from tacos to Coca-Cola to ice cream during a five minute us stop.  I hope you enjoy, although I don’t think this will be on a Honduras turismo website anytime soon.

p.s. I only filmed two minutes of the clown for fear of the camera being stolen, but if you had kept watching, you would have seen him stick a nail up his nose to prove he could do it.  Everyone on the bus rejoiced in humor!

March 29, 2011

My Honduran Date

After being in Honduras nine months, I was finally persuaded to go on a date with a local by my friend Wilmer.  I have not been too excited to jump into the dating culture here because of the extreme machismo factor, their complete love of the word “Baby” which often doubles for my name, and the fact that most of the men lie about not having another wife/girlfriend on the side.  But, after much persuading, my friend Wilmer (who lived in the States for six years, so he’s always correcting people about the American culture here), set me up with an engineer in town doing some contract work.  I agreed to one date and we met up to “get to know each other.”  A few rules about dating in Honduras:  after you meet up for one date, you are usually girlfriend and boyfriend.  This is very difficult to explain to locals, but I try anyway.  After meeting up with the engineer, I had a good time and the guy was nice, college-educated (a very rare find around Orocuina) and I figured we could go out again.  When I saw him a week later at the municipality he offered me a jalon out to an aldea, where we were both working.  On the way back I thanked him and he said “Of course, anything for my novia.”  Whoa……

Your novia?  I don’t think so; let’s stop for a moment and do some cross cultural interaction.  In America you have to go on A LOT of dates to be my novio.  You have to have some discussions about life/family/the future to be MY novio.  I said “How about we meet up tonight?”  After meeting up again that night I asked him how many other novias he had and he said just me.  Then I asked him how many esposas he had (wives) and he said none.  I asked him how many kids he had and he said one.  It is SUPER, SUPER, SUPER rare in Honduras that you find a guy over the age of 20 that is not married, doesn’t have a girlfriend and no kids.  So, excuse me if I thought he was lying.  I decided that we could be friends on Facebook and see where this goes. 

Fast forward:  ONE DAY LATER  He is now texting and calling me more than 10 times a day.  Slow down.  American women are independent and don’t appreciate being hassled.  He is sending me texts calling me his “Amor.”  I barely know you, homie.  We are not even friends on FB yet.  He’s sending texts saying he loves me.  I don’t think so.  Do you even know what that means?

Fast forward:  ONE MORE DAY LATER  I am now friends on FB with this guy where I discover he has three kids and a wife.  Attention men of Honduras:  You are lyers and cheaters.  You will get caught, no matter what the hell you try to tell American women.  We are very smart and you can not be a “novio” to all of us.  We don’t let you treat us like crap, lie to us, call us “Hey Baby” or anything else.  I know that there are a few good Honduran men out there, but unfortunately your other “amigos” are outweighing your qualities. 

Thanks, anyway, Wilmer, but I’ll continue to be soltera for my remaining Peace Corps service.   I will also be getting a new phone number.

What it's Like to Be a PAM'er

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

What it's Like to Be a PAM'er

Beautiful mountains outside of Choluteca

There are six different sectors of Peace Corps Honduras, including Protected Areas Management.  These are the people who live in the most rural areas of Honduras, often without electricity and water, in communities of less than 1,000 people.  This past weekend I decided to venture off into the land of a PAM’er, as we call them here in Honduras PC land, to visit my friend Kari, high up on a mountain.  I didn’t exactly know how high until the bus picked me up and it was packed front to back and I was left standing for an hour and twenty minutes up a dusty and bumpy road with a small child’s face planted right into my belly button.  The bus was hot, crowded and uncomfortable.  It reminded me of what Honduras is really like as we passed really poor aldeas and I saw more kids running around without shoes on than with.  As a Municipal Developer, I am quite spoiled living in Honduras.  To say this to many people back in the States would make people laugh (since I still have tarantulas, running water one hour a day, and no paved roads in my Casco Urbano), but I do have a large, up-and-coming municipality.  We have a paved road from Choluteca, a large selection of comedors (restaurants), pulperias (7-11’s), and the electricity runs pretty regularly.  So, imagine my shock when we pulled up into Kari’s site and I said “Where’s the park?”  Kari informed me that they didn’t have a park and there was only one pulperia in town, at the bottom of a massive hill which I was about to walk up. 

Heading up the hill to Kari's House, you can't tell, but it's steep!

As we exited the bus and began to walk up there were about 30 people following us.  “Who are all those people” I asked?  Kari told me they were all her host family…as well as everyone in the town.  Once we got to her house I was introduced to everyone in the town and sat my stuff down.  That was it.  A quick walk up the massive hill and I had seen it all.  One church, one schoolhouse, and a bunch of houses.  The life of a PAM’er.  “What do you do here,” I asked her.  She said at night they all sat around and watched TV (since someone had hauled a big satellite up that mountain to their house), and that night I was joined by 20 people in the house and we all watched soccer games and telenovellas together.  So is life up on the mountain.  The next day Kari took me for a beautiful walk through the protected areas in which she works.  The mountains radiated beauty and I was introduced to green hilltops and bright pink and purple flowers spraying over the houses.  The neighbors told me on May 3 they hike all the way to the top of the mountain…the whole town goes up together.  After a quick invite back, I told them I’d think about it as I gathered my strength back to walk back down the mountain.  On the way Kari had to stop every few steps to look for cell service.  It reminded me again how often I take for granted just being able to pick up my phone and call everyone.  Kari has to HIKE UP  a mountain and hang onto a tree to say hi to her dad in the states!

Chilaxin' at the top of the mountain

These guys really wanted their picture taken; they liked posing as they built the new house!

The two buildings in Kari's town, the green one is the church

It's a dog-day

After bidding farewell to Kari’s host family and heading back down the mountain to Orocuina, I looked around and began to appreciate my little pueblo a lot more.  The cows walking down the middle of the street didn’t bother me as much that day…I mean, at least I have cows!  Later that night as I laid in bed I began to feel a horrible pain in my stomach.  After several hours of being sick, I finally gave in and called the PCMO and she sent me to the hospital in Choluteca, where they immediately put me on an IV and antibiotics.  Luckily, I had my friend Amanda to keep me company in the emergency room as I continued to be sick and try to run to the bathroom with a wheeley-IV thing attached to me, with wheels that didn’t work.  Have you ever seen purple Gatorade come flying back up?  It is not a pretty thing and I don’t think the nurses in the ER appreciated it either, so finally, they put me in a real room, to which Amanda proclaimed was “nicer than some hotels we’ve been in.”  After two days I was finally able to try purple Jell-O, which begs me to ask, why is everything in Honduras some random color that would never sell in America.  Does anyone even LIKE purple jell-o?  the jell-o was fine, but after trying some chicken soup I was sick again and the doctor loudly proclaimed I would be staying another night.  Finally, after three days in the hospital, I was allowed to be taken off IV’s, eat mashed potatoes and crackers and return to Orocuina.  My stomach is still a little quesy, but I’m feeling better and ready to take on Honduras again.  The cause of the bacteria infection?  Well, I can’t exactly pinpoint it, but we think it was some bad water that hadn’t been boiled in Kari’s site.  So, it’s tough being a PAM’er, but it’s tougher being the posh Muni D’er who goes to visit your friend.

Chillin' in the ER

1-2-3-4 I Declare an Ant War

1-2-3-4, I Declare an Ant War!

Peace Corps Volunteers are not allowed to carry guns or machetes, hence the word Peace in the sentence; however, we are able to concoct bombs of boiling hot water and bleach.  This is what I found myself doing after returning from a nice, enjoyable weekend in the border town of Alianza, where my friend Rakesh lives, as we put together the latest newletter edition of ¡Que Barbaridad! for the Municipal Development team. 

Livin' it up in Alianza, learning how to cook Honduran style!

Imagine my shock and awe as I walked into my ‘outdoor’ toilet, where I discovered a line of sugar ants crawling up the right side of the wall, from the back of the commode.  (Note: The fact that I even know these are sugar ants and not regular ants prove that I have been inHonduras a little too long and am in fact well-integrated into this land).  Moving on, I proceed to see where these ants are coming from and notice they are located behind my toilet and coming in and out of the lid.  I then see that there are a lot more ants crawling under the lid.  This leads me to the very important thought of 1. How to protect my ass/crotch in a diarrhea like moment, which are likely to hit at any possible time in this country.  Curiously, I lift the lid off and find what has to be a billion ants scrounging for any and all water that is located under the lid.  No sooner have I done this that the little suckers start trying to claw their way onto my skin. 

This we cannot have.

So, I head into my kitchen where I boil up a big pot of water, and after about 20 minutes, add half a bottle of bleach to it.  I’m sure that will do the trick.  Don’t mind me, I remember Googling this attack somewhere; it has been working well for months in places like my shower drain and pila.  After flushing all the water out of my toilet, I toss the water in at a fast and rapid pace, only to see ants flying for their life up into the rafters (literally, I do have rafters), until I fling scalding water that way, too.  I continue flushing hot bleach water down the toilet until I’m pretty sure I’ve killed them all.  I return two hours later to see a tiny stream edging their way back in.  It is late and I have to leave for Teguz tomorrow; I’m too tired to care right now. But, let this be a warning to all the ants of Honduras.  When I was growing up in Texas my dad used to ‘let’me mow the grass (hence, he chored it off to me while he watched football).  There were ample fire ants for me to get stung by and piss off along the way as I drove them over with the lawn mower and watched them scuttle to build a new bed.  I now know this merely dispersed thousands of ants deeper into the tough, Texas grass, but if you come messing with me, I will go after you with a vengeance.  So, you got it ants…I strongly suggest you stay clear of my toilet.  I might not be packing a gun, but there are lots more buckets of pila bleach.

Manejo de Proyecto

Friday, March 11, 2011

Project Management/Manejo de Proyecto

What our awesome compactor will look like

This past week my counterpart from the CEMOA office (Center for Education in the Municipality of Orocuina) joined me in opening up a bank account for our recycling project.  This means that the pressure is now REALLY on for me to find $5,000 for our recycling compactor, instead of just TALKING about how I can find $5,000 for our recycling compactor.  I have three months; no pressure.  Why three months, you ask?  Because after that, we have to make another deposit of the municipalities money into the account, and no one wants to do that.  This is a huge step in our project, but one that must be done, as we can’t ask people to give us money before we are a legit group with a bank account, but we can’t keep up a bank account without having any money.  Have you caught on yet?

We headed into the sprawling municipality of Choluteca to the brand-new Banco Atlantida.  So new, in fact, that we were the only customers that afternoon.  As we sat down, all I could think was how sweaty and disgusting I was in my nasty yoga pants, Chaco sandals, and old blue shirt.  This is a PROFESSIONAL meeting and I look like I just rolled out of yoga class.  Please, people of Honduras, know that I would NEVER go to a meeting like this in the USA….or if I didn’t have to take a bus an hour to get here, or if it was 100 degrees and my deodorants never kicked in anyway.  Vaya pues… The bank lady asks for our identification and I hand her my residency card.  She proceeds to ask for my passport, so I tell her that I am a resident of Honduras (hence the residency card).  She repeats that she needs my passport; therefore, my counterpart breaks in loudly and says “Es Cuerpo de Paz.”  The lady look a little lost and so I ask her if she knows what Cuerpo de Paz is and she says no.  I repeat that my passport is way back in Orocuina and I am a Banco Atlantida customer already, and after a few clicks she finds my current account.  At this point my counterpart is rubbing her temples and looking exasperated and we’ve only been here five minutes.  An hour later we’ve worked out all the details (like how we’re both single, have no telephones in our houses and that yes, I am indeed living here for two years.)  When the bank lady asks me how much money I make a month and I repeat L5,000 she calls me pobrecita (especially since my counterpart just said she makes L8,000).  My counterpart laughs and says I was just joking, I really make L8,000 as well.  This is equivalent to $400/month.

Finally, we leave, with our new bank account number in hand.  I take full advantage of this by immediately sending in a request for a SPA (small project assistance) grant from USAID, and several other private companies with grant programs; Waste Management and Coca-Cola.  (This is therefore a shout-out to anyone who may know someone, or in anyway be affiliated with these two companies.  Please help out a Peace Corps Volunteer in Orocuina, Honduras).  We have a lot of plastic bottles that are begging to be recycled. 

Current stoves, used in most homes

Now, let’s not forget about the 500 stoves we’re trying to build here, either.  In order to complete my proposal, I have been busy compiling the list of names of all the women in all the communities.  This is equivalent to living in the county seat, but having to go to all the outlying towns and doing a census.  By yourself, without a car.  I was very fortunate that International Women’s Day was this week and a lot of women were in Orocuina, so we sat down and I inputted their info into an Excel sheet, including how many boys, girls, men, and women live in their house.  I know many people in the USA who would be surprised to find 11 or 12 people living in a house, where three of them are grown men over 18, three grown women over 18 and the rest children from all arm lengths of the family.  The list is coming together and hopefully the proposal will be in my April. 

New, eco-stoves I'm trying to build with ADHESA and Trees, Water, and People

Since all of this is coming along so well, the municipality has asked me to help them build a library.  This is definitely a resource I feel they need.  They have picked out a building and are excited about putting it together.  Over the next few months, it looks like a library will be my next project.

Me, Katie & Liz doing the Turkey Trot a few years back

That's it from here.  I am looking forward to my parents visiting next month during Semana Santa!  Also, I want to sent a Happy Birthday to my friends Katie and Liz!  I hope that you had great days!