Never too late to learn something new

I shall spare you my alleluia chorus regarding the hotels I’ve been staying in this past week (hot water, air conditioning and clean, fresh sheets *insert choir of angels*!) Needless to say, it’s been nice.

What has also been nice is the discovery that the rest of Honduras (the part that isn’t Tegucigalpa or the Olancho district) is actually not so bad…well it’s nicer than Juticalpa at least. Not to say that the people are all that different, it’s just that they seem to actually have a sense of community beyond their front door.

Juticalpa has a lot of rich families that have built high, concrete walls topped with barbed wire around their personal paradises. Outer walls seem to push everything else back as far as possible, trying to shut out the rest of the city. Sidewalks become barely passable, and trash litters the ignored streets of the town. What matters is YOUR home, YOUR family, YOUR stuff. The rest of the city can take care of itself.

I now contrast this to the idyllic little town of Copan Ruinas, nestled into a verdant valley at the other end of the country to Juticalpa. The town gets its name from the ruined Mayan city of Copan, just a short walk from the town center. All the roads are paved with cobblestones (rather than pot-holes, and the houses are decorated and well maintained. This care is not just for show to the tourists either; it extends all the way out to the residential areas of the town (Dad and I went for a little stroll our last mourning there.) There is no garbage on the ground, and the dogs (while still present) seem to not be so on-edge (although I still was…could be a while till I feel comfortable around canines again.)

Now, I don’t expect Juticalpa to be exactly like this. After all, Copan does have the benefit of a major tourist attraction right there on their doorstep. But honestly, that isn’t really any excuse. The trash problem could be easily changed if people simply STOPPED THOWING IT ON THE GROUND. The caves and mountains alone could attract tourists and sightseers…if the city itself was actually one you would feel welcome in.

More importantly, it would be good for the people who live there. When you live surrounded by that kind of majesty (the mountains are truly breath-taking) you don’t turn it into a dumping ground. When you reach out to your community, you make it a better place for yourself as well. I am very pleased to know that not all of Honduras is like this, and it gives me hope that one day maybe Juticalpa won’t be either.

Where the Wild Mangos Grow

Last Friday I bid farewell to my students. There were tears, and promises of facebook and distant returns…it’s weird how the kid you’re yelling at two weeks ago can be so upset when you leave. Maybe it means that I have made some difference in their lives? That is my greatest wish right now. To be “that crazy teacher” that someone always remembers, that told you it was ok to be a bit weird sometimes. Sadly, being a teacher means you don’t know what kind of a difference you have made until long after you’ve said goodbye. I sorta’ hope I can come back in four years to see my students graduate.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not out of the woods yet (or in this case the mountains) and just to make that point abundantly clear, Saturday was a whole new adventure! Jeff, Dan, Jeff’s friend Mike Jones (who was in town visiting) and I were invited to go on a little trip into the mountains by Juansito, one of the groundskeepers at the school. We got an early bus out, and Dan had them stop to drop us off at the beginning of a red dirt road in what I can only describe as the middle of nowhere. Surrounding us was a sweeping landscape of green fields and copses, nestled up against the foothills of the mountains. We were met by Juansito, who lead us to his house to pick up the “tools” needed for our little excursion.

By “tools” I mean three, rather loud, dogs. Why did we need dogs you ask? Well you always need dogs…when you’re going armadillo hunting! That’s right, I was off to catch me a varmit fr dinner. I was told they taste quite good if you cook them right. But alas this was not to be. Due to all the rain we have had lately the dogs were unable to pick up the armadillo’s trail, so we only found two holes. Armadillos, you see, are nocturnal. To catch one the easiest thing to do is track down its burrow during the day and dig it out.  But the little shelled rodents seemed to have known we were coming, and chosen to sleep somewhere else that day.

This left us traipsing around the Honduran countryside for the better half of the day, during which we all got thoroughly drenched in sweat (it looked like I had just climbed out of the river) and with a wicked sunburn (did I just say “wicked”? Oh goodness I’m starting to talk like Maki. She’s from Boston you know. Next thing you know I’ll be throwing teabags into the ocean *grumble grumble tea party grumble how uncivilized…*)

Anyway, the adventure wasn’t a total loss. The views alone were worth the hike, and there were plenty of other things to see. We learned about these massive trees called “ceiba” (pronounced say-buh) which have these large, cotton-filled pods. You can use the cotton to clean cuts if you don’t have a first aid kit handy. We also spent some time resting under another wonderful tree, the mango! I tell you nothing beats fresh mango strait off the tree. Just throw a large stick up or shake a branch and it practically rains mangos. We all produced knives (it’s as if we were expecting to have to skin something) and nommed away to our heart’s content.

Things were interrupted when the hunting dogs, frustrated by the lack of armadillo, decided to harass a calf which was drinking on just the other side of a barbed wire fence. The calf ran for it…strait through the fence. Unfortunately for us, it turned out that the calf’s mother was on our side of the fence, and was none too pleased with the canines we had brought into her pasture. There was a tense moment as we all eyed the rater pointy horns on the cow’s head, before the dogs finally came to their senses and backed off.

Later the hounds continued to display their stupidity by jumping into a wide stream, which they could then not get out of. If they had just swam five feet to their right they would have been able to get onto the bank, but they insisted on trying to climb up the muddy slope they had just jumped off from. In the end one of the Hondurans had to drag the dog out by the scruff of the neck.

A funny thing about living in Honduras, it has not endeared dogs to me. Before, I would have been worried for the poor pup, however much the predicament may have been its own fault. But between the morning runs, the turf wars, and the cow incident, I find my disposition towards the canine breed slipping. I find them to be, not so much “man’s best friend” as “man’s meat-headed coworker who is often more trouble than he is worth.” I guess I need to return to the States soon and meet some less aggressive canines.