Just Writing...

25, de Marzo...

Back in December, my smart friend Claire sent me a sleu of quotes with instructions to pack them in my notebook along with a glue stick for my trip. She said that if I was ever stuck, lonely, or needing some encouraging words to glue one of these simple quotations into my journal and go from there.

Well. I´m stuck.

I snuck into the tiny pocket of my journal this afternoon and pulled out the below pre-cut quote and glued it onto the next blank page. Turned my iPod on shuffle and started to write....

¨We are spiritual beings learning to be human. Our only task in this world is to know who we are and carry that into the world in service. Answer the question: ¨To what have I been called?¨

(Oddly enough, the song my iPod landed on was, Human by The Killers.)

I have been quite unmotivated here in Esteli. Unmotivated in the school. Unmotivated in my Spanish lessons. Unmotivated to write or even capture my life here with my camera (my favorite pastime). When I go to write...I feel I am just writing...not telling any sort of story or painting any sort of picture for those that read this simple little blog.

But why?

Maybe it´s because I am close to the end...and I am looking to the future instead of focusing on the here and now. I am SO excited to hit Belize and re-visit Guatemala con mi novio in a few days. I hope to visit my class in Santa Maria and possibly roast marshmellows over lava on the top of that Volcano I never got around to hiking....

Or maybe it is my location?

I find myself often describing the lack of beauty that surrounds us here in Esteli. The loud cars, motorbikes, the hooting and hollering from EVERY male member in this dusty city when a woman walks by.

Or maybe it´s the project?

The school is so disorganized right now. Being a brand new school, the walls are still going up and the floor is under constuction. We have been conducting class at a farm close by. The space is huge, but this makes for a playroom type feel, rather than a classroom type atmosphere. The children pick up their tiny plastic tables and chairs and move themselves about the open space all day. We have been ending class early on occasion due to our not-quite-perfect setting and other things going on. I don´t feel close to the kids yet and I STILL don´t know many of their names. Unacceptable for 3 weeks on the project. Internally thinking daily: ¨Why am I here? What am I bringing to this project?¨ I know I am here to be a presence for these kids if nothing else, but when class hardly commences....it´s hard.

I feel kind of lost here....

¨Close your eyes, open your heart.¨ - The Killers, Human

29, de Marzo...

I need to focus. I have one week left here in Esteli and I am starting to freak out. I haven´t captured all the amazing murals with my camera yet. I have yet to find the perfect juice out of a bag. I have not learned all their names. I need to visit a ¨World-Class¨ Cigar Factory and get a $3 massage. I have not been dancing at the hot discotec!!

Yesterday I saw part of Esteli that had not been visible to me before. Living it.

I am sick...AGAIN. This time a bacterial infection of the throat or glands or something. Basically a heinous cough that keeps me up all night preventing me from sleeping, thus never letting my body recover. It´s an endless cycle. So, I forgoed my side-trip (every project has a side-trip included) to Miraflor, an incredible cloud forest, farm, waterfall, etc. There was lots of hiking involved and conisdering I can barely breathe as is....I didn´t think it such a fun time.

Teeta, mi casa-madre, felt sorry for me I guess (having no friends-Noah and Marian went to Managua to pick up Noah´s mother who is visiting) and asked me at breakfast if I would like to accompany her to check on her busses. She owns a very successful bus company...that consists of TWO busses. I said sure, and we set out to the bus terminal. There was exchanging of money and lots of rapid Spanish speak that I didn´t catch. Then we cruised over (listening to blaring Nicaraguan tunes) to the bus stops and waited in the car to make sure the busses were arriving on time. They did. She does this twice a day. That´s it. Great job! ¨Very flexeeeble mi job.¨

We then pulled up to what looked like a small factory. Teeta stuck her fingers out the window of the car, holding up 7, and a woman came straight to the car holding 7 tortillas. Teeta buys her tortillas here everyday. Now, off to the South Main Market. BEAUTIFUL array of fruits and vegetables. I had a HAY DAY here with my camera last week ;) We pulled up to a stand on the corner of the street, rolled down the window and were immediately handed two small bags of sliced mangos. She also comes here daily. The mangos are ridiculous here. They are just coming into season...

Next, the search for black shoes. Teeta wanted to visit Payless (yes, they have one here!). I tried on some black sandals just for fun. She says, ¨Perfect! Buy one, get one half off.¨And we head to the counter with two boxes of shoes. Ummm....wait, I don´t really want these shoes and I haven´t spent $20 on something in MONTHS. I am freaking out, but what am I to do. She is sold and next thing I know I am forking over $400 cordobas for a pair of patent leather black sandals with a kitten heel. (Mom, I got you the CUTEST shoes in Nicaragua :) EEEK! So much for those custom made cowboy boots I was hoping to splurge on...

Home for lunch and a siesta. I am really getting into the napping thing here. The heat will do it to you. Awake for no less than 10 minutes and we are off again. She is saying something about Javier, one of my 20-something year old roommates from Barcelona, and a BBQ. We park and walk into a HUGE party. Everybody is staring at us. What are we doing here??? Oh, there is Chebby (Javier´s nickname). We sit and he brings us two plates of random food. I am chatted up by a fellow named Phillip from Belgium. I find out it is Ana´s birthday party. I think Ana came over once with Chebby??

Teeta and I hang here for the afternoon. Someone busts out a guitar and the music was amazing. A Cuban man with a lovely deep voice. A Nicaraguan hippy. A sweet German girl´s voice. Everyone is so musically inclined! I need to learn how to play the guitar. It was a wonderful afternoon, full of music, interesting food, and new international friends. There was even a ¨Roast¨. The boy sang about (making fun of) each friend at the BBQ. He said Chebby was looking for someone to teach him English and Chebby glances at me and turns BRIGHT red. So cute...

We finally leave and pick up Nacatamales (traditional Nicaraguan meal) on the way home for dinner.

Eat Nacatamale -on my list of things to do before leaving Nicaragua.

Delish...but SO filling. Black coffee if offered to help you digest your Nacatamale. Wow. Nicaraguans only eat them on Saturday evenings or Sunday mornings. Muy grasa. Very fattening. Oh well....

Then to Cafe Luz for a little wi-fi and a cookie. I chat with the local dude who plays guitar in the Cafe most nights. Codine cough medicine and in bed early. I close my eyes and realize that I indeed did open my heart to Esteli today....feeling a bit better about the dusty city I am living in for the time being.

Happy in Honduras - Reflecting Again

Me, Marko, Lyndsey

Eric, Pam, and Me...check out my legs...haha

Hi Geidy :)


Lynds and Me, commuting.

Class was canceled today, as they are laying the cement floor in our school in La Thompson. After scrolling through pics on my camera from Honduras last night, I woke up feeling groggy and a bit nostalgic for Copan and my life there.

I tend to overanalyze and overthink things....a LOT. And when comparing and contrasting my time spent thus far on this journey and my life in each country, I find myself nostalgic for very different reasons.

For Copan, Honduras...it is laughter. We laughed A LOT in Honduras. And to be honest, I don´t think I have laughed as much or as genuinely in quite some time...and I am not really sure what is was that there was so funny.

Genuine laughter is derived from genuine happiness. Why was I so happy in Honduras? Was it the company? The young, fun intern couple from Boston, The sweet Irish lass, The tall quirky Australian gent? We had such a great time together. We meshed very well.

Or was it the comfort I felt living in the tranquil town of Copan? The few cars. The relatively quiet streets. The lull of the church choir´s music spilling into my room in the evenings when I was falling asleep. The early morning roosters as my alarm clock. My hilarious house mother: Loly and her beautiful home. The huge delicious and interesting homeade meals that she served me three times a day. Going to work early and finishing early, having the rest of the day to explore, write, drink licuados, relax. Retiring to bed before 9 and getting a great night´s sleep (this is a little lame....but there really wasn´t much going on AND we had to be up at 5:30AM).

Or maybe it was the school and the children that inhabited it´s classrooms. Our open air commute in the bed of a run down pick up truck every morning and afternoon, through beautiful mountainous scenery. The cheery blue school surrounded by palm trees and adorning a very abstract mural on one wall, painted by previous volunteers (my roommates now in Esteli).

And my kids...In the beginning feeling I would NEVER remember all 26 names of the 5 and 6 year olds that screamed my name endlessly everyday. I miss them. Blanca and her face making. Ruben, and his finger waving. Geidy and her ridiculously cute tiny self. Juan Manuel and his hesitantcy. Eric and his creative OCD artwork. Nolvia, whose name we never really learned how to pronounce correctly. (When attempting, it always elicited giggles from the entire class. I STILL don´t know what we were doing wrong???) Karen, who NEVER responded to my endless requests to PLEASE stay seated in HER seat. Pablo, who was way too advanced to still be in the primero grado. He taught us a lot.

And teaching with Eric, the 32 year old from Boston. I think we were a good team. Laughing a lot and not taking much too seriously. SUPER upset when we realized all of our kids failed their first test on vowels...after 2 1/2 weeks of exhausting repetition. But in the end...I think they all got it. Well...maybe not Jose Vicente ,)

I felt I could stay in Copan for much longer and was really sad to leave. My last night at Loly´s, I was called to dinner only to find that there was no plate at my place. Only a bottle of rum, a bottle of Fresca and two glasses. Loly poured me a small sip (a couple of times) and we talked. In Spanish as always, but this time it was different. And I could tell that she was also sad. She told me of her son again ( I believe she was trying to tell me about him on my very first day in her house...but my vocabulary was just too limited to understand). He is 28 and lives in L.A. and he and Lindsay are going to marry so that Loly and I will be family! Lindsay, I gave her your number.....sorry!!!! Haha. After too many rum, fresca, lime, and salt refreshers....she finally served me my favorite meal. The Gringa Taco. I scarfed it down and ran out (an hour late!) to meet Lyndsey, Marko, and Eric for one last hoorah!

We´ll leave it at that....

Pam, Eric, Lyndsey, and Marko escorted me to the bus station the next morning and waved until I left the lot for my 12 hour journey to Nicaragua.

I will reunite with Lyndsey and Marko this weekend when they arrive in Esteli to build stoves for a week before heading to Ecuador. It will be fun to have some more time with them!

So for now, I will look back fondly on my time in Honduras and hope to return soon...
Loly insists that next time I bring mi guapo novio and stay with her, of course.

Haha :)

Moving on....

Attitude Adjustment

One of the little boys took this photo of Marian, Noah, and me...he likes to play with my hair.

Despite showering from a trashcan full of water, or squashing creepy crawlers around my room most evenings...I think I have adjusted. And my attitude towards it all has definitely improved.

Mentally and almost physically.

Yesterday I was finally feeling strong enough to check out the project. The other volunteers and I hopped on the chicken bus at around 7:45AM for a quick (but could have been quicker) ride up to the village of La Thompson. The bus dropped us off on the highway and we started on foot the rest of the way to the village. When we were about halfway, the welcoming committee came running up. Little hands clasped mine on each side and we continued to walk the rest of the way like this. Marian (18, Seattle) said that they greet them every morning like this. I was amazed at how friendly they were to me RIGHT away. They had never seen me before, yet they fought with each other to hold my hands.... I wished I had 10 hands!

The GVI school is still under construction. Right now it is beams, a roof and the beginnings of walls. We host a preschool, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grades. School was a bit hard to conduct with the dust the wind was blowing in, so we took the kids for a walk. We walked through the village to a farm close by. I saw the biggest chanco (pig) I have EVER seen in my entire life. All I could think about was bacon???? Not sure I can eat it anymore.....well...who am I kidding? Anyway, the farm seemed to be mostly pigs, tomatoes, and coffee. The kids loved it.

It has been so interesting to me to see how different the children are in each location/country. The nicaraguan children are so sweet and clingy. They are very physical with each other. Lovingly and rough. There are two mentally challenged kids in the school. When asking around the community what was wrong with Carlo, the answers were all different. "Oh, he just has a headache." "His stomach hurts." "His legs are bothering him." They do not understand his condition...and how could they?? Has he ever even seen a dr.??

If I were to guess....I would say Autistic. He is amazing.

After class, we hopped in the back of a pick up heading back to Esteli and then had frozen mochas at a local coffee shop and discussed the day.

I´m not here to be comfortable. I am here to be with them :)

The Comfort Zone?-Esteli, Nicaragua

I have arrived at my final location. I will spend the next four weeks here in Esteli, Nicargua. I can´t believe it is already MARCH! Time is flying...and I am scared. Until yesterday....I was certain that I was not ready to come back to NY, to reality, to the stress and busy-ness of it all. Of course, there are things and people that I miss terribly...but I was settling in quite nicely to the simple lifestyle of the road and the children and the Central American way of life.

Those euphoric feelings have faded.

After 8 nauseating hours on a bus through the winding roads of Honduras, (many of those hours spent hovering over a toilet in the dark box of the bus bathroom), a night alone in a hotel, and 5 more hours on a sketchy bus the next day....I am spent. I was dropped in the middle of the road in front of a Texaco gas station at the edge of town. My instructions were to hop in a taxi and tell the man to take me to: Cafe Luz. There I would be able to ask someone to borrow their phone, call Steven (the director here), and he would walk over to meet me. The taxi driver had NO idea where Cafe Luz was and refused to try and find it. Panic was juuuuuuuuust about to take over, when I heard,

¨Leigh?¨
I fiercly turn around, ¨STEVEN??????¨
Laughing, ¨Yeah, you seemed a bit nervous via our email conversations, so I thought I should come wait for you here.

PHEW!

We take a taxi to my host family´s ¨house¨and I walk in ready to drop my bags and settle in for the next month. But, the accommodations are a bit....different...than at my other stops in Honduras and Guatemala. This is more like a hostel. A family run hostel, with 4 rooms for rent. I spot Emma, a 23-year old nanny from D.C., eating breakfast at the table. We exchange pleasantries and I am told that because she arrived yesterday she got the room with the bathroom and the TV. No biggie, I think to myself. I don´t really watch TV anyway...and I have lived with roommates for the past 8 years of my life, I have mastered the shared bathroom situation.

I am escorted to my ¨room¨...that resembles that of a jail cell. Edith, casually asks which bed I would prefer as she would like to change the sheets on just one of them. I point to one and she gets to work. Next, she is mopping the floors while I get to know Emma in the other room. Steven leaves saying he will return at 3 to pick us up for a quick orientation and a look about town. And we are left alone, to get ¨settled¨. I start to unpack some things and then ask to see the bathroom. We take a long walk down an open hallway lined with rocking chairs and enter into what looks like an old washroom. Behind wooden swinging doors is a toilet that looks like it was discarded from a grungy biker bar. The shower is even more revolting.

The internal pep talk begins: I can do this. I can do this. It´s not that bad. I will get used to it. It will be fine. It´s only 4 weeks. FOUR weeks. At least Emma is here. Leigh, quit being a baby!

The night consists of vegetable soup, apple tea, more bouts of stomach sickness, and being reprimanded for leaving my light on in my room...for all of 45 seconds. When retiring to my room and to bed, I find tiny roaches on my door frame but am too exhausted and weak to freak out. I sleep with my headtorch under the pillow and pray that I will sleep through the night.

I don´t. I wake up with an urge to run to the bathroom, throw the headtorch on and search in the darkness. I wake up sweating profusely with torch on and in hand?? I wake up talking in my sleep, delirious. But every time feeling drugged, so doze back into slumber.

Decide in the morning that I will not be able to make it to school and I need to rest. Steven agrees. Back home I would call in sick in a HEARTBEAT if I wasn´t feeling well (not that I am proud of this). But here, I haven´t missed a day. I have dealt with the most uncomfortable of situations in the bathrooms at the schools...most with no seats and def no running water. I am super dedicated to the work here and do not want to miss a minute. But I am too weak.

I decide to lie back down after breakfast and read. Edith barges in, turns off the light and says: ¨No mucho luz¨. If I want to read I can come outside to the rocking chairs and read there. Mind you, I have already been reprimanded for turning on the light early this morning in the bathroom.

I say that I am sorry, break down crying, and leave...to call Chris and vent.

I feel a bit bratty complaining about the conditions when I basically live like a QUEEN back home...but I am just not used to this. Copan was LUXURIOUS in comparison. And it was. I miss Copan. I miss Loly.

Esteli used to be a truck stop. The city is rough. There are no pretty buildings or a beautiful park. The streets all looks the same and there are tons of people and loud cars. No tourists. No gringos. This is what I signed up for...right?

I am anxious to see the project and will hopefully report back in a better state of mind.

Despidiendose

Today was my last day at the school in San Rafael. I woke up well rested and excited to see the niños. I knew it would be sad, but did not expect to shed any tears.

We started the morning with-Camp-as they call it. We play soccer and braid hair in this huge field a short walk from the school. Marko bought the boys a new futbol, they were super stoked.

Pam, Lyndsey, and I sat with the girls as they braided my hair and tortured Lyndsey for mas photos, mas photos. I had talked to a couple of the kids in my class the day before about my leaving, but wasnt quite sure they really understood. Eric and I were their first teachers as we had the primero grado. And the first volunteers to waltz in and out of there lives...

A couple of the clinger girls asked me today...porque?
Ummm....how do I explain this....in Spanish? I set out on this trip in January and the next adventure is in Nicaragua. I didnt expect to fall in love with all of you... Im sorry, I have to leave now.

Heartbreaking.

Now, I am feeling a bit self-righteous writing this and I know they will be fine and they will cling to new volunteers as they come and go. But for now, for today...I think a few of them were sad. I was, anyway.

Carolina and Erica (the two Honduran teachers) called all the kids out to the front of the school to say goodbye to me and to give me their cards and their hugs. They also sang a song for me...Bravo.

And then I cried. UGH. I didnt expect to cry...but it just came over me. I am going to miss them so much. And as frustrating as it is everyday to try and get them to focus, to sit down, to stop yelling...its even more frustrating to get to know them and then leave them.

Porque?

Trip to the Beach - Hamptons vs. Honduras

We arrived, in the dark, here...Puerto Cortes "Beach".... It's all GRASS....beach?????

The only purified water they had at this restaurant was out of bag....why do they serve liquid out of a bag everywhere? It tasted like plastic.

Local "jam" band in Omoa. They were REALLY good.

Now, THIS is more like it. La playa in Omoa.

Hamptons:

Friday afternoon. Grab overnight bag from under desk and sneak out of the office at 20 till 5. Walk 3 blocks to the Hampton Jitney "bus stop". Stand in line with other preppy NY'ers. Jitney pulls up right on time, hand over the print out of my (weeks in advance) prepaid ticket. Hop on.

Honduras:

Friday morning. Talk amongst other volunteers, decide on spontaneous beach weekend upon recommendation from Spanish teacher. Back in Copan after school, seek out tourismo travel agency. Communicate in broken Spanish, ask not nearly enough questions, buy ticket (at most likely an escalated gringo rate), go home, pack. Look up name of la playa in lonely planet book--not listed. Second guess said spontaneity. Grab backpack and walk to "bus stop". Argue in more broken Spanish, hand over legit (phew) ticket, hop on Tourismo bus. Aisle seat.

Jitney:

Get situated, stare out window and wonder how long it will take THIS Friday to get out of the city... Nice bus attendent in green Jitney polo comes through offering water or juice, pretzels or chips, and a newspaper. Take water and pretzels, pass on newspaper.

Tourismo:

Get situated, open suspicious curtains on window, and wonder, "Will we make it? Will we get robbed? Is there a bathroom on this bus?" Stop every couple miles to pick up more people/locals. Large Honduranian man comes through selling homemade bread and red juice in a plastic bag. Pass on both.

Jitney:

Stop once in Queens to pick up more New Yorkers...and we're off! Comfortably settled in, with book in hand-forget about all the traffic. Glance back every now and then to see if I recognize anyone on the bus. See a few familiar faces. Keep reading.

Tourismo:

Stop for the one hundreth time...pick up more locals. Being that there is now no available seating, locals are lined up in the aisle. Subsequently, am elbowed in the nose by a small child. OUCH! Continue reading. Machismo stands DIRECTLY next to me. Touching me...hovering. UGH. Try and peek past sketchy curtains, winding through beautiful mountainous scenery. VERY large elderly Honduranian woman presses boobs and belly into my self. Glance over at Lyndsey. Try very hard to supress laughter. Can't. Large breasts now resting on my cheek. I am half in my seat and half in Lyndsey's. Ponder....is this really happening? Belly and boob contact continues for the next 9 minutes. Stop again. Locals run off...knocked out by child's small backpack.

Jitney:

Arrive at expected location around expected time. Walk to summer share or sailboat. Enjoy the beach and the weekend.

Tourismo:
Arrive at confusing bus station in big city-San Pedro Sula. File off. With no direction whatsoever, wander around looking for connecting bus to Puerto Cortes (final destination). Spot a Pizza Hut. Yum. Focus, continue searching. Finally find the exit, ask first Honduranian we see where the bus to Puerto Cortes is. He points straight out to his bus, of course. We ask zero questions and blindly hop on to a small overly air conditioned shuttle. He charges us 42 limperias. A STEAL! Wonder, "where are all the gringos (white people/tourists)?" SURGE through San Pedro Sula with the door to van open, accumulating and losing more locals. It's simulates a drop and roll sort of effort....

Two hours later (we were told around 45 minutes from San Pedro) realize we are the last three on the shuttle. Look out windows at grimy grimy small city.

The two operators ask where we are going, in Espanol.
We reply, "Puerto Cortes."
"Aqui."
"Ummm....where is the beach??"
"You have to take a taxi."
"How far?"
"Diez minutos."
"Where do we get a taxi?" (Oh, please please please don't make us get off here!!!)
"Wellllllllllllll.....I guess we can take you for same price as taxi. 100 limperia each."
"100 EACH? But it is only ten minutes away??? You charged us only 42 for a 2 hour ride...."
"Do you want to get off and take taxi?"
"NO NO NO, ok. Ok."

Arrive at la playa.
"Here are the hotels. This one is cheap and that one is expensive."
"Only two?"
"Si"

To make a long story short....

We ditched the cheap dodgy hotel, walked around a bit (in the dark) and finally came upon a reasonably clean sleeping establishment. Overpaid for one night. Ate cold grilled cheeses and fell asleep to the hum of a keyboard and Honduranian man serenading to NO ONE....out by the pool.
Woke up early the next morning in search of the beach....found what we expected. Hopped in a cab and headed to the next beach town, one I had actually read about in my Lonely Planet nerdy travel book--OMOA!!!!

Found great little Canadian-owned bed and breakfast at the end of the beach. Settled in and soaked up the sun and the Caribbean seas for the remainder of the weekend.

PERFECTO :)