Marshmallows Roasting on an Open Volcano...Live Turkeys Nipping at My Nose...

Greetings constant reader. This update comes not from my fingers, but from my long-lost 2nd cousin twice removed and once under the table Brett, who is coincidentally working down here in Honduras as well. I believe you will enjoy his witty banter and sarcastic voice. This is really just a ripped-off update email he is sending out to his "fans." But since I am lazy and he's actually a professional righter, I suspect you will enjoy. Here goes...



This one will be a long one, so settle in…or just hit the delete key now!

Sitting here in Copan Ruinas at the tail end of a weeklong vacation in Antigua, Guatemala. Lots of good food, coffee, bunsburying around, reading Steinbeck, and relaxation. Also lots of talking like ridiculous German tourists (“Vass?Fire sale on short pants!?”). All in all a wonderful trip, and a much needed break. It only took us just 16 short hours of riding on various buses to get to Guatemala. I have now increased my PR in the “holding pee in” event to 4.5 straight hours. In related news, I am now most likely sterile.

Lots of stories to tell, but I think I’ll start with the one where we roasted marshmallows with lava on the side of an active volcano. Yes, you read that right…that’s marshmallows cooked with MOLTEN ROCK FROM THE CENTER OF THE EARTH.

It goes a little like this:

We were told to take the “sunset tour” of the volcano, called Pacaya – one of 37 in Guatemala. Left on a “buscito” at 2:00 in the afternoon. Got to the volcano and bought walking sticks from waiting mob of stick-wielding children. Child salesgirl (Claudia) sold me a total lemon of a stick, weighing in at approximately sixteen pounds bone dry. Ben got “walking stick lite” and was much better off in that department. When I tried to speak to Claudia about my stick at the end of the trip, the customer service part of her brain must have been closed for the day, because she just looked at me like I was speaking jibberish. Perhaps I was.


We were headed to the top of this volcano

To make a long story short, the hike up the volcano got a bit difficult at the end, especially with the crazy 30+ mph winds that started up. I had tied my borrowed sweatshirt around my neck country-club style, which meant that I spent a large portion of the hike climbing blind while the sweatshirt repeatedly wrapped itself around my head.

By the time I got to the top, I was exhausted and a little encachimbado (grumpy) but the minute I saw the lava that all disappeared. Or, I should say, “the minute I felt my feet burning through my shoes and realized I was standing on the crust of semi-molten rock, things got a little more exciting. Also, remember the gale-force wind, constantly threatening to blow us all into the glowing red rocks of scalding, scalding, limb-melting pain and/or certain death in the river of flowing lava.

But before we get to the lava…a little context:

Our cast of characters for this little sojourn included an Italian-born racing-boat builder currently riding his motorcycle from Washington state to the southern tip of Chile, Norwegian girl named Mira (or “Look!” in Spanish) Taiwanese tourist/volunteer and “man-boy”-extraordinaire (looked 18, claimed he was 28) who was traveling around Latin America, one tourist who I will call “Frumpy McGirl” because I never caught her name and she was, two European tourists, possibly German/Austrian, and old goofy dentist man (with straw hat, which blew off and disappeared down the mountain but was recovered by a small child sometime later). Also our guide, who spoke so painfully slow in Spanish for the benefit of non Spanish-speaking tourists that it became difficult to understand her after the initial welcome.

Ikke fal ned fra vulkanen!

So we get to the top of our hike. Not the top of the volcano (remember, it’s active), just part of the way up. At this point, we are definitely standing on a volcano. The “path” that we are walking on is kind of like the Guatemalan Volcano version of those “Choose your own adventure” books: you choose to step on that piece of lava rock to your right and risk certain death, turn to page 122…you choose to follow the dog that has miraculously appeared at your side and hope for the best, turn to page 134. True story, a small dog followed us all the way up. We have the video to prove it. A few of the crusty parts of said “path” broke a bit when I stepped on them, causing a moment of sheer terror. This might seem fortunate, but it meant that my leg-meat survived long enough to become a happy home for a roving band of scabies. More on that later…

So then there was the REAL lava. About twenty yards past where we first started seeing (read: narrowly avoiding) glowing lava rocks is a river of lava. We stood about six feet from it, or as close as we could stand because of the intense heat. I kept my hood up so my hair wouldn’t catch fire. You’ll see from the photo.


Photos of REAL Lava

For the main event, we found a hole down to some glowing hot lava rocks underneath where we were standing and roasted marshmallows. Delicious. Best damn marshmallow I’ve ever had. Hands down.

Marshmallavariffic!

One thing that was not said by anyone in our group (but should have been) was, “Now I know what God feels like when he roasts marshmallows.” That’s how it felt to me. (also, name that quote for all you Simpson’s fans.)

Then we “skied” down the side of the volcano by jumping at the top and then using the deep lava rock sand to ski.

So to summarize, I can now add to my life-resume that I have roasted marshmallows on lava and “skied” down a portion of a volcano. When we got to a restaurant to have nachos and beers afterwards, Asian Man-boy asked, “Did anyone else realize that was INCREDIBLY, INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS?” Touché, Man-boy. Touché.




Part II:

Lots of bus riding, a night in Copan, then met up with the Wyoming nursing student brigade in San Pedro and caught a ride with them to Concepcion. On the way, Alex and I got to spend a short time riding on top of the brigade bus. That’s definitely the way to travel around here, especially on the bad roads – laying up top in the sun, plenty of space, luggage for a pillow. Alex and I both fell asleep until a large bunch of tree leaves hit Alex in the head and made a bunch of noise. Some power lines came a little too close for comfort to my face, but other than that it seemed perfectly safe. Or at least as safe as lying on the top of a bus is, even with bars to keep you from falling off the side.

The brigade from Wyoming was a really fun group, and we ended the trip at Zona 504 karaoke bar in El Progreso. It only took 3 songs before they took the mic away from us. They never gave it back to us, though they sarcastically promised they would. The bus ride in to San Pedro to see the brigade off and then return here to Santa Lucia puts the total bus riding that I’ve done recently at 45 hours in two weeks. Bus riding after multiple tequila shots = bad, bad, vomit-inducing idea.

I spent most of the brigade translating for doctors doing patient consults, including an adorable 10 year-old girl named Paola with a severe heart murmur (I’m told it was a 6/6 intensity/loudness by the docs). The mother, when we got her into the clinic, said her child had been placed on a World Vision waiting list but was not sure if she was still on it, as they had not contacted her for some time and had told her there were worse cases that would get preference. Her daughter had apparently stolen and then burned the results of her tests in La Esperanza after she found out they meant she’d need surgery, so the specifics of what she has I do not know. I am not sure what we can – or should – do, but am currently trying to figure that out. If you have any ideas, or know a good cardiothoracic surgeon, let me know and I’ll keep you posted on progress…

Other brigade highlights include: 1) thinking we had lost one brigade member for two hours or so in Colomarigua 2) getting the truck stuck – I thought the axle had bent enough that we wouldn’t drive out of it – in a ditch for 45 minutes (we were finally wedged out by a group of Honduran men, women and children wielding fence-posts), and 3) bedbug infestation of various mattresses. When I say “highlights” here I mean, “potential disasters.”

Also, I may or may not have scabies. Really, I may or may not have had scabies. I hope that whatever I had they’re gone now, after 3 permethrin treatments and one night of doing laundry with boiling water in an industrial sized garbage can, which I called “Sopa de Ropa” (clothes soup) stirred with a mop handle. See below.


If anyone out there has had scabies or the like, I feel your pain…your itchy, itchy burning pain. If not, imagine the itchiest thing that you can, then multiply it by a thousand millions. Luckily mine were only below the knee. And luckily we have pictures of the laundry process. Maria the cook thinks that the fact that I had scabies is endlessly funny…especially since my nickname “Bobicho” (we finally figured out this was from Selena trying to say “Vos, Bicho” – “you, boy”) includes a slang word for “parasite” in it.

Today, Maria, Ben, and I are going to buy our Thanksgiving Turkey. When we asked Maria if she could help us find one, her response was: “Sure, but Bobicho’s catching it.” We’ll see how that goes. Then you’ll see how that goes, because we’re going to film it.

The Moment of Death

Aftermath

Don't play with your food!


I’m sure there are a thousand more things I wanted to put in here, since it’s been a while since my last update…which I end up saying every time. But I’ll try to remember for next time!

Hope all is well! Enjoy the cold weather, suckers! It’s a balmy 90 degrees and sunny here!!! But come to think of it, my legs are starting to itch again, so I guess it all balances out…

Love,

Brett

October 2009

I uploaded this video months ago and forgot to actually post it. It seems less exciting now because it was so long ago, but whatever.

"Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!!!!!"

A few weeks back, a group of us around the clinic organized a trip to head into San Pedro Sula, one of the big cities here in Honduras. The occasion? World Cup qualifier, Honduras vs. USA. The stakes were high, with the winner guaranteeing themselves a coveted spot in the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. The US has been in the last 5 World Cup tournaments, but Honduras has only been in 1, back in 1982. So this was a big deal. The US Embassy travel warnings were posted, Peace Corps volunteers were officially prohibited from attending the game, and there we were...a truckload of gringos heading into the lion's den...none of us knew what to expect...

First of all, the car ride there was a barrel of fun, spawning mountains of inside jokes including "round eye, round fruit" and "quieres la buburin?" which I won't take the time to explain here. I will only tell you that there was a lot of laughing going on in the car. It was about a 6 hour ride from Santa Lucía to San Pedro, with yours truly behind the wheel following a carload of our Honduran co-workers. It was to be my first time driving in the city and I was a little nervous but despite a few close calls, everything was fine. (That sentence could have been used to describe pretty much any car ride I've ever participated in while in Latin America). We made it to our hotel and rested for a bit before heading out into the madness. Our honduran friends decided on Burger King for lunch. Not my first choice for a "cultural experience" but it's not like the place was empty...plenty of Hondurans were having it their way before the soccer game, so I didn't feel like such a foreigner. We hopped back in the pick-up (we all squeezed into one truck to help with parking) and before we knew it, it was pouring down rain. The tropical afternoon rainstorm had struck again. They tossed us a blue tarp from the cab so we stayed relatively dry and the rain only lasted about a half hour. We found a parking spot and started walking towards the stadium.

This was approximately 2pm. The game was scheduled to start at 8pm. Our Honduran friends had told us we had to get there very early in order to ensure that we got into the game. "But we have tickets, why will it be a problem?" we responded. Marvin (our main tour guide for the day) shook his head a smiled with a "silly gringos" look on his face. He informed us that black-market tickets were a huge deal here and that there were probably 15-20 THOUSAND bogus tickets floating around. So in order to get in, we needed to be there early and get in "line." I put that in quotes because the lines were really just huge twisted masses of people all sort-of aiming for the entrance. The stadium only held about 30,000 people and I marveled at how at an Ohio State game we still managed some kind of order with over 100,000 people trying to get in. There were no gates or ropes differentiating one line from another, just a few police officers sitting around "keeping order." We stood there for 3 hours advancing about 60 feet and I was ready to pull my hair out. My patience went out the window and I was ready to just leave, especially when it looked like we were not going to make it in. At one point a large group of gringos walked through the crowd completely obnoxiously decked out in American garb...soccer scarves, big uncle sam hats, american flag capes...the whole nine yards. They came traipsing through this crowd of thousands of angry Hondurans and were just getting harassed. Not in an unsafe kind of way, but in a sporting-event kind of way. My first thought was "those HAVE to be Peace Corps volunteers." I could just see James, Bryan, Andy, Joe and Yamasaki leading a group of us Bolivian volunteers through this madness and soaking up every minute of it. My friends and I had kept a low profile, at least trying to where neutral colors. These people were unabashedly being obnoxious Americans. And while usually I'm not a huge fan of that kind of behavior, a large part of me wanted to throw my lot in with them. The only thing that prevented me from doing that was the fact that I knew they had arrived to late to get into the game, the crowds and lines were now far too large for any hope to remain for them.


Once we started moving at a decent rate and we realized we were going to make it in, the frustrations lifted and we started getting pumped up. We got into the game at about 5:30 or so and found some seats down in the second row...which sounds good, but there was a huge roll of razor wire obscuring our view. Personally I didn't really care, I don't really like watching soccer. The place was a madhouse. No one was unfriendly, they could all tell we were there to have a good time. I am 100% confident there is more scorn for Michigan fans at your standard OSU game than we felt as Americans in a foreign land. The speakers were booming, the announcer was firing people up and people were screaming. We all thought the same thing..."they can't keep this up for 2.5 hours," but we were wrong. They even had some army paratroopers jump out of a circling helicopter and land on the field...it was a pretty amazing sight.


By the time the game actually started, I had already felt like I had been partying like college again for hours. I've never really liked watching soccer, but it was a pretty unique experience to be there in the thick of all of it. The first half was scoreless, but when the second half started, the U.S jumped out to a 3-0 lead fairly quickly. I actually missed a couple of the goals because they were on the other end of the field and no one seemed to make a big deal out of it. This, however, was not the case when Honduras finally scored. The entire stadium erupted into pandemonium, noise makers blaring, people screaming and throwing beers, hugging, crying, high-fiving...it was pretty amazing.




Celebrating with Juan

Hanging with my buds




The game ended anti-climatically, with the U.S hanging on to win 3-2. Hondurans would have to wait until the following Wednesday to finally determine their World Cup fate.

The ride back to Santa Lucía the next day was just as fun as the ride in, only with the added benefit of having picked up Jody in the city, who is another one of the gringos that works in Santa Lucía. She had been visiting friends and also went to the game, but it had been a few weeks since we'd seen her. We laughed even more on the way back than we had on the way in, only stopping for a delicious fish lunch near at the pretty lake Yojoa.

It was a very good trip, although pretty quick. Here is a shot of the great sunset on the ride back..



Epilogue: The following Wednesday a Honduran victory over neighboring El Salvador coupled with a US tie with Costa Rica opened up a berth for Honduras in the World Cup for the first time since 1982. They fought like Hondurans, and won their freedom.


And then a national holiday was declared for the following day.