We have a good time in Honduras

So my last post was all thoughtful and attempts of reflection, but today I'm feeling more like posting a travelogue. You're welcome.

Today we traveled from La Ceiba to Copan Ruinas City. The total time of the trip was about nineish hours, and probably about sixish hours if we'd cut out the waiting at the bus station, etc. I don't have a lot of thoughts about La Ceiba. It was hot and sleepy and (we were told) much less crime-ridden than either Tegucigalpa or Tela. For tourists it's most often used as the transit point between mainland Honduras and the Bay Islands so it's not super touristy in of its self. The people were nice though and the stake president's family gave rave reviews about the quality of night life and out-doorsy activities. In fact, the stake president drove J. & I to the garifuna village Sambo Creek--about 15 miles west of La Ceiba--on our day off. Super nice. We got there too late to catch a boat tour of the Cayos Cochinos so we went ziplining, thermal springs soaking, and got massages instead. We were pleased. The ziplining itself was pretty incredible--18 cables, impressive vistas of the jungle and ocean (and if you squinted reaaallly hard you could see the silhouettes of the Cayos Cochinos) and I got to experience some rarely-used muscles in my abdomen and pectoral area. I now understand why our ziplining man-guides were so buff. Not that I noticed. J. & I also found and bought some pretty nifty souvenir gifts, so if you are near and dear to me, look forward to that.

Enjoying La Ceiba nightlife in our sister-missionary attire.

Hot Springs

Ziplining through the jungle.

The La Ceiba workshop was the biggest we've taught so far with a grand total of 60+ attendees, with about a total of 40 attending each of the two days of the workshop (many people only came to one class). We got to use a microphone and everything. That made me feel powerful and like a populist Latin American leader especially when I asked for crowd responses. [The Tela workshop didn't fit into my deep musings last post, so I'll have it be known that the Telenos were a joy to teach and we had about 10-15 attendees]. I think I'm getting better at Spanish public-speaking. Thank goodness. It's been a challenge to fit the 16-hour workshop into two four-hour sessions, but I have loved teaching outside Tegucigalpa. We're filling more diverse member needs and the self-employment workshop has been well-received.

Tela Workshop (#7)

La Ceiba Workshop (#8)

Anyway, we're currently in Copan Ruinas City which is beeeautiful. The Bed & Breakfast that we booked was over-booked and we got put in the super nice apartment villa as a consequence. We have a kitchen, a living room, a balcony, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. Oh the luxurious lives we lead.


We spent the afternoon horseback riding after spontaneously deciding to accept said offer from our cab driver about two minutes after getting off the bus from La Ceiba. It was a good choice. The horses were nice and Walter, our super chill tour guide, even let me hold the faux-whip on the way back so I could gallop. It was liberating and my thighs are already sore. Walter turned out to be very knowledgeable about local flora and flauna, so I took a lot of pictures and pray that I remember all the names of such abundant Honduran nature.

By the Mayan sapo statue.

Horses & Copan Ruinas Valley.

I'm pretty sure ziplining and horseback riding are two "high-risk" activities we're supposed to OK with our superiors, but I'd just like to point out that living in Tegucigalpa is a high-risk activity and they let us do that...

Tourist.

We spent Tuesday afternoon through Friday morning in Tela which was beautiful and small-town-esque. And even though I later discovered it exists only because of United Fruit and subsequently the Tela Railroad Company and that our hotel Telamar was actually where American United Fruit Co. executives were housed back in the day, I still loved it. Is that bad? I mean in a way it's kind of the quintessential American/Honduran experience...

I am fascinated by the abandoned shell of the Tela Railroad Company and the gringos who came here in 1841. What was there? And then I think about all of Honduras' northern coast and what Columbus must have seen and then what happened. Did they (those 1841 gringos) imagine in that 150 years later the railroad pier--the what is now the burned and rotting muelle---would continue to be one of Tela's foremost landmarks? But I loved it, just like I loved all of Tela, and I loved the people who fished off the muelle and rode their bikes over missing boards, and the fishing men who were civil to the silly tourist gringas who asked questions and took pictures.

On Friday morning we were picked up by Hno. M (father of Hno. M) in his paila from our fancy smancy villa-hotel. We rode in the back of the truck midst the broken bicycle parts and our haphazardly loaded luggage and we were red, tan-lined, (I was make-up-less) and oh so tired. Sun ain't good for us white girls. So we stood outside our hotel shaking our heads at every single taxi that honked hopefully as it passed. And I kind of like, smiled, to have witnesses witness us load up our luggage into the oh-so-normal and oh-so-not-touristy pick-up and then ride into the sun (and bright and ultra-violet it was).

I love the crabs and sapos that come out in Tela night and the parrots people keep in their pulperias and the garifuna babies that yell "cangreos" or "sapo" or "loro" accordingly.

We bike-rode through Tela in all its heat, neatly gridded self, midst the teenage boys signing and yelling "I LOOOVE JUUU!" at the beach front at dusk. And then it was almost as good returning to the hotel eating fine fish and tajadas, drinking (virgin) pina coladas, eating the accompanying maraschino cherries and withdrawing from the humidity and dark of the real Tela.

Today (in La Ceiba, we've since moved on to more eastern, northern Honduras coast) I talked to a super tourist who was an American, a San Franciscan, who spends months upon months of many years in Honduras, who lived in Tela for three months. Who decried the tourists who come to Honduras to beach, zipline, and see the islands without meeting the people, you know? He was black, (African American?) and since at that moment we were in the garifuna village he fit right in and then he gestured to his wife-beater, basketball shorts, and said "No one knows I'm a tourist, so I see the real Honduras" and then told us about the people who get shot in Tela every single night. Those nights that we retreated to our safe, ritzy villas, abiding by the signs that warn "Do not roam the beach at night."

Sometimes, it's hard for me to reconcile my place here in Honduras. I am tourist. I am visiting humanitarian. I am United Fruit Company legacy. I am rich. I am hiding from realities. I am being cautious. I am being safe. I am riding in the back of pick-ups. I am getting room service. I am in Honduras, but not living of Honduras.

Sometimes, I am very clearly a tourist. And very clearly American. And very clearly an American in Honduras. But I still love Honduras. And is that OK?