Ahhhhhh! It's almost Christmas, and here I am, trapped in Honduras with no one to celebrate it with except a woman I work with, and a couple of strangers I just met yesterday! Besides that, there is absolutely no snow here, I can count the number of Chrismas trees I've seen on one hand, and the feast they are preparing doesn't contain an ounce of eggnog. This isn't Christmas!
Perhaps that's why I have felt so good about the first Christmas ever that I have to spend away from my family. It doesn't really feel like Christmas at all. Especially in the country. Practically no one puts up Christmas trees or Christmas lights. They don't believe in Santa. I think the only reason he is present here is because of comercialization from the States. They don't really exchange presents either. This is actually a custom (although I'll admit I tend to anticipate it more than anything each year!) I think our country could do without. All the comercialization of Christmas and people wrapped up in buying gifts (no pun intended) for their loved ones seems to create such a frenzy and superficial excitement, people seem to forget the real meaning of Christmas.
Now don't worry friends, I am not about to get soft on you and spout off what I believe the real meaning of Christmas is......most of you already know that. I am just saying that there is a beauty in anticipating such a great holiday in a serene, quiet place where it is barely mentioned except at night, when the women of the town go to the church to pray a novena, waiting patiently for the anticipated day. And when the day finally comes, people sit around a table, enjoy each other's company as well as a carefully prepared delicious meal. Afterwards, there is no empty feeling of ¨is that it? Is that all the presents I got?¨ or ¨wow, we've been anticipating this day for soooooo long, and now it's over? Just like that?¨ It actually feels good.
I hope all you guys are having a great time this Christmas spending it with your families! And family, don't miss me too much! I am already missing you enough for all of us. Just enjoy eachother's company, and hopefully we will be reunited for the next Christmas! And I hope you all got me some good presents! Haha, just kidding.......sort of.........
lunes, 24 de diciembre de 2007
martes, 18 de diciembre de 2007
A tall skinny latte, please...this time leave out the flavoring
When I went to coffee shops in the states, I always liked to try new things. I almost never would order the same thing twice, unless I really, really liked something. I supposed that is just part of my personality. I love trying new things. That's one reason why I'm down here in Honduras!
As most of you know, coffee is made of small beans, almost the size of a black bean, which is roasted and then ground into grains, which make a delicious drink. What most of you probably didn't know is that the coffee beans originally grow on trees in small berries that are the shape of blueberries, except that they turn red when ripe. And after being picked, they have a looooong ways to go before they are turned into the wonderful caffienated drink that we know and love!
First, they have to go through a maching that takes off the red outer shell. At this point, they look more like coffee beans than berries. After the shell has been taken off, they usually have to sit out for at least a day, in order to get rid of a filmy outer covering that is left on after the shell is taken off. They are then washed with clean water. During this process, the ¨bad beans¨are taken out. Usually the ones that have some of the outer shell still left on them, or do not have a bean inside the shell. These are separated, and consumed by the locals (which is why, when one goes to a coffee paradise like this where coffee is all around them, it is almost impossible to find GOOD coffee, because all the good stuff is exported, and the locals are left with the garbage). Then, the coffee is left out to dry for hours, sometimes days and days, depending on the strength of the sun. I found out while working here, that drying coffee is an art. There is a certain percentage of humidity that the coffee bean has to have, no more, no less, in order to be considered good. If it is too humid, it can have a sickly bitter taste to it. If it is too dry, it gets bland and flavorless.
The next part is the most simple, but possibly the most grueling. The coffee must be selected. The bad ones separated from the good ones. I have spent literally hours and hours separating coffee with the workers at the house I live in, only having separated about 50 pounds of coffee (about a 20th of the amount of coffee some people have) this is the most grueling, but also the most important, because the company they export their coffee to charges them for every defect the coffee has. For instance, for every 10 coffee beans they find that are black (they should be a pretty golden color), that is one defect and they get deducted the amount they get paid.
After all this is done, the coffee is brought to a warehouse, or in our case, the cooperative office, to be stored before being shipped off. This is the process we are in right now. There are 53 members in the cooperative. That means 53 different people have been coming to the cooperative ¨office¨ to drop off their coffee, weigh it, store it, and have it shipped off to the other side of the country to have it processed so it can be exported. That's right, there is still one more step to go before it can be exported. The coffee beans at this point are still in another outer shell, which needs to be stripped with another, more complicated machine that is hard to find. That is why they have to transport their coffee to have it processed and exported by a larger company.
All this work, just for one simple cup of coffee. Not to mention that all this still needs to be roasted and ground in order to make the drink! It just makes me wonder who the heck saw a bunch of red berries on a tree, and thought to himself ¨hmmm....I think I'll take the shell off of those berries, dry them in the sun, take of the other shell, roast it, ground it, and then make a drink out of it! Oh, yes, that would be delicious!¨
As most of you know, coffee is made of small beans, almost the size of a black bean, which is roasted and then ground into grains, which make a delicious drink. What most of you probably didn't know is that the coffee beans originally grow on trees in small berries that are the shape of blueberries, except that they turn red when ripe. And after being picked, they have a looooong ways to go before they are turned into the wonderful caffienated drink that we know and love!
First, they have to go through a maching that takes off the red outer shell. At this point, they look more like coffee beans than berries. After the shell has been taken off, they usually have to sit out for at least a day, in order to get rid of a filmy outer covering that is left on after the shell is taken off. They are then washed with clean water. During this process, the ¨bad beans¨are taken out. Usually the ones that have some of the outer shell still left on them, or do not have a bean inside the shell. These are separated, and consumed by the locals (which is why, when one goes to a coffee paradise like this where coffee is all around them, it is almost impossible to find GOOD coffee, because all the good stuff is exported, and the locals are left with the garbage). Then, the coffee is left out to dry for hours, sometimes days and days, depending on the strength of the sun. I found out while working here, that drying coffee is an art. There is a certain percentage of humidity that the coffee bean has to have, no more, no less, in order to be considered good. If it is too humid, it can have a sickly bitter taste to it. If it is too dry, it gets bland and flavorless.
The next part is the most simple, but possibly the most grueling. The coffee must be selected. The bad ones separated from the good ones. I have spent literally hours and hours separating coffee with the workers at the house I live in, only having separated about 50 pounds of coffee (about a 20th of the amount of coffee some people have) this is the most grueling, but also the most important, because the company they export their coffee to charges them for every defect the coffee has. For instance, for every 10 coffee beans they find that are black (they should be a pretty golden color), that is one defect and they get deducted the amount they get paid.
After all this is done, the coffee is brought to a warehouse, or in our case, the cooperative office, to be stored before being shipped off. This is the process we are in right now. There are 53 members in the cooperative. That means 53 different people have been coming to the cooperative ¨office¨ to drop off their coffee, weigh it, store it, and have it shipped off to the other side of the country to have it processed so it can be exported. That's right, there is still one more step to go before it can be exported. The coffee beans at this point are still in another outer shell, which needs to be stripped with another, more complicated machine that is hard to find. That is why they have to transport their coffee to have it processed and exported by a larger company.
All this work, just for one simple cup of coffee. Not to mention that all this still needs to be roasted and ground in order to make the drink! It just makes me wonder who the heck saw a bunch of red berries on a tree, and thought to himself ¨hmmm....I think I'll take the shell off of those berries, dry them in the sun, take of the other shell, roast it, ground it, and then make a drink out of it! Oh, yes, that would be delicious!¨
sábado, 8 de diciembre de 2007
A shout out
I just wanted to give a shout out to my little sis Mary. I just talked to her last night, and she brought me so much joy! I was so happy to see that she is doing so well in college, and getting excellent grades as well.
She also told me about an extremely difficult situation that she just went through back home. The way she recounted the story, and by her reaction I could tell that she had taken the situation with extreme maturity and rationality. That is my sister. She has always been very mature for her age, and especially when unexpected and difficult situations arise, her maturity shines through even stronger. I love you, Mary! And I hope you get a blog soon, so I can start reading it!
She also told me about an extremely difficult situation that she just went through back home. The way she recounted the story, and by her reaction I could tell that she had taken the situation with extreme maturity and rationality. That is my sister. She has always been very mature for her age, and especially when unexpected and difficult situations arise, her maturity shines through even stronger. I love you, Mary! And I hope you get a blog soon, so I can start reading it!
Please Pick for me a Rose
St. Terese of Lisieux is one of the most adored and revered saints of the Catholic Church. She lived and extremely humble, simple life away and may have never been noticed so much if it hadn't been for the autobiography she wrote while in the convent, which revealed her simple, yet beautifully passionate faith for the Lord.
Right before she died, St. Terese promised to send a shower of roses down on the earth while she was in heaven. So now, whenever someone prays a Rose Novena to St. Terese, they get a rose. Obviously roses don't just come falling from the sky and into someone´s hands. Rather, they may see a rose on TV, or on a card or even a print on someone´s shirt and be reminded of God´s love. Other stories are more miraculous, like a dozen roses floating by you in a lake, while your boyfriend proposes to you in a canoe (true story).
I will admit that I never was much of a fan of these rose novenas. Maybe because I never had any miraculous stories, only roses printed on shirts, and things like that. And every time that I would get my roses, I couldn't help but wonder if it was just mere coincidence, or I was just noticing roses more because I was praying the novena.
That´s why when I began my rose novena here in Honduras, I was a bit skeptical. Especially because I hadn't seen a single rose since the day I stepped foot in Honduras. They just aren't common here at all. However, I had a feeling one day that I should start it, so I did. Admittingly somewhat half-heartedly each day.
On the fifth day, I got my rose. I had gone to a youth group that is held in the church every Saturday. The only reason I remembered to go, is because I was hanging out outside of a family´s house on the street, when some of the kids passed by going to the group. I still wasn't going to go, as I was caught up in conversation with the girl who lived in the house, but one of the kids looked up at me as she passed, and asked me if I was going. I felt bad, especially since I had talked to them about going earlier. So I went, and sat through a rather disappointing meeting, where they just sat around talking about how frustrated they were that no one ever came to the meetings. No praying was done, no songs were sang, no inspirational talks were given. Nothing. As I got up to leave, I noticed a few older women enter the church and go to the front and sit down, as if they were waiting for something to start. I asked one of the kids, and she told me they were praying a rosary. Intrigued, I walked towards the front, and sat down and began praying with them.
It wasn't until we were about half way through the rosary, when I finally noticed a large vase placed at the foot of the statue we were facing. In the vase were 8 beautiful roses staring right at me. 2 red, and 6 pink. My eyes quickly filled with tears, as I remembered that it was the last day of my rose novena. I had no idea where they came from, or why they were there, but I knew that in that specific moment, they were just for me.
Right before she died, St. Terese promised to send a shower of roses down on the earth while she was in heaven. So now, whenever someone prays a Rose Novena to St. Terese, they get a rose. Obviously roses don't just come falling from the sky and into someone´s hands. Rather, they may see a rose on TV, or on a card or even a print on someone´s shirt and be reminded of God´s love. Other stories are more miraculous, like a dozen roses floating by you in a lake, while your boyfriend proposes to you in a canoe (true story).
I will admit that I never was much of a fan of these rose novenas. Maybe because I never had any miraculous stories, only roses printed on shirts, and things like that. And every time that I would get my roses, I couldn't help but wonder if it was just mere coincidence, or I was just noticing roses more because I was praying the novena.
That´s why when I began my rose novena here in Honduras, I was a bit skeptical. Especially because I hadn't seen a single rose since the day I stepped foot in Honduras. They just aren't common here at all. However, I had a feeling one day that I should start it, so I did. Admittingly somewhat half-heartedly each day.
On the fifth day, I got my rose. I had gone to a youth group that is held in the church every Saturday. The only reason I remembered to go, is because I was hanging out outside of a family´s house on the street, when some of the kids passed by going to the group. I still wasn't going to go, as I was caught up in conversation with the girl who lived in the house, but one of the kids looked up at me as she passed, and asked me if I was going. I felt bad, especially since I had talked to them about going earlier. So I went, and sat through a rather disappointing meeting, where they just sat around talking about how frustrated they were that no one ever came to the meetings. No praying was done, no songs were sang, no inspirational talks were given. Nothing. As I got up to leave, I noticed a few older women enter the church and go to the front and sit down, as if they were waiting for something to start. I asked one of the kids, and she told me they were praying a rosary. Intrigued, I walked towards the front, and sat down and began praying with them.
It wasn't until we were about half way through the rosary, when I finally noticed a large vase placed at the foot of the statue we were facing. In the vase were 8 beautiful roses staring right at me. 2 red, and 6 pink. My eyes quickly filled with tears, as I remembered that it was the last day of my rose novena. I had no idea where they came from, or why they were there, but I knew that in that specific moment, they were just for me.
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