The other day, my sister told me about a dream she had about me. It was incredibly profound, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
In the dream, we were both riding a bike. I was the one who was pedaling, and my sister was riding behind me. After riding for a while, we came to a huge hill, practically impossible to get up. But I decided to start going up it anyway. As I began to pedal up, my sister started screaming at me to stop, saying ¨what the hell are you doing? You’re gonna get us killed, you could never do this, it’s impossible!¨ But I kept on pedaling, trying my best to ignore her.
Finally, after we had reached about 3/4ths of the way I stopped, and we both fell to the ground. And sitting there on the ground, I started bawling and bawling. In between tears, I looked up at my sister and asked her ¨why didn’t you just let me do it? I could have done it, why did you keep telling me to stop?¨
This dream was so profound not just for me, but I think everyone can learn something from it. I told it to my 7th grade class (I just started teaching classes on Saturdays again) the first day of classes. After telling them the story, I asked them what it meant. They all looked at me shyly, searching for the right answer.
I told them that it meant that they can’t always listen to their friends, family, and society when they tell them something is impossible, or that it has never been done. They just have to keep pushing and listening to themselves.
The funny thing, is that I have thought about the dream over and over again, wondering especially who the person on the back of the bike is that is keeping me from doing the impossible. I finally cam to the conclusion that it’s me. I am weighing myself down. Every time I think of a new project, or something to do, I just tell myself ¨oh, no one would listen to me¨ or ¨nobody does that, so I shouldn’t either.¨ After Sarah told me about the dream, I have been conscious about those types of thoughts, realizing that they really do keep me from doing my best work that I could do. Sometimes numerous times in a day, I will catch myself saying ¨no, I can’t do that, that’s impossible for me.¨
So I will continue each day, praying for the strength to do the impossible, because I know that if I keep listening to the voices inside of me telling me I can’t do it, I won’t be able to reach the top of the hill.
martes, 26 de febrero de 2008
miércoles, 20 de febrero de 2008
ummm.......awkward......
There is no word for awkward in Spanish. The closest that comes to it is ¨incomodo¨, which means literally ¨uncomfortable.¨ This is obviously not the same as the word awkward, a word which almost cannot be described without giving an example of an awkward situation, or perhaps an awkward person.
It is actually quite ironic that there is not a word in spanish for awkward, as I have gotten myself into more awkward situations since I have been here than I ever have in my life. I do not know if it actually has anything to do with the Honduran culture. I actually think it has more to do with the tiny size of my town, and the fact that people spend their entire lives socializing with the same people, and never meeting anyone new. Because of this, they have almost no idea how to relate to outsiders.
This was something I definately had to adjust to when I got to my site. When I would go and visit a new house, sometimes I was welcomed with warm arms, and people would not be able to stop asking questions about the States, or what my family was like. Other times, it was a little more difficult. A couple times, I have arrived at a new house only to be met by stares from every single member of the family, and complete silence when I sit down to have a conversation. After about 5 minutes about asking questions about their family and about the weather, I would run out of things to say, and just sit there in silence.
I have gotten so used to this way of life, that it doesn´t really affect me anymore. In fact, I kind of enjoy it. As oppose to in the States, when someone comes to visit, the host feels like they have to be entertained the entire time with conversation, music, or games. However, when I have gone to visit houses, many times I just sit in silence for a while, completely content to just be in the company of others.
Other times, in the middle of conversation the woman I am visiting will get up to make me lunch or dinner, and leave me just sitting there, staring at the wall by myself. But by the end of the visit, she comes back, and we begin to talk about the father of her first child, who left her while she was pregnant at 17, and has never come back to visit. I leave the visit with my belly full, and a new outlook on the lives of the women here in the country in Honduras, and feel that much closer to the woman I visited.
I wrote this blog in response to what my sister Sarah wrote in her blog about feeling awkward when she came here to visit. It is really interesting, but in the situations where she felt awkward, I felt calm and relaxed. She mentioned that if we both had felt the same way, we would have left that visit without lunch, or having the great conversation we ended up having.
So, if I come back to the States an awkward, non-social mess, I am sorry. But I have come to really appreciate the way people are here. There doesn´t exist a word for awkward for them, perhaps because awkwardness doesn´t exist. It´s all in the heads of the people who are in the situation. And when someone begins to feel awkward, they miss so many wonderful opportunities!
It is actually quite ironic that there is not a word in spanish for awkward, as I have gotten myself into more awkward situations since I have been here than I ever have in my life. I do not know if it actually has anything to do with the Honduran culture. I actually think it has more to do with the tiny size of my town, and the fact that people spend their entire lives socializing with the same people, and never meeting anyone new. Because of this, they have almost no idea how to relate to outsiders.
This was something I definately had to adjust to when I got to my site. When I would go and visit a new house, sometimes I was welcomed with warm arms, and people would not be able to stop asking questions about the States, or what my family was like. Other times, it was a little more difficult. A couple times, I have arrived at a new house only to be met by stares from every single member of the family, and complete silence when I sit down to have a conversation. After about 5 minutes about asking questions about their family and about the weather, I would run out of things to say, and just sit there in silence.
I have gotten so used to this way of life, that it doesn´t really affect me anymore. In fact, I kind of enjoy it. As oppose to in the States, when someone comes to visit, the host feels like they have to be entertained the entire time with conversation, music, or games. However, when I have gone to visit houses, many times I just sit in silence for a while, completely content to just be in the company of others.
Other times, in the middle of conversation the woman I am visiting will get up to make me lunch or dinner, and leave me just sitting there, staring at the wall by myself. But by the end of the visit, she comes back, and we begin to talk about the father of her first child, who left her while she was pregnant at 17, and has never come back to visit. I leave the visit with my belly full, and a new outlook on the lives of the women here in the country in Honduras, and feel that much closer to the woman I visited.
I wrote this blog in response to what my sister Sarah wrote in her blog about feeling awkward when she came here to visit. It is really interesting, but in the situations where she felt awkward, I felt calm and relaxed. She mentioned that if we both had felt the same way, we would have left that visit without lunch, or having the great conversation we ended up having.
So, if I come back to the States an awkward, non-social mess, I am sorry. But I have come to really appreciate the way people are here. There doesn´t exist a word for awkward for them, perhaps because awkwardness doesn´t exist. It´s all in the heads of the people who are in the situation. And when someone begins to feel awkward, they miss so many wonderful opportunities!
martes, 5 de febrero de 2008
Just another night....
A couple nights ago was the culmination of the town fair in the next town over for me. These town fairs usually last for a couple weeks with food, rides, ect...you know, the standard fair necessities. And always at the end of the fair, is a blow-out dance that lasts into the wee hours of the night.
Now I had heard about this fair since the day I arrived at my site, and was no less than ecstatic to go. I got all ready to go, and left on foot with one of my girlfriends (who am I kidding? I only have girlfriends! Which is a good thing...) from the town.
The walk started out pretty wonderfully, the sun was going down, and it was all downhill, which was a plus. I also refused to wear my shoes, so the dust of the road and gravel were a pleasant feeling on the soles of my feet. Eventually, about 1 hour in, I began to get a little hungry and weary. My shoes had gone back on due to the rocky terrain, and my feet were developing blisters in about 6 different places. The only thing I had to look forward to was the goal in front of me. I kept chanting to myself ¨I think I can, I think I can.....¨ All I wanted to do was dance, man!
When the rocky road finally turned into the cobblestone streets of the town, I almost burst with joy. ¨We're here!¨ I thought, ¨And only two hours till the dancing begins!¨ Why we had gotten there so early was beyond me. However, I wasn´t bitter at all (this is sarcasm) when we came upon some others from our town who had arrived only half an hour later than us in a truck. ¨why didn't you just come with us?¨ They had asked. I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled between gritted teeth while still feeling the burn in my feet.
After filling my belly and drinking too much pop (due to various men who offered to buy me beers, but I refused, knowing what that could do to my reputation), the dancing began. I danced with my first victim (or I should say I was the victim...) for a couple songs, quickly realizing that he was quite drunk (already?) and hitting on me with ridiculous force. For some reason, I accepted dancing with him to a slow song. Big mistake. The entire time he was whispering sweet-nothings into my ear, trying to pull me closer. Finally, when the song ended, I didn't even say anything, I just simply fled from his arms, and spent the rest of the time ducking behind trees trying to avoid him.
I tried to have better judgement since, and decided that if I could smell beer on their breath, they were out. This was a good measurement for a good dancing partner, and fortunately the next few men I danced with were much better, although I still had to make up an excuse every time in order to escape from them. One of them was actually an extremely fun person to dance to, and my absolute favorite becuase he didn't talk to me the entire time! As I always say (since I got here, that is) silence is much better than hearing how beautiful my eyes are (as a starry night? As a sunset on a placid lake? As those of a princess? Take your pick......).
So as the night winded down, I decided it was pretty successful. I had successfully danced the night away, managed not to give my number out to any guys, danced with a fair number of men so as not to arrouse gossip, had my fair share of good conversation, and enjoyed myself thoroughly.
The walk back to the truck that was going to take us to our town (no way were we going to walk it at 3 in the morning!) was more than interesting. As I was walking back, my friend and the only other girl walking with us disappeared in front of me, leaving me alone with about 5 men. As I was walking down the street with my arms crossed, I noticed one of the guys in front of me start to take off his shirt. I thought to myself ¨what the hell is this man doing? it´s freezing.¨ At that moment, as if he had been thinking the same thing, he put it back on. A couple minutes later, I overheard a few of the other guys talking about me, and pushing one of the others over to me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, pretending not to notice as he walked towards me and started to take his shirt of as well.
I saw him freeze in his footsteps, and walk shyly back to the group of guys, only to be pushed back to me once again. Finally, in a surprisingly smooth manner, he asked me if I was cold and if I wanted to wear his shirt. Grinning at him, and trying my best to hold back my laughter, I agreed realizing how much he had gone through to gather up the courage to ask. Immediately after, the guy who had started to take off his shirt earlier said to me ¨I was going to give you my shirt, but I didn´t have another one....¨
So that was my night. Just another day in the life of a gringa in Honduras. Although I get fed up with the ridiculous attention I get from men, sometimes a small act of chivalry makes up for it!
Now I had heard about this fair since the day I arrived at my site, and was no less than ecstatic to go. I got all ready to go, and left on foot with one of my girlfriends (who am I kidding? I only have girlfriends! Which is a good thing...) from the town.
The walk started out pretty wonderfully, the sun was going down, and it was all downhill, which was a plus. I also refused to wear my shoes, so the dust of the road and gravel were a pleasant feeling on the soles of my feet. Eventually, about 1 hour in, I began to get a little hungry and weary. My shoes had gone back on due to the rocky terrain, and my feet were developing blisters in about 6 different places. The only thing I had to look forward to was the goal in front of me. I kept chanting to myself ¨I think I can, I think I can.....¨ All I wanted to do was dance, man!
When the rocky road finally turned into the cobblestone streets of the town, I almost burst with joy. ¨We're here!¨ I thought, ¨And only two hours till the dancing begins!¨ Why we had gotten there so early was beyond me. However, I wasn´t bitter at all (this is sarcasm) when we came upon some others from our town who had arrived only half an hour later than us in a truck. ¨why didn't you just come with us?¨ They had asked. I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled between gritted teeth while still feeling the burn in my feet.
After filling my belly and drinking too much pop (due to various men who offered to buy me beers, but I refused, knowing what that could do to my reputation), the dancing began. I danced with my first victim (or I should say I was the victim...) for a couple songs, quickly realizing that he was quite drunk (already?) and hitting on me with ridiculous force. For some reason, I accepted dancing with him to a slow song. Big mistake. The entire time he was whispering sweet-nothings into my ear, trying to pull me closer. Finally, when the song ended, I didn't even say anything, I just simply fled from his arms, and spent the rest of the time ducking behind trees trying to avoid him.
I tried to have better judgement since, and decided that if I could smell beer on their breath, they were out. This was a good measurement for a good dancing partner, and fortunately the next few men I danced with were much better, although I still had to make up an excuse every time in order to escape from them. One of them was actually an extremely fun person to dance to, and my absolute favorite becuase he didn't talk to me the entire time! As I always say (since I got here, that is) silence is much better than hearing how beautiful my eyes are (as a starry night? As a sunset on a placid lake? As those of a princess? Take your pick......).
So as the night winded down, I decided it was pretty successful. I had successfully danced the night away, managed not to give my number out to any guys, danced with a fair number of men so as not to arrouse gossip, had my fair share of good conversation, and enjoyed myself thoroughly.
The walk back to the truck that was going to take us to our town (no way were we going to walk it at 3 in the morning!) was more than interesting. As I was walking back, my friend and the only other girl walking with us disappeared in front of me, leaving me alone with about 5 men. As I was walking down the street with my arms crossed, I noticed one of the guys in front of me start to take off his shirt. I thought to myself ¨what the hell is this man doing? it´s freezing.¨ At that moment, as if he had been thinking the same thing, he put it back on. A couple minutes later, I overheard a few of the other guys talking about me, and pushing one of the others over to me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, pretending not to notice as he walked towards me and started to take his shirt of as well.
I saw him freeze in his footsteps, and walk shyly back to the group of guys, only to be pushed back to me once again. Finally, in a surprisingly smooth manner, he asked me if I was cold and if I wanted to wear his shirt. Grinning at him, and trying my best to hold back my laughter, I agreed realizing how much he had gone through to gather up the courage to ask. Immediately after, the guy who had started to take off his shirt earlier said to me ¨I was going to give you my shirt, but I didn´t have another one....¨
So that was my night. Just another day in the life of a gringa in Honduras. Although I get fed up with the ridiculous attention I get from men, sometimes a small act of chivalry makes up for it!
girl power
So, for those of you who aren't very familiar with the culture of Hondurans in rural areas, there is such a thing as ¨machisma.¨ This basically means that woman are often treated un-fairly mainly because their husbands have an immense power over them: money. Men in the rural areas are virtually the only ones who work, and the woman is left at home to take care of the kids. Now, I am obviously not speaking against this, as my mother was a stay-at-home mom for many years. However, I am pretty sure that one way or another, she could have pretty easily figured things out if my dad had left her. It is a little different here. If a woman and man get divorced here, the man is okay, but the woman is left with virtually nothing. There isn't any McDonalds in the rural area that she could go and work at!
Unfortunatley, men constantly use this power to their advantage, often having a woman on the side, which is quite acceptable. Sometimes you just have to hear it from their own mouths to believe it. I had heard this numerous times before I came down here. I believed it, but it is one thing to just believe it. It´s another to hear men, even women talking about the numerous women they have as if it is no big deal. Or watching how men completely ignore their wives in public (and sometimes at home, as well), which I feel is one of the worst forms of abuse.
I have also noticed how women who live in the rural towns carry themselves. People who grow up in the country in general are often known as ¨humble campesinos¨ mainly becuase they spend most of their life in one area, almost never get out, and almost never have a vision of anything beyond what they know. Even more, many are un-educated, and live their whole lives seeing women and men in a certain role, and don't realize that there is any other way it possibly could be. Because of these factors, especially in the case of women, they often carry themselves as if they were nothing.....just as they are often treated.
This is one of the saddest things for me to watch here, especially after spending time one-on-one with some of these women, or watching them interact with other women from their town. Many of them are extremely witty, attractive, intelligent and capable. However, when they get in certain situations, for instance, when surrounded by men, they close up and seem almost like a shy child, hiding reluctantly behind his mother.
On the other hand, I have met some incredible women who have somehow been able to see beyond these roles, and are stronger than ever, often putting men in their places. There are a few women who are members of the cooperative, one of which is the president of the cooperative. They are each surprisingly respected greatly among the men, partially because they carry themselves with such confidence, and don't take any crap from any of them!
This is one of the reasons I have started working more with the women in my town. Up until now, I have spent almost all my time with men, members of the coffee co-op, which can get a little draining. When I got the idea to start a women´s cooperative, or just any sort of women´s group, where women can gather support from one another, I was ecstatic. With this idea, I wish for nothing more that to give the women of my town a little more hope and a little more self-confidence. If that is through going to seminars, or starting a craft to generate some sort of income, I am ready. With your prayers, I will be more ready!
Unfortunatley, men constantly use this power to their advantage, often having a woman on the side, which is quite acceptable. Sometimes you just have to hear it from their own mouths to believe it. I had heard this numerous times before I came down here. I believed it, but it is one thing to just believe it. It´s another to hear men, even women talking about the numerous women they have as if it is no big deal. Or watching how men completely ignore their wives in public (and sometimes at home, as well), which I feel is one of the worst forms of abuse.
I have also noticed how women who live in the rural towns carry themselves. People who grow up in the country in general are often known as ¨humble campesinos¨ mainly becuase they spend most of their life in one area, almost never get out, and almost never have a vision of anything beyond what they know. Even more, many are un-educated, and live their whole lives seeing women and men in a certain role, and don't realize that there is any other way it possibly could be. Because of these factors, especially in the case of women, they often carry themselves as if they were nothing.....just as they are often treated.
This is one of the saddest things for me to watch here, especially after spending time one-on-one with some of these women, or watching them interact with other women from their town. Many of them are extremely witty, attractive, intelligent and capable. However, when they get in certain situations, for instance, when surrounded by men, they close up and seem almost like a shy child, hiding reluctantly behind his mother.
On the other hand, I have met some incredible women who have somehow been able to see beyond these roles, and are stronger than ever, often putting men in their places. There are a few women who are members of the cooperative, one of which is the president of the cooperative. They are each surprisingly respected greatly among the men, partially because they carry themselves with such confidence, and don't take any crap from any of them!
This is one of the reasons I have started working more with the women in my town. Up until now, I have spent almost all my time with men, members of the coffee co-op, which can get a little draining. When I got the idea to start a women´s cooperative, or just any sort of women´s group, where women can gather support from one another, I was ecstatic. With this idea, I wish for nothing more that to give the women of my town a little more hope and a little more self-confidence. If that is through going to seminars, or starting a craft to generate some sort of income, I am ready. With your prayers, I will be more ready!
martes, 22 de enero de 2008
A night on the top of the world
I know my little sis Sarah already wrote about this night, but I wanted to be able to write it from my perspective:
One of the last nights Sarah was with me, we were suddenly approached in the park we were sitting at by two older men. They began chatting with us, and we soon found out that they knew some of the same people I knew from the area, including other Peace Corps volunteers.
At one point in the conversation, they asked me what I had studied in the University. My major being Theology, I always hesitate to tell people this answer, I'll admit. Perhaps it is because I don't like to be judged right away as someone extremely ¨religious¨ however they may define the word (although I probably am by many definitions). Or perhaps it is because my spirituality is something very personal to me, and I don't like it to be announced to strangers right away. Therefore, when they questioned me, I answered hesitantly. However, when I gave them the answer, both their eyes widened with joy and excitement, and one of them exclaimed ¨wow, I've never spoken with a theologian before!¨
Immediately, one of the men asked me and Sarah if we would like to go to the top of the belltower of the Cathedral. From there, we sat chatting about mundane things for a bit. But before long, the chatter turned into heated discussion of the theology of the church, and its position in the world as well as its obligation to help the poor. The discussion started with one of the men questioning me about old theologians I had studied. I could tell that this subject was something that had been on his mind for a long time, and had been dying to get it off his chest. I sat there for almost an hour, discussing the beauty of the doctrine of the Church, the obligation it has to help all human beings, and even compared Catholicism to Buddhism. All the time, with my broken Spanish and perhaps simple worded arguments due to my lack of vocabulary in the realm of theology. But despite this, I felt that every time I gave an argument, they looked at me and listened with a deep respect that I was almost taken aback by.
As the conversation died, I looked out the window over the city, thanking God for such a beautiful night. I was able to delve into the souls of these men, seeing what was important to them on the absolute deepest level, and even was able to help them a little bit to understand, perhaps, the teachings of the Church and Her role in the world. All because I had majored in Theology. It is at times like that when I know that even if I never continue with my degree, it was worth studying just for that moment.
One of the last nights Sarah was with me, we were suddenly approached in the park we were sitting at by two older men. They began chatting with us, and we soon found out that they knew some of the same people I knew from the area, including other Peace Corps volunteers.
At one point in the conversation, they asked me what I had studied in the University. My major being Theology, I always hesitate to tell people this answer, I'll admit. Perhaps it is because I don't like to be judged right away as someone extremely ¨religious¨ however they may define the word (although I probably am by many definitions). Or perhaps it is because my spirituality is something very personal to me, and I don't like it to be announced to strangers right away. Therefore, when they questioned me, I answered hesitantly. However, when I gave them the answer, both their eyes widened with joy and excitement, and one of them exclaimed ¨wow, I've never spoken with a theologian before!¨
Immediately, one of the men asked me and Sarah if we would like to go to the top of the belltower of the Cathedral. From there, we sat chatting about mundane things for a bit. But before long, the chatter turned into heated discussion of the theology of the church, and its position in the world as well as its obligation to help the poor. The discussion started with one of the men questioning me about old theologians I had studied. I could tell that this subject was something that had been on his mind for a long time, and had been dying to get it off his chest. I sat there for almost an hour, discussing the beauty of the doctrine of the Church, the obligation it has to help all human beings, and even compared Catholicism to Buddhism. All the time, with my broken Spanish and perhaps simple worded arguments due to my lack of vocabulary in the realm of theology. But despite this, I felt that every time I gave an argument, they looked at me and listened with a deep respect that I was almost taken aback by.
As the conversation died, I looked out the window over the city, thanking God for such a beautiful night. I was able to delve into the souls of these men, seeing what was important to them on the absolute deepest level, and even was able to help them a little bit to understand, perhaps, the teachings of the Church and Her role in the world. All because I had majored in Theology. It is at times like that when I know that even if I never continue with my degree, it was worth studying just for that moment.
viernes, 18 de enero de 2008
taxi drivers continued.....
I decided to split up the funny stories blog so as not to make it one long exhaustive one. Here is another funny story about taxi drivers. You either love 'em or you hate 'em.
The night we got to Tegucigulpa, I found out about 15 minutes after getting out of the taxi that I had accidentally left my wallet sitting on the seat of the cab, which contained 2 debit cards, some money and both my I.D. cards. I was devastated. Not only was I afraid of losing tons of money, I knew that I would have to spend the majority of the next day figuring out what to do and getting a new I.D. card.......and my meeting started at 8 o'clock the next day.
Hoping to get there at at least 10 in the morning, I rushed to the Peace Corps office the next day and asked them what to do. First, they had me go to the police office and write a report, and then to another place to take pictures for my I.D. This of course, took until about 11 in the morning. Knowing that the meeting didn't end until the afternooon, I was still rushing around at least get there for a little bit of the meeting. Sarah and I then climbed into a taxi that took us to the immigration office.
Our taxi driver this time was a character, who, during the entire 20-minute taxi ride, told us stories of the time he spent in the states, his Puerto Rican lover that he left in the states, but still seemed to be in love with, and the farm he grew up on in Eastern Honduras, where everyone owns a horse and at least 2 pistols.
As I stepped out of the cab, the few moments of joy and relief I had gotten from chatting with the cab driver quickly vanished. I opened the doors to the immigration office, only to find that the woman had gone on luch, and I stood waiting there for at least a half hour. By time I left the office, I was basically at the end of my wits after so many people who had cut in front of me (lines apparently don't exist here), the ridiculous amount of time it took to do EVERYTHING, and the apparant disinterest of everyone that I HAD A MEETING TO GO TO!!!
The taxi drivers who were parked out front of the office, just like the ones who had been in the front of the mall, were sure in for a treat! As soon as they gave me the price, I began arguing with them, saying "Don't give me that! You are screwing me over and you know it, you all know it! It is NOT that far from here to where I'm going!" As the arguments escalated, my voice got louder and louder until I was practically screaming in their faces. Finally, I threw my arms up, and walked away, planning on walking down the side of the highway until I found someone who would take me at the price I asked for. This time, I left Sarah standing there awkwardly, apologizing to the taxi drivers for my behaviour saying, "she's had a loooooong day." After walking barely a block, we found a taxi driver that would take us for a whole 10 Lempiras less than what the other ones offered us ($0.50). Although not the price I was hoping for, I was satisfied and hopped in the car. As we drove past the mob of taxi drivers I screamed and made vulgar guestures at them in my anger. After about a minute of silence, Sarah burst out laughing saying "Lizzy! You were acting like a crazy woman!" I couldn't help but join in here laughter, replaying the recent events in my head. "Those damn taxi drivers.............."
The night we got to Tegucigulpa, I found out about 15 minutes after getting out of the taxi that I had accidentally left my wallet sitting on the seat of the cab, which contained 2 debit cards, some money and both my I.D. cards. I was devastated. Not only was I afraid of losing tons of money, I knew that I would have to spend the majority of the next day figuring out what to do and getting a new I.D. card.......and my meeting started at 8 o'clock the next day.
Hoping to get there at at least 10 in the morning, I rushed to the Peace Corps office the next day and asked them what to do. First, they had me go to the police office and write a report, and then to another place to take pictures for my I.D. This of course, took until about 11 in the morning. Knowing that the meeting didn't end until the afternooon, I was still rushing around at least get there for a little bit of the meeting. Sarah and I then climbed into a taxi that took us to the immigration office.
Our taxi driver this time was a character, who, during the entire 20-minute taxi ride, told us stories of the time he spent in the states, his Puerto Rican lover that he left in the states, but still seemed to be in love with, and the farm he grew up on in Eastern Honduras, where everyone owns a horse and at least 2 pistols.
As I stepped out of the cab, the few moments of joy and relief I had gotten from chatting with the cab driver quickly vanished. I opened the doors to the immigration office, only to find that the woman had gone on luch, and I stood waiting there for at least a half hour. By time I left the office, I was basically at the end of my wits after so many people who had cut in front of me (lines apparently don't exist here), the ridiculous amount of time it took to do EVERYTHING, and the apparant disinterest of everyone that I HAD A MEETING TO GO TO!!!
The taxi drivers who were parked out front of the office, just like the ones who had been in the front of the mall, were sure in for a treat! As soon as they gave me the price, I began arguing with them, saying "Don't give me that! You are screwing me over and you know it, you all know it! It is NOT that far from here to where I'm going!" As the arguments escalated, my voice got louder and louder until I was practically screaming in their faces. Finally, I threw my arms up, and walked away, planning on walking down the side of the highway until I found someone who would take me at the price I asked for. This time, I left Sarah standing there awkwardly, apologizing to the taxi drivers for my behaviour saying, "she's had a loooooong day." After walking barely a block, we found a taxi driver that would take us for a whole 10 Lempiras less than what the other ones offered us ($0.50). Although not the price I was hoping for, I was satisfied and hopped in the car. As we drove past the mob of taxi drivers I screamed and made vulgar guestures at them in my anger. After about a minute of silence, Sarah burst out laughing saying "Lizzy! You were acting like a crazy woman!" I couldn't help but join in here laughter, replaying the recent events in my head. "Those damn taxi drivers.............."
Funny Stories with Sarah and Liz....and taxi drivers
The other day, my mother told me that she and my older sister Theresa were laughing until their cheeks hurt talking about the huge differences between me and Sarah, who just left today after a 2 week long visit, and how ridiculous we might be traveling together.
This can't be further from the truth. In fact, we got along the entire time we were there. Haha. Just kidding, mom. Here are a couple of silly stories from our trip that, if it had been turned into a movie, would be a great comic success.
One of the first days that we got there, I had to go to a meeting in the big city, Tegucigulpa, which always scares me out of my wits when I wander around there alone. We got off the bus at a mall, the safest option for me, and decided to roam around the mall a little before we took a taxi to the house we were staying at for the night.
As we were leaving the mall, a herd of taxi drivers bombarded us, asking us where we wanted to go. We told them, and they told us they would charge us a ridiculous amount that I refused to pay. I began to argue with them, little me standing in a circle of taxi drivers who were all giving me the same price and weren't backing down, even though they knew they were screwing me over. I was being stubborn, and tried to keep arguing, when Sarah stomped off the other way, sick of standing there and making a scene. I didn't want to leave, because I didn't want to lose the fight, so I stood there for a while, before I realized my little sister was leaving me there to fend for myself.
I ran after her screaming, asking why she had left me. We then began to argue fairly loudly at each other as we were walking down a dark path from the mall to the main highway. In the middle of our screaming match (okay, maybe we weren't screaming, but we sure were pretty furious at each other), a police man came up to us and asked us where we were going, and that we shouldn't be walking there alone at night. We told him where we were trying to go, and he seemed more than happy to help us. He even walked with us down to the highway to get us a taxi at a fair price. As he was walking us down to the highway, he began to ask us questions about ourselves in a fairly flirtatious way. At one point, he pointed out to us his fancy motorcycle that he gets to ride around on every day for work. We both looked at the motorcycle and exclaimed "oooooh!" simultaneously, then quickly exchanged big grins, holding back our laughter. As we approached the highway, his fellow police officers looked at him with wide grins as if to say "how did you get these lovely gringas to talk to you? You tiger, you!"
As we got into the taxi and rode away, we doubled over laughing at the absurdity of the night. "What a clever way to pick up girls!" We exclaimed to each other. But the best thing was that we were best friends all over again, and had forgotten completely about our little tiff we had gotten into, thanks to the friendly police man.
This can't be further from the truth. In fact, we got along the entire time we were there. Haha. Just kidding, mom. Here are a couple of silly stories from our trip that, if it had been turned into a movie, would be a great comic success.
One of the first days that we got there, I had to go to a meeting in the big city, Tegucigulpa, which always scares me out of my wits when I wander around there alone. We got off the bus at a mall, the safest option for me, and decided to roam around the mall a little before we took a taxi to the house we were staying at for the night.
As we were leaving the mall, a herd of taxi drivers bombarded us, asking us where we wanted to go. We told them, and they told us they would charge us a ridiculous amount that I refused to pay. I began to argue with them, little me standing in a circle of taxi drivers who were all giving me the same price and weren't backing down, even though they knew they were screwing me over. I was being stubborn, and tried to keep arguing, when Sarah stomped off the other way, sick of standing there and making a scene. I didn't want to leave, because I didn't want to lose the fight, so I stood there for a while, before I realized my little sister was leaving me there to fend for myself.
I ran after her screaming, asking why she had left me. We then began to argue fairly loudly at each other as we were walking down a dark path from the mall to the main highway. In the middle of our screaming match (okay, maybe we weren't screaming, but we sure were pretty furious at each other), a police man came up to us and asked us where we were going, and that we shouldn't be walking there alone at night. We told him where we were trying to go, and he seemed more than happy to help us. He even walked with us down to the highway to get us a taxi at a fair price. As he was walking us down to the highway, he began to ask us questions about ourselves in a fairly flirtatious way. At one point, he pointed out to us his fancy motorcycle that he gets to ride around on every day for work. We both looked at the motorcycle and exclaimed "oooooh!" simultaneously, then quickly exchanged big grins, holding back our laughter. As we approached the highway, his fellow police officers looked at him with wide grins as if to say "how did you get these lovely gringas to talk to you? You tiger, you!"
As we got into the taxi and rode away, we doubled over laughing at the absurdity of the night. "What a clever way to pick up girls!" We exclaimed to each other. But the best thing was that we were best friends all over again, and had forgotten completely about our little tiff we had gotten into, thanks to the friendly police man.
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