Notes from Honduras 1

I love life. It's so weird. And surprising.

Just a few years ago if I had seen this image--my husband and I bidding farewell in some random Honduran airport as he leaves to board a flight to Tegucigalpa and I go board a flight to San Salvador--I would have thought, "What in the world?!!" Of course, in the moment it all made perfect sense, but out of context, confusing and unexpected. You just never know where life will take you.

I wish I had the time to organize my thoughts about my little trip to Honduras. But, seeing as how I still haven't unpacked or even cleaned up the mess I made while packing, I don't.

So instead you get a somewhat chronological random assortment of thoughts, pictures, notes, commentary, and maybe some reflection. This sputtering stream of semi-consciousness is primarily for myself. Enjoy?

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I left Saturday afternoon. I flew TACA airlines. (By far the best itinerary!) Apparently, "non-Hispanic white" people don't fly TACA. During check-in here at the Dallas airport I was asked several times if I was in the right place. To be honest, the moment I stepped into line at the airport, I already felt that I was in another country. The man in front of me was a native Salvadorian who is in the U.S. Army and has worked counter-narcotics operations in Columbia (and several other Latin American countries I can't remember). He was putting his grandmother and grandfather on the plane to El Salvador. This guy with his buzz cut and bulging biceps oozed archetypal military toughness. And this is what he had to say about the TACA check-in process: "This is a f------- inefficient operation!" He said it, not me.

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On the plane from DFW to San Salvador, I was the only person not Latin American. I stuck out like a soar thumb! Once we were in the air, the gentleman sitting next to me turned to me and said, "I'm going to talk to you in English now so you don't feel uncomfortable. I know what it's like to be surrounded by people speaking a language you don't understand. You feel left out. That's not a good feeling. I wouldn't want you to feel like that." Isn't that sweet? I didn't mention that I do actually--kinda, sorta--speak Spanish. But his English was much better than my Spanish, so I rolled with it. We had a very pleasant conversation.

His name is Jose, and he works for the city of Highland Village. His mother came to the U.S. in the seventies. He and his brothers soon followed. His dad was last. He didn't make it, and the experience was traumatizing, so he never wanted to try again. He has lived in El Salvador ever since. Jose was going for his annual visit to his father. In the eighties Jose was able to obtain legal status and eventually citizenship through Reagan's amnesty program. It was a long, complicated process. But definitely worth it. He and his wife met in high school, and they've been together over twenty years. They have had their ups and downs, but they have finally realized marriage is about commitment, real love is not like in the movies, and there is something very very good about a stable, secure relationship, where two people are used to each other and need each other. His wife works in a dentist's office. He has four children. The two oldest, boys, are going to community college. He also has a fourteen-year-old daughter. We agreed that fourteen is the hardest age, especially if you are a girl. They are in the process of planning a quincinera for his daughter. His wife is excited about it. He is not. His wife and his daughter went to a quincinera show (like a bridal show), and they've rented the hall and the Hummer (Hummer limos are all the rage for quincineras around here), and they are still looking for dresses. He also has a ten-year-old daughter. She is very sweet, and he doesn't want her to ever be fourteen. He misses the cheese in El Salvador. He also commented that NO ONE is trying to come to the U.S. from El Salvador because Mexico is so incredibly dangerous. Jose made sure I would know what to do and where to go when it was time to get off the plane. He also very politely ignored my cough.

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My connecting flight in San Salvador to San Pedro Sula was an hour delayed. It was hard to be patient because I was so excited to see Greg! (He had flown up from Tegucigalpa that day, and was waiting in San Pedro Sula for me.)

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For safety reasons, Greg has a list of hotels he is allowed to stay at in San Pedro Sula. It is a short list: the Hilton and the InterContinental. No complaints from me about the fact we HAD to stay in one of those hotels! (Greg chose the InterContinental.)

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That first night was my dream come true. I took NyQuil and crashed. I SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT! It was glorious and wonderful. It's amazing was a decent night's rest can do for a person.

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It was dark when I got to Honduras. So this was my first daylight view of San Pedro Sula. (You can see the Honduran flag at the Isuzu dealership.)

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Sunday morning I had my first baleada. This one had beans, eggs, and squeaky cheese. Hooray for squeaky cheese!

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Sunday morning we got our rental car. There was a bit of a disconnect between what Avis's website had said and reality on the ground. But it all worked out.

The major highways in Honduras don't exactly seem like major highways. They are small two-lane roads, sometimes riddled with potholes. Since he was unfamiliar with the road to Copan, Greg decided to rent an SUV to be safe.

Having just read Stones into Schools, in which Greg Mortensen makes more than a few critical comments about foreigners riding around in SUVs, I wasn't overly excited about the idea. But Greg assured me that everyone else would be in SUVs too. He was right. The other passenger cars on the roads were Toyota trucks and Honda CR-V sized SUVs. The more we drove around the country, the more apparent the reasons people don't bother with low suspension cars. So we fit right in, especially with the dents, scratches, and damaged bumper.

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On the road to Copan.

Want some orientation? Click here for a map. The capital is Tegucigalpa. Soto Cano Air Base is in Comayagua. We met in San Pedro Sula, and we drove up to Copan Ruinas.

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By any standards, Honduras in not a wealthy country. Driving along through the poverty was difficult for me. I never know how to feel about it, exactly. How do you deal with it emotionally? Reconcile it? There is really no way. It's so complicated. It was really affecting me that morning, much more so than in our travels of the last few years (like in Turkey and Egypt). I think it was because Honduras, of course, reminded me of the Dominican Republic. I was so well acquainted with the people there, in their homes, sometimes intimately involved in their lives--and, therefore, so well acquainted with their poverty. Which, again, I never learned to really cope with emotionally--because how can you? That morning in Honduras, on our drive, I was flooded with those complicated feelings I had confronted on my mission (and, end even more so, just AFTER my mission, when I was home again). I couldn't help but feel discouraged and hopeless.

But then we kept driving by these...

It's a chapel for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I will tell you why my heart soared when I saw these. These chapels are only built if there is a "critical mass" of active members of the Church. Local, native active members. And to be an active, practicing Mormon, your life has to be basically in order. Active members pay tithing, give offerings to the poor, emphasize education, plan for the future, visit other church members, spend time with family, go to church regularly, try to avoid working on Sundays, study the scriptures, attend the temple, and, since there are no paid or professional or full-time clergy, dedicate an enormous amount of time and energy to "running" the local church and administering its programs. To do all that, your life can't be a complete, total mess. Every one's life is messy, of course, but things in your life have to be somewhat in order and under control at least some of the time to be an active, fully-participating member. (The beauty, of course, is that being a member of the Church brings with it the strength, faith, and tools to get your life together.)

When I see one of these chapels, I am filled with hope. It may be located in a town cluttered with the humblest of homes. With my eyes, I can see only poverty. But when I see that chapel, I know that in that town, there are strong families. There are worthy priesthood leaders, which is no small thing. There are people who are working hard, contributing in their communities, sending their children to school, preparing to teach next week's Sunday School lesson. That chapel would not exist unless there were people who have stability in their lives, who have enough to serve others, who can take care of their families, are striving for a better life, people who are progressing. And because the chapel and those families who attend there exist in that town, even more people can come unto Christ and receive the spiritual blessings and the temporal tools they need to make a better life for themselves, both here and in the hereafter.

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One of many, many gorgeous views as we drove up towards the ruins. The day was hazy, so the picture doesn't begin to portray the real beauty of the countryside.

Also, notice the bird. I never ceased to be amazed by the richness of bird life!

I wish I had recorded the SOUNDS. Everything sounded so alive...the birds, the bugs, and I swear you could hear the plants growing too. I didn't want to get back in the car--I was mesmerized by the cacophony of bird songs.

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Our drive continued.

It took about three hours. Not bad!

Near the ruins, we drove through an area of coffee plantations...

We arrived at the ruins late in the afternoon.

Overall, it was a beautiful, energizing, interesting drive. Of course, the company was the best part!