I haven’t written anything in over a month. Dear readers, what must you think of me? Or wonder where I am? I am home once again, in Louisiana.
I don’t have plans to return to Honduras. Spanish lessons in Honduras gave me a boost in language acquisition. Language skills could help if I eventually decide to move again to a Spanish-speaking country.
One thing I neglected to write about was that I arrived a day after a festival in Siguatepeque, Honduras. Obviously, the citizenry had called a city-wide party in which everyone spent the day with the express purpose of spreading litter. Soda bottles, plastic bags, and all manner of paper were spread across the town. One could scarcely walk the streets without said rubbish sticking to the soles of one’s shoes.
In addition, all dogs, owned or stray, had been invited to make their mark on the streets as well. It must have been a great turn-out, one of historic proportions. I was amazed at the output of the varied canine population. My shoes bear the marks, too, of the dog-in-street celebration.
Seriously, Siguatepeque has a litter problem. And a dog control problem. In stark contrast, the neighboring city of Comayagua was nearly spotless. The historic center of Comayagua had actual garbage bins strategically placed. I didn’t see any food wrappers in the streets although the city was full of poor farmers from the surrounding villages there to sell their wares as well as buy goods in town on the Saturday that I spent in Comayagua. There was not one stray dog to be seen the entire day I spent in Comayagua.
Moral of this story: Visit Comayagua and enjoy a provincial city with colonial buildings. If you should visit Siguatepeque, don’t wear sandals. Wear old shoes to trample the trash underfoot that’s everywhere in the city.
That’s all folks. I will try to write a bit more frequently.
I am in Siguatepeque, Honduras for a Spanish language intensive. I am at the midpoint of my 3 week stay. Classes are going well.
I walk to and from the school each weekday. I share a home with a widow and another student. Her house is an easy walk to the school, taking about 15-20 minutes to walk to and from the school.
Everyday I pass about 1/2 dozen small stores. They sell the kind of things one finds in convenience stores in the States: soft drinks, chips, over the counter medicines, toilet paper and other such stuff. In Central America, these small mom and pop stores are called pulperias.
Pulperia, by definition, means a place to buy octopus. No, you won’t find any octopus in these stores. How did that name become the de facto name for tiny one-room stores all over the region?
Some people say it’s because the owner needs to have eight arms working in all directions to find items in the tight spaces of these small stores. I don’t think that’s where the name comes from.
In the nineteenth and twentieth century, the banana companies had a virtual monopoly as far as employment in these small countries. There were very little other work available to those seeking wages. If one didn’t work on a coffee plantation, the only other alternative was the fruit companies.
The reach of the United and Dole fruit companies cannot be underestimated. They controlled the economies of the small countries of Central America. The locals referred to their employer as The Octopus (El Pulpo in Spanish). The word octopus was used because the company had tentacles everywhere, much like an octopus. When workers received their wages, it was in company script which could only be used in the company store.
So, the name Pulperia emerged. It was the store owned by El Pulpo, or the Octopus. Today, one can stop at any pulperia for everyday items.
Want a cold Coca-Cola? The pulperia always has them stocked.
Need a tablet or two of Alka Seltzer? They are on hand. And because this is Central America, a cold drink and a dose of Alka Seltzer are often just the thing one needs.
I am in Siguatepeque, Honduras, to improve my Spanish language skills. I am studying at the Spanish Institute of Honduras for three weeks. On Wednesday, I flew from New Orleans to Houston, and then on to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. The school sent a driver to pick me up for the 90 minute drive to Siguatepeque.
Siguatepeque, or Sigua as the locals say, is a city of about 80,000 people. It’s nestled in the heartland of Honduras, right in the middle, nestled high in the mountains. Elevation is about .7 miles, or 1,100 meters.
Siguatepeque seems to be growing. It’s equidistant between San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa, the two largest cities of Honduras. There’s a superior highway running between these two cities, just as good as any in the US. Good roads, an excellent location and a highland climate make the town attractive to newcomers.
Wednesday was my first day in Honduras, or 1/2 day. I arrived at the airport around 12:30 in the afternoon. My driver and I traveled another hour and a half to get to the city of Siguatepeque. I dropped off my luggage at my home that I share while I am here, then spent a few hours taking care of banking, shopping and other details that I needed to settle for a three week stay. On Thursday I unpacked my things in to the house I am sharing with my hostess, her niece, and another student. My hostess is a widow of nearly 70 years old. She is providing both room and board, but I purchased a few snacks and beverages for my own use, too.
Purchasing things in Honduras can sometimes be hard work. For instance, personal care products are in locked glass boxes in some stores. When one needs deodorant, one must find an attendant to unlock the box. Then the product is hand-delivered by the attendant to the cashier. I didn’t bring a large tube of toothpaste. All I head was a travel-sized tube with me.
To buy toothpaste I had to visit a special section of the store that was guarded by an attendant. I gave her the toothpaste, and she put it in a locked, plastic box to take to the cashier to be unlocked and purchased. Is it expensive? I bought a medium size tube of Colgate for 23 lempiras (one dollar). If the store managers were hoping to catch me stealing the dollar bargain toothpaste, they were disappointed. I dutifully carried my toothpaste in the large plastic box to the front of the store.
Friday was my first day of lessons. As I suspected, I need to work on verbs. My Spanish skills have gotten rusty, and I misuse verb tenses more than I previously thought. I returned to the school on Saturday morning for my second four hours of instruction and practice. I am not wasting my time here.
Saturday afternoon, I spent looking around the downtown area as well as getting a hair cut. I wanted to do that before I left, but due to a miscommunication with my regular stylist I missed getting my hair fixed before traveling. That was regrettable. My hair had gotten past the point of looking like anything this side of decent.
I arrived in Honduras looking like a drowned cat with cow licks all over. I got a great cut and style for ten bucks in downtown Siguatepeque. I thought about buying a blow dryer, since I neglected to pack one. However, I think I may just go the salon for a wash and style once or twice a week. That would probably cost five bucks each time. Why buy a new dryer when I can get an excellent style job for Now 5 dollars?
The one negative thing about getting my hair styled for $5 once a week is that the hair salon had no ventilation. Nothing. No open windows, no open door, and of course, no forced air through an air-conditioning system. By the time the stylist was finished with the blow dyer and flat iron, I felt like a glowing ember of charcoal. I must say though the finished product looked very good, indeed.
This morning, I visited a local church. The service was al fresco, as I think the floors are being renovated in the main building. Under a large tent, revival-style, we enjoyed an excellent service. It was just the right temperature for an outdoor service, probably near 70 with sunshine and a steady cool breeze.
It’s hard to tell just how good the sermon was, as a few other Americans came in late, took the chairs behind me, and talked nonstop. I think the three young people are teaching in a bilingual school in town. They were blatantly rude and bored. However instead of leaving or walking away from the tent, they stayed in their seats and talked loudly to each other throughout the service. The image of the Ugly American came to my mind. They were far too superior to care about those seated around them. It was just horrible to hear them carry on and on, laughing and talking through the service. Besides, they weren’t even saying anything particularly interesting, If one feels compelled to talk in church, at least make the chatter interesting to those of us who have to listen to it.
After church, I ate at Pizza Hut with a classmate. If anyone has read my posts when I lived in Honduras a few years ago, one might recall what I said about Pizza Hut of Honduras. It’s rather classy. It’s a nice restaurant with a hostess that seats you and a full menu that has items beyond pizza. I settled on the chicken lasagna and a side salad.
I enjoyed being seated in a place that knew that air-conditioning, if you have it, should be kept on enough time to cool the room, as well as leaving it on sufficiently to keep it cool. Most places in Honduras, if an air-conditioner is on the premises, put it on just long enough to make the room a few degrees below 85 or so. When it hits 80, the manager or owner snaps it off with a remote. Not Pizza Hut. The air stayed for my entire meal. Remarkable, really.
My friend and I enjoyed our meal, paid, and left. We visited a grocery store before returning home for a few odds and ends, such as snacks and soap. Then we took a taxi home for 25 lempiras each. That translates to $1.06 per passenger. I’ve already used the taxi service 3 times, and every time, the rate is the same. I think $1.06 per person is a good deal, don’t you?
Tomorrow I hit the books again, as I continue my ongoing struggle to master the Spanish language. Until next time, hasta la vista.
I landed in San Pedro Sula, Honduras yesterday afternoon. After a two hour drive, I arrived at my destination, Siguatepeque. I’m going to be here three weeks for an intensive course in Spanish.
I’ll write more later about Siguatepeque and language school. For now, I am just happy to be here. Odds were not in favor to get here.
Yesterday morning, my friend Marsha picked me up at five in the morning to get to the airport. I live on the northern shore of Lake Pontchartrain, a lake which separates my community from the city of New Orleans. I needed to cross the Causeway bridge, a 23 miler, to get to the airport.
In the dark, we pulled up to the toll booth. Everywhere the darkness was pierced with flashing blue and red lights. The bridge was closed, and police were directing traffic to turn around.
Of course, no one actually told us the bridge was closed. I had to look it up online as the police stood around talking to each other. How long would it take to reopen? The police, again, in their way, decided it was not worth the time to let us know any details. Their job was to park their cruisers across the highway and light up the predawn darkness with flashing lights. That’s all they did, too.
Obviously I was going to miss my flight. I had no faith, not a speck, that I could make the flight. My friend was undeterred. She suggested we take the highway that goes around the large lake.
If you are not from Louisiana, then you don’t know how big Lake Pontchartrain really is. It’s the eye in the boot of Louisiana that is on grade school maps of the United States. It’s big.
She drove calmly and resolutely all around the lake, a distance of over 40 miles.
“We need speed, girlfriend, ” I said to myself over and over. “We need to move like we are living la vida loca.”
She didn’t pick up on my frenzied thoughts of living la vida loca on the highway. She drove sanely and moderately.
And we made it. I told the group of porters at the entrance that I needed to catch a flight to Houston that was leaving soon. A young, skinny, gangly youth jumped up, took my passport, ran to the ticket counter and checked me into my flight. I completed the relay with papers in hand at security and then to the terminal with about five minutes to spare.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. I am here in Siguatepeque* writing this post as I wait for breakfast in the home of my host for the next weeks. A rooster or two or three are crowing nearby.
*To pronounce Siguatepeque, follow my handy phonetic aid: SI gwa tay PEK kay.
Yesterday, I saw my eye doctor. He told me I can stop using eye drops for glaucoma. The pressure in both eyes are normal I had two surgeries in the fall to relieve the eye pressure as well as correct a blockage in the right eye.
Surgery is such a loaded word. Laser surgery on the eyes is quick and almost pain-free. The entire process takes less than thirty minutes. I had two procedures, one on each eye in separate visits.
This fall, I felt trapped as I needed to schedule surgeries. My eye pressure was sky-high, I had a blockage in one eye, and the beginning of damage to eyesight in the right eye. It wasn’t a good time to stray far from a good eye doctor.
Now I am free to move about the country or even beyond my country. Currently I have no set job. I am tutoring students privately. Mostly foreigners seeking to improve their English, or conversely, English speakers seeking to improve their Spanish.
In January 2018 I will be in one of two places. Will I go to Siguatepeque, Honduras? Or San Jose, Costa Rica? Both offer schools to improve my rudimentary Spanish skills.
Siguatepeque is a charming village in the heart of Honduras, at a comfortable altitude and a comfortable distance from the violence and political unrest of the major cities. The school is not as good as most but I know the people to be good and honest.
The school in San Jose has an old and solid reputation for helping gringos (and gringas) speak the language. The school in Costa Rica needs an answer this week.. They have schedules and rules. And, they want more money than the school in Honduras.
Why do I want to learn more Spanish? I want to start a new mission somewhere. Probably, it will be in Siguatepeque, Honduras, or Managua, Nicaragua. Wherever I go next, I need to be in a place where I have a sense of community. In a word, friends.
Okay. It’s your turn, you dozen or so readers out there. Comments appreciated on where I should go. After all, I am free, free at last. Thank God Almighty.