Post op

Well, all updates as promised.

I had ACL reconstruction Tuesday and all went well. The surgeon was great, though giving anyone directions while on pain meds is a mistake. I already messed up once and changed the dressing, when I should have just layered more band aids on top. I've had a few instances of pain, but for the most part I'm not doing to bad. Feel free to send well wishes, I'm feeling a bit like a bum, since I am pretty much a resident of my brother's couch.

All shall be well, and I don't question I'll be able to make it back to Honduras within my time limit.

Drew

Stateside

I'm not sure anyone reads this who isn't in my imediate contact loop, and judging from the overwhelming response to my previous 4 posts, I'm guessing no one wanted to read 20 pages of babble. I'll keep it short.

Stoves were still on hold last I checked, but knee surgery is on. I'm in DC for an unspecified time, following Surgery on Tuesday. I'm expeted to do some long hard PT and get back to Honduras just in time (after 45 days of being medically evacuated, Peace Corps is forced to seperate a volunteer).

I'm planning on doing some web design while I'm here, but I seem to be missing all my design files, but I'm going to try anyhow using what I have.

I'll update regularly since I am in the world of technology. Anyone in the Capital should contact me and buy me coffee. I like coffee and it is always nice to see friendly faces.

E. Hippie

Long Overdue Update #4 - Everything else

To be honest there is not too much to put here, especially since if you read the other 3 updates you’ve already read 17 pages worth of my ramblings, but like I said in the beginning, I want these stories to be preserved. On a side note, that is such a great feeling. I never wanted to write about what I was doing when I worked at the pet store or the video store. Now, I want to have the memories in tact as much as possible. It is so nice to really truly enjoy what you are doing.

Alice asked me to include day of the mages. Day of the mages is considered to be the last day of the Christmas season here and falls on January 6th. It commemorates the day Jesus was given the three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. We had planned on passing new years day with our host family from training, but unfortunately our host dad had to work that day and our plans got moved to the 6th of January, or day or the mages.

Our host family celebrates the holiday every year as the proper day of gift giving, but we didn’t know as such yet. We thought we were invited over for a quiet evening to chat and catch up. We showed up fairly early, since we were cooking. We had told them we would teach them how to cook a turkey (since very few people here have ever had a roasted turkey it almost always goes over well, even if you ruin it). To be nice we also brought stuff to make a salad and mashed potatoes for what we thought was going to be 6 people.

When we got there the first thing we noticed was that the house had an addition. We had stopped by when they started added a second level to the house, but over the last 6 months they had managed to completely finish it. Our host parents moved upstairs and one of our brothers took their old room instead of being in the unattached bedroom outside. The new upstairs had a den for their computer and a deck with a hammock. I laid in the hammock with the most incredible view for two hours until the sun started to set and started hurting my eyes.

Alice had been busy preparing the turkey and informed me the tiny 8 pound turkey was meant to feed 18 people that night. Our salad and potatoes weren’t going to make it either, but our host Mom added some lettuce to the salad and had a few extra potatoes, so in the end we had just enough for everybody to have a small plate and most people really enjoyed all the food. Gravy was hard to make since the drippings contained almost no grease at all. I think our little 8 pound-er was a marathon runner, but no one noticed it wasn’t quite right, since none of them had ever eaten turkey with gravy before.

Before dinner we all crowded in the kitchen for the blessing, and while I always thought the kitchen was small, it only seemed to get smaller as more people crammed in. They wanted the picture to commemorate the event to have the food in it, so they had to pass the camera around the room and take 4 pictures in order to make sure everyone was in at least on of the pictures.

After dinner everyone who got to the house after we did wanted to see the finished addition, so everyone went upstairs. My host brother turned on some music and they had quite the dance party. Everyone made sure the little kids were dancing and then the feeling was contagious. I had to hide downstairs to avoid getting the fever.

The night was a great experience and we met all of our host family’s extended family. They were all nice and accepting and everyone thanked us for cooking repeatedly. At moments like that we feel like we have family here and it makes spending so much time away from out real families far easier.

My Mom and Dad took us on a cruise in January. This sounds like a really good way to go through culture shock, but in the end I never really had a hard time. It was interesting to learn the people who work on the ship actually make more money than I do. It was funny when I ran in to a Honduran from La Cieba. It was strange when my brother took me to the casino and I won what I make in a month. Overall, I think I miss my family more than I really care about culture, since as long as I was around them I never got uncomfortable. Also, the rock boat is awesome. Seeing that much live music made up for the fact I’ve not see anything better than street mariachis in a long time.

I don’t know what is going to happen yet, but my knee is not in good condition. It was diagnosed as having a partial rupture of the ACL and a partial rupture of the meniscus. It sounds like I need surgery, and I may spend some time in the states for that. Peace Corps will allow me to be in the US for up to 45 days for the operation and recovery, but after that I have to go back to country or go back to Tulsa. Most people my age take about 3 or 4 weeks for a decent recovery and then I just can’t play sports for 9 months. I am hoping it all turns out well, but we’ll keep everyone updated. Nothing is for sure yet though; I may just get a new brace that gives me better support and get the surgery in September.

Work is slow currently, since I cleared my schedule to build stoves and now my materials are delayed. I may get the materials the exact same time I go for surgery, so in that case Alice will have to help organize. Poor Alice gets dumped with my work since I am hurt. Wish I could help her out, but there really isn’t much I can do about any of it.

That concludes our little game of catch-up. Including this last one and without pictures, you poor folk have now been subjected to nearly 19 pages of me talking. Now let’s hear from you. Let me know what is going on in your life or at least leave a comment with your thoughts. I assure you will all hear an update about my knee and work as soon as I have one.

Long overdue update #3- Stoves!

Please, continue reading. This subject is almost certainly more interesting than you think. Or not. On second thought, do whatever you want.

A while back my host mom wrote a proposal to build improved stoves in 5 communities vital to water production in our area. Since maintaining the number of trees and reforesting already depleted areas is vital to the continued production of water the point of the project was to reduce the primary reason for cutting trees: firewood. In a community of 50 houses, 45 depend entirely on firewood. Only three don’t use firewood at all, and when the power goes out (and it does, sometimes for long spans of time), they have to depend on neighbors for food.

When she was writing the proposal, she had no idea how to execute the construction and I’d heard of many Peace Corps volunteers leading projects like this and I figured this was a good time to pitch in. If I didn’t lead the project, it easily could have fallen through the cracks. This happens a surprisingly often. A project gets approved, then it never gets done and the money gets returned to the funding organization. I liked the idea of immediately reducing deforestation, improving community health, and reducing pollution.

The benefits of stoves can be exaggerated pretty easily. The materials I have claim 15 benefits, some of which are “it gets really hot”. When condensed into two concepts, however, the benefits couldn’t be any clearer. First, traditional stoves are basically a sheet of metal balanced on a few bricks or cinder blocks and then three walls are built with adobe, and for some reason it is then painted white. I don’t know why yet, but every single traditional wood burning stove is painted white. This is a highly inefficient design. There is no insulation or anything in the design focusing the energy toward the cooking surface. With the addition of a simple firebox people can leave their stove lit all day (to cook beans) and still save 50-60% of their firewood. If they don’t leave it lit all day the savings increase. This immediately saves trees from being cut down, and saves people time or money depending on if they buy or cut firewood. It also reduces the amount of wood each house is burning and the pollution cause by that burning. Second, the traditional stoves almost never have a properly functioning chimney. Some don’t have chimneys at all and the smoke pours back out of the mouth of the chimney. Some have chimneys, but people normally can’t afford enough metal tubing to reach the roof, so they put a hole through their adobe wall and install the chimney at a 30 degree angle. Since the tubing is usually not tubing at all, but rather a rolled up piece of sheet metal, the smoke usually escapes through the crack in mass quantity. The effectiveness of these make-shift chimneys can usually be measured in 2 ways. First, do I hack and cough immediately after entering their house, and second, is their ceiling black and is their an inch of soot on the ceiling? In houses without a chimney I always hack and cough. In houses with angled chimneys it is usually foggy, but I can breathe okay, but the ceiling is always black as night and coated in a layer of soot. Obviously, the smoke is having some lasting effects on the health of pretty much everyone. This is made more obvious since after I spend a day constructing I usually have black boogers for a day or two.

Construction is easy and fun. To build one stove takes between 3 and 8 hours, depending on a variety of circumstances. We start by building a smoke chamber out of bricks and cement blocks, attaching everything using freshly mixed mud. Then we build the outside walls, add in the firebox, and build the mouth of the stove. Next we cut a hole in the roof and put the chimney in. Then we put the cooking surface on and cover the whole thing in concrete to seal it.

I say we since everyone builds stoves with a partner. One person prepares the surface while the other mixes mud. One cuts the hole in the roof while one pushes the chimney through. One cuts bricks to the right size while the other installs them. One does something while the other plays with the local kids. If there are three people, one member can distract the kids most of the day. My partner has always been Don Julio. Don is a term of respect added in Latin America to anyone who you feel deserves respect, which is basically every adult without another title. I am sometimes Don Andres, and sometimes just Andres and sometimes Licensiado Andres, which is the title for someone with a college education. Also used are professor, doctor, engineer, and probably some others. Respect is important. Don Julio always takes the lead between us, but this is because he is a detail person and a micromanager. We work together better when he is in the lead. When I am leading, he tends to stare at everything I do curiously, then he will take the brick I am about to place and turns it around, despite the fact there is no discernable difference between the sides. So, I let him lead. It makes him happier and more relaxed. It also leaves me free to play with the little kids, so really, win-win.

All too often when people see poverty in Latin America, it is from the highway on the way to the beach, and all the houses look the same. They all have the same cheap adobe construction, the same cheap metal roofs. All seem to have the same old clothes on identical clothes lines. Even with that description most people already have the picture in their head. While occasionally I see similarities amongst the house I work in, I find that such a generalization misses so many great things about not only the people, but also the vast differences amongst the houses.

Most houses are pretty simple, concrete covering adobe, or just adobe. The roofs are almost always metal laminate. Paint is usually bright, since if someone can afford it they want it to change the feel of the house. A large quantity will have 2 or 3 rooms. 1 room is always the kitchen. The second room is the living room. When there are only 2 rooms, people sleep in the living room. When there are three, they usually have a bedroom. Tile floors are rare and a major symbol of wealth in a village. Most are dirt or concrete floors. Everyone decorates their house and they will do it with anything they have. I see a large quantity of dirty stuffed animals Americans would toss aside, but have been kept and treasured for the memories they bring. In the states, a product that comes with a sticker is usually ignored, or the sticker is given to a child. This is not true in these small villages. Much of the time, a sticker can be in English and it will still have a place of honor on the wall, since it brings color to an otherwise drab house. Calendars are quality decoration and will be up for years after the usefulness expires. The decorations in the houses eventually start to feel like a complete life story. Everything is there: the only family photo ever taken, next to the stuffed animal given during courting, and even the sticker that came with the baby’s first can of powdered milk. Nothing is left out for being tacky or dirty. Professional decorators don’t come and sanitize everything and limit certain colors. While this is a very romantic notion, I will admit, it is usually not very pretty, but every house feels lived in. Every house feels like the people inside are making the best of what they have.

If the houses are interesting, the people are incredible. I love walking to the community in the morning before all the men have gone of to “chopear” (to chop, meaning to clear land for agriculture). Almost everyone knows my name and is happy to great me as I walk up. If I get the timing perfectly I can be invited to coffee at 3 different houses before I finally make it to Don Julio’s house. I always ask how everyone is doing and how their family is. They always ask me how the stoves are coming, where I am building that day and joke that I am becoming a craftsman. Sometimes people will ask me about other things, like the micro-finance organization or what Alice is doing. I have never been met with hostility and no one has ever asked me for money. It is like living in another world. I finally get to Don Julio’s place an hour and a half after I left my house, unless I talked to more people than normal, then sometimes it can be longer. I try to get to his house at 8. Then he tells me where we are headed to and we start walking, sometimes another half hour. When we get to where we are constructing the people are always very receptive and excited. They know how much this will help them.

I suppose I can’t really generalize any other parts of each family they are all different. Sometimes I get to houses and can’t really tell where one generation ends and the next one starts. Family planning could be much better executed in the country-side of Honduras. Don Julio makes about $6 a day, but supports himself, his wife, 4 of his own kids and one of his uncle’s children. I went to one house where there were 14 people living in the house and it seemed like they had 3 kids under ten, 3 kids under 20, 4 people under 30, and 4 around 40. I couldn’t tell where one generation started or another stopped, and I wondered how it affects a kid to sleep in a room with 5 other people crammed in.

Sometimes when I am working I see evidence the people had previously been very successful. I went in one house that has a fridge, microwave, and a stove/oven combo. I was confused why they needed the wood burning stove, so I asked Don Julio. He told me there was no electricity there. Now, even more confused I asked why they would buy so many appliances if they were effectively only enormous paper weights. That’s when he taught me how truly ineffective government can be. They had electricity, but not since 1998. Hurricane Mitch destroyed the lines and after the main parts of the city got electricity, the NGOs and foreign governments stopped caring. The Hurricane also took out a couple major coffee farms which were major sources of employment. The coffee farms have mostly been replanted, but no one gets paid as much as they used to, and the appliances will continue to sit until the power company that is run by the government decides to rebuild the lines. Problem is that particular line really affects only 8 houses, but the line will cost a couple thousand dollars. It will be a long time before anyone cares, especially since similar projects can bring electricity to more people cheaper. Until then, the family will continue to hold onto the appliances, hoping that they will eventually get to use them again. They don’t even seem to notice that the appliances are there except when they are cleaning. Despite their uselessness, there was not a spot of dust on any of it. When they cooked my lunch they just use the stove outside. Thanks to my project they at least get to cook inside again.

I had a pretty unique experience when I had another gringo in the mountains helping me. He was sent to me by one of my bosses and was working on community service for his frat in the states. Charles was 19, and was happy to do something unique for his community service. The first day we went into the mountains I made him walk just like I do, and he agrees. It is a long walk.

The first day we just taught him the process and he was amazed by the stoves we were replacing. He had lived in Africa and where he lived people cooked on open fires all the time, but would build the open fires outside. He was surprised how much smoke people would just inhale. He was also impressed that the design for the stove came from a local.

The second day he had his Mom give us a ride up the mountain and it still took 45 minutes. The roads aren’t really made for vehicles to go more than 15 miles per hour. When we got to the house the second day the kids were especially active and playful, so after we got the initial 2 hours of work done he was put in charge or distracting them while Julio and I finished everything up.

His job expanded when a neighbor came by and started asking him hundreds of questions about everything. About an hour into his job as entertainer the kids decided they wanted to learn English, so they got him a pad of paper and a pen and had him start writing words for them to practice. Another 20 minutes later we noticed the neighbor gentleman had gotten hold of the notebook and was writing something with a very serious look. After we notice, one of the kids starts reading it to us, but the guy gets embarrassed and covers the page after we hear “dear friend”. The note, in the end, was something I’m still not sure how to react to. Writing here is not something taken lightly. Kids don’t write each other notes (instead they usually just talk during class) because notes can be taken very seriously. Finally he presents Charles his note that basically explains he is sincere about wanting to be Charles’ friend and the gentleman would appreciate not being forgotten and wants Charles to visit his ranch as soon as possible.

As the day went on the gentleman continued talking to Charles and eventually his real intentions started to show. He wanted to go to the US, and he wanted Charles to give him a job (despite the fact Charles himself was happily unemployed for his years at university). Now having someone ask a North American to take them to the US is pretty normal. I get it weekly from a restaurant owner (who is an awesome guy) who wants to visit his kids, but doesn’t have the visa or the money. He is always joking, but if I took him seriously, he would never decline the offer. I am certain to always keep the conversation joking, since I really like the guy, and I don’t want him to be disappointed when I don’t take him to the states (because I am not going to).

The situation with Charles showed different signals than the usual situation. I can usually blow off any similar request and make it joking, and Charles was trying hard to get back to that sort of feeling, but the guy was earnest and seemed increasingly desperate as time went on. Charles displayed good humor, but he was glad to leave an hour later when the stove was finished. The whole situation was really weird. I’ve never had such a situation happen to me, but I also do a better job blending. I never wear shorts and when I am constructing stoves, I wear my work pants which are covered in mud and a white t-shirt. Charles was wearing a decent shirt and shorts. His accent is also much more obvious (mine is still pretty obvious, but I have a year of practice).

In the end though it is hard to say why he was put in the tough situation while I have always avoided it. Perhaps because Charles was merely on vacation and I am a resident of Honduras. Perhaps my community integration pays off in ways I didn’t expect. Or perhaps he was just playing openly with kids and the guy thought Charles would be easier to convince. The guy made Charles write him a note back, and then the guy asked me to do it. I refused while Charles didn’t. I said I can’t write in Spanish, which in that area of the world is normal for adults. Charles did it thinking it would get the guy off his back a little. Coming from the most privileged nation is something all Americans should all celebrate and never forget. During high school I was a bit of a critic of all things American, but only after having done something like this do I realize that despite all of the flaws, America has obviously done a great deal correctly. Since the whole situation was odd, I think the real reason Charles got asked is because he comes off more like a gringo than me. Regardless, it was the first real reminder I had in a long time that I am still an outsider. I definitely sympathized more with Charles than the neighbor, and I felt bad that he was being harassed about a job on his vacation and I couldn’t really stop it.

We are nearly done with the first community at 39/50, but a long way away from the 250 to complete the project. I am still short a lot of material to start the next community, but I’ll be happy to do it when I get them. In the next community I’ll have a new work partner, and maybe I’ll get to build the walls instead of mix dirt and water, but either way I don’t care. A friend of mine is inviting me to participate in a brigade to build latrines in a couple months and I can’t wait. Latrines are awesome too, but for more obvious reasons.

Overdue update #2- Costa Rica #2

The day following our horseback riding and canopy adventure our plan was to head off to the beach. The hotel gave us a ride back to Liberia and they told us to wait at the corner for a bus. Fortunately we looked around and saw a sign that said bus stop, since Costa Rica actually seems to have assigned stops. In Honduras any where you can flag down the bus is a bus stop and any where you want to get off is okay. This is great since we can walk a block down our hill and wait at the corner near the mini-market and wave down the bus and then once we get to the capital we just ask to get off in front of our office. It delays the bus sometimes and prevents any sort of schedule on a great number of routes, but when we need the luxury to get off when we want and not be forced to take a taxi it is quite nice. Costa Rica is not like that. They have schedules, bus stops, and the driver takes your money as you get on. In some ways it makes more sense, but for all the people who have to get off at the stop in their town and then walk 8 blocks back to their house despite the fact the bus passes their street, that sucks.

While waiting at our luxury covered bus stop I noticed a guy with a bicycle with a cooler strapped to it. In Honduras this usually means the person is selling something, generally ice cream and I didn’t notice what he was yelling, so I assumed it was nothing I really wanted. A few minutes later we found another advantage to the Honduran bus system when the first bus passed. Costa Ricans don’t paint the destination of every bus on the front and instead display signs to inform people where the bus is going. This would seem to make little difference, but it seems the drivers don’t like to change them so most of the buses that passed said Liberia (the name of the town we were in) despite the fact they were obviously leaving Liberia. This means the idiot tourists have to shout at every driver to find out where they are going. Honduras wins point that for sure. Every bus has the 2 cities the bus runs between in the largest possible letters without blocking the drivers view. No shouting. After 2 buses passes the man with the cooler got harassed by some kids and opened his cooler to sell them: Coconuts. He had a machete and hacked off just enough of the top you could shove a straw through the white fruit and sip the cool milk out. Then when the milk is finished, you could give it back to him and he’d slice it in half and cut out the fruit. It was awesome, so I bought one. I don’t think most adults enjoy this as much as I did, since he gave me a funny look, but I really didn’t care.

Finally, we shouted at a driver and he shouted back “Playa Tamarindo” which is exactly where we going, so we got on. We were the only ones with luggage. For most of the journey we were one of few tourists on the bus, which is strange since the bus system there is clean, efficient and comfortable. The bus looked like a normal city bus from the states, not a used school bus. There were a few gringos on and off, which I’ve never seen outside of a luxury bus in Honduras, but not as many as I would expect.

The ride was nearly 2 hours, but Alice and Carmen saw a monkey through the window. I wasn’t sitting with them since the only other open seat was in the back of the bus, so later it inspired the following conversation:

Carmen: We saw a monkey
Alice: Yeah, it was cool
Drew: Really? That’s awesome. I’ve never seen wildlife from a bus in Honduras.
Carmen: That’s because the wildlife there isn’t as well protected.
Drew: They have a pretty decent national park system in Honduras, no worse than Costa Rica’s.
Carmen: That’s true, but how many buses go through national parks?
Drew: I guess none, but there should be some animals.
Carmen: You’re forgetting Honduran eating habits. Hondurans talk a lot about what wildlife there used to be in an area, and usually follow that up with, “but it was so delicious”.
Drew: I don’t know.

At first I thought Carmen was making things up, but since then I’ve confirmed with other Peace Corps volunteers that Hondurans will often tell them what animals used to be in the area, and in what manner they were eaten, though most only talk about the black iguana. So really I doubt Honduras was ever a paradise for monkeys and like animals, but Honduras really do love to eat what ever small critter they can find. One girl in our group went from omnivore to herbivore the day she saw her host family kill an armadillo in the water tank where she had previously gotten water to brush her teeth. After that she used bottled water and will refuse any meat offered to her.

Finding our hotel was harder than planned. The map was a few years old and only half the businesses still existed, so we were slightly off on our estimate on when to get off and we had to stay on the bus until it turned around and pay another dime per person to get back into the center of town. When we got off it still took us a minute to find it, but this should have been more obvious from the name of the hotel: Harry’s Escondite or in English: Hidden Harry’s. Harry’s place is hard to describe as is Harry himself. Harry is a balding man who still wears his hair long like a proper surfer, was born in Indonesia, but was a citizen of North America, and is now applying to be a Costa Rican resident. He obviously arrived on the beach long before most, since he still remembers the day of supermarket price gouging and when most food was local. He has four or five cabins and he always occupies one, though it rotates depending on customers’ requests. When we visited he also had 2 cabins rented out on a monthly basis. One to a Canadian fisherman who works 4 months a year (the fishing season) and the other 8 months seems to travel around. The other was rented to a British competitive sailor turned photographer and general entrepreneur. While we were there the British gentleman was voted to be the executive producer of a short film they planned on taking to film festivals. This is the kind of people he seems to attract all the time, so the place never seems like it would get dull. Our cabin had a queen bed and a sort of sofa bed. It was hard to describe since it didn’t look terribly comfortable for either purpose, but it was Carmen’s bed and she seemed to think it was perfectly comfortable and there were plenty of other places to sit, so I never really used it to be a better judge. It came fully equipped with a TV, DVD player, a small collection of DVDs, a stereo, gas stove, oven, dishes, basic condiments and a full sized fridge with a freezer. The water in Costa Rica is potable and the place had a two knob shower (see next paragraph for a rambling explanation of that phrase). He also had a washing machine and dryer we could use for free (we washed everything we brought and contemplated washing them again, just cause we could). Outside there was a gas grill we could use and a pool. Our Christmas was beginning to feel a lot more like a Fourth of July barbeque, but we were okay with that. Finally, Harry keeps a collection of surf boards and a couple of bikes guests can to use for free. While it is obvious he doesn’t maintain the grounds like a 5 start hotel, and he could care less about changing your sheets, the place feels like staying at a friend’s house in Costa Rica. The place is worth every penny as long as you take advantage of all the features, and we did.

There are three types of shower in Latin America (excluding bucket baths, which are also quite common), though you may not know it. The first is a cold water shower and has only one knob in the bathroom. A room with this sort of shower should never cost more than a few bucks a night. The second is another type of one knob shower where the showerhead has an electric heating element in it that, depending on the water pressure and voltage either makes the water scalding or a little warm or doesn’t really do much. The third is the standard in America and has two knobs one being attached to a hot water heater. There is a fourth type in Europe, and probably additional types all over the world, but in Latin America 2 knobs mean ultimate luxury.

That night we went down to the beach for the sunset and ended up staying for dinner. On the way back to the hotel we picked up some groceries including Italian sausage and bratwurst, both things we hadn’t eaten for over a year. The next day was Christmas Eve. Breakfast was eggs and Italian sausage and lunch was a bratwurst barbeque. In between lunch and dinner we went down and bummed around the beach. Sadly, the waves are usually large and crashing, making for some fantastic surfing, but the waves just weren’t there, so we bummed around the beach and played in the sand. Okay, I played in the sand, the girls worked on their tans. That afternoon we tried to work out our return to Honduras and found out it was going to be a two-day trip. Fortunately we had planned for the possibility of that, but it cut out 8 hours at the beach. Then we shopped around and discovered Costa Rica is expensive. We ended up buying very little, since 90% of the products could be found in Honduras and at much cheaper prices and the other 10% was obscenely expensive. That night we considered three different dinner plans before deciding on fish soup. Fish soup from a shack on the beach is always great and this was no exception.

For Christmas breakfast I made Alice her favorite, biscuits and gravy. That was the only part of Christmas that felt like Christmas. There weren’t even Christmas movies on TV. I suppose in some ways it made passing Christmas without any family easier, but really it felt like Christmas was cancelled, and we had a Fourth of July redo.

We walked down to the beach and stopped to look at a few more shops hoping we could get some presents for people. We didn’t really find anything, but we eventually walked down to the beach. We got to the beach and I saw a few people surfing. The waves still weren’t breaking very well, but there was about 20 meters where a person could stand up and I wanted to be one of the ridiculous if only to say I surfed on Christmas. I turned around and went to get one of the boards at the hotel and the girls found themselves some fruity drinks. Walking with a long board in the wind sucks, but I made it just fine. How did surfing go? Well, let me show you the pictures, as I can describe it, but it will never be as awesome as the visual.

So, here I am on surfboard in the ocean. I’ve surfed once before and loved it. Carmen just had a 30 minute turn and told me to take as long as I want. I start off away from the crowd, but no waves are coming. I can see a few people on my left having some luck.



I was slightly nervous about the crowd, but I decide to go that way anyways. Now I am closer to the middle of a pack of about 15. I decided to take some time before I start so I sit on my board and watch the surf students. Basically, the lay on the board and instead of paddling the instructor pushes them right before the wave and shouts “pop up”. Now I have a slightly good idea about what I should be doing and it’s simple: paddle, then pop.



Finally, the right wave comes at the right time, I paddle, but I don’t quite pop. This is not a huge surprise, since I don’t do a lot of popping in my everyday life, but I at least get my knee under me. I stand up the rest of the way for about 2 seconds, which is about how long I stood up the entire first time I went surfing. I am ecstatic. Notice the guy on my right in the picture pops correctly, so he is already fully standing. I looked like that half a second later. Sadly, the camera takes a couple seconds before another shot can be taken, and Alice doesn’t get another chance. I’ve already wiped out, and this is the next picture.



You’ll notice that everyone has wiped out at this point. And the people on both sides of me are looking at me. Was I that awesome? Well, no, and lets face it, we already knew that, but in case you can’t see it in that last picture, lets zoom in!

I think they were looking at me because I shrieked like a little girl when the guy next to and slightly behind me fell of backwards and sent his board into the side of my head like a missile. Thanks to the time it takes the camera Alice caught the timing perfect. The board literally bounced backwards off my head following the impact, so she got the perfect evidence. Thanks for the reload time, camera. Instead of the awesome picture of me standing up, the world is forever left with me getting nailed in the head. The impact hit my ear so hard it opened up a little cut that bled for nearly 5 hours and there is still a scar. Don’t get me wrong; this didn’t discourage me from spending another 2 hours surfing (though I was dazed for the first 30 minutes or so), but it made me very aware of the people around me all the time. Lesson learned.

After the surfing we went to a local sushi restaurant and had a great lunch. Afterwards, Carmen took the board and got some more time in on the ocean before what little waves there were stopped completely. When we left the beach Alice, Carmen and I agreed it was a great day, but not even vaguely Christmas. I took the short way since I was carrying the board, and Carmen and Alice stopped by a restaurant we’d been referred to for a great dinner. The reservation was for 8 that night since it was a nice place and most people thought to make their reservation the day before. The girls got themselves made up and I watched some TV. Then we ran by a chic little joint for a cocktail before we went to our reservation. The food was great, but Alice’s fish was more memorable than my I don’t remember. Following dinner, the plan was to go out dancing, but not one of us had the energy. Instead we headed back to Harry’s to pay the tab and prepare for the following day’s journey. We had to get to Managua the next day and judging from how long the line at the border was when we left we wanted to be sure to get there early. The only 2 early buses out of Tamarindo left at 6:00 and 9:00. To be safe we agreed to go at 6:00. That night we ran into what I will call my reason to hate paypal, but thanks to my parents we got it taken care of. I will never use paypal if there is another option. Sorry for the 1am wake up Mom and Dad, but thanks. It won’t happen again.

Five am is a terrible time of the day. If you are up that late, it may have some redeeming value, but in the morning it is something I can live with, but will never like. We got on a bus to Liberia without problem, and onto another to the border. Costa Rica’s border with Nicaragua is the craziest of all the borders I’ve ever crossed. El Salvador-Honduras was the easiest, but I was only going for a swim and ended up in El Salvador, I swam back without a problem also. Costa Rica has so many perpetual tourists that cross the border and the return the next day they make everyone get an exit stamp. So, I had to exit Costa Rica, get inspected, and then be admitted to Nicaragua. The fence makes it feel like I was escaping from jail; since the entrance to Nicaragua was a place someone cut a chain link fence and bent it open.

We had no reason to get up so early after all. The day after Christmas is not a big tourism day. We got a bus to Managua by 11:00 and were in Managua before 2. We hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so after we found a disgusting but only $6-a-night hotel we asked for and received directions to a local mall. It was walking distance, but I would never walk it again. The street, the people, the buildings all made me uncomfortable. We were forced to walk in front of a group of 12 guys who all thought they needed to yell at Carmen and Alice. Usually I make a face or say something, but I didn’t want push my luck. They let us pass with only a verbal assault on my good taste. Inside the mall was like the inside of every mall in the world, so we could relax in comparison to the walk over. We grabbed some fast food and then went to a movie.

After the movie I had one of the most memorable experiences of my life, though I doubt even after I tell you the story you’ll understand why. We decided to have dinner at the food court, since our trip to the internet café didn’t uncover and American style restaurants in the city. (Like TGI Fridays, Chili’s, or Applebee’s, that sort of thing is a traveler’s heaven. The food is exactly what you expect every time and the service is American style, which is exactly what a gringo wants sometimes, and they always have the best drinks available and sometimes a happy hour.) Anyways, food court food sounded like the next best thing, but none of it looked appealing. We walked around 4 times until we decided we would eat at the Middle Eastern place. As soon as we walked in the place seemed different than anywhere I’ve ever been. The painting on the wall was an obviously a Middle Eastern teacher smoking from a hookah with a student looking on in admiration. The walls were dark, and a fruity smell mixed with the smalls of shish-kabobs from the kitchen. They had a special edition of the best Nicaraguan brew, so we ordered a round and a couple plates. While we waited on our food I noticed the light fixtures were little LED lights shining onto colored glass balls being held in the fixture by an inverted tripod. The bar winded through the tiny space and was made of real wood. Everything matched. It all looked like an oasis of Middle Eastern culture. Well, everything except the music. They had on some disco mix and looking around I discovered it was all coming from the TV which was showing the videos. Everything from the Village People to the Bee Gees to early Blondie played. Strangely, even that seemed to fit in. The restaurant’s bar and 3 tables we’re packed and there were people just standing, singing along to American music from the 60’s and having a drink. The whole thing was surreal. The owners were Iraqi and seemed completely indifferent to Americans, which was also great. Too many times I’ve heard the horror stories of the extreme hate, or the extreme awkwardness of the love. After a while we noticed the scent changed and finally we discovered the source or the smell. A couple of young Nicaraguans had ordered a hookah. Carmen and I asked for one and we enjoyed the smooth charcoal smoke filtered through the sweet lemon tobacco for an hour before we went to leave. Outside the restaurant we were immediately reminded we were in Latin America by a howling teenage girl singing Mall karaoke in the food court. We left as fast as possible and took a cab instead of braving the trip back on foot.

From there, the vacation was basically over. We got up really early again and caught the bus back to Tegus. Carmen got lucky and the bus crossed the border in the South of Honduras and she got to get off in Choluteca, which is about 20 minutes from where she lives. We got home 2 hours later.

You may have noticed many things have been compared to Honduras. I guess this is a product of living in Honduras for so long. Often Americans compare things to the US and I feel like they aren’t really comparing apples to apples. While Honduras as a reference point makes for a good comparison in Central America, the fact none of us could escape comparing everything really wore me down after a while. The question was never: is this food good, but instead: is this food better than Honduran food. I never did that to Honduras and that was probably for the best. At the end of the whole vacation I decided I would try to give every country a fair chance from then on, so I don’t miss things. In the end my vacation had a moral. Ugh.

Long overdue update 1-Costa Rica Part 1

Occasionally I find myself preparing to blog and realize, I have too much to say, but the events in question happened long enough ago the amusing parts are slowly being forgotten. How terrible to lose such stories. I look at things I wrote at the beginning of my service and I read them like they are completely new, having forgotten half the details that made them interesting in the first place. Pardon the length of today’s post, but hopefully it will make up for virtual silence for 2 months, and keep these stories alive. I plan on doing a few more posts in the coming days since I am in a lull in service and want to write these before they lose their character.

Costa Rica was a good place to spend Christmas, while spending it only with my wife and one friend was somewhat sad, we made the best out of it. We started off our trip with double bad luck and no alarm waking us up to get a ride into Teguc despite having set 2 alarms. Alice gets a phone call from our ride and before my eyes are even open I am running into the guest room where we keep our clothes (we have no closet, so we just pile clean laundry on the guest bed), forgetting completely there is a guest in there (who is also coming). I suppose I could have been smoother, but instead I turned on the lights waking her up and reminding myself she was there, and I was in my underwear. I quickly go to the pile of clothes on the ground and pick up the first pair of pants and start to unfold them and hurry them on when our female guest looks at me and asks me if I really intend to wear her pants. I rummage around and finally find the clean pants Alice had left intentionally on top of the pile. We thankfully still made our bus.


Our bus was direct, but still took us 12 hours. 12 hours in a bus is not fun, but that aside it was a very nice bus ride. The major bus lines have a special deal with the border crossings to get through faster, so what could have been a 4 hours border crossing was only thirty minutes. After some time standing in front of burger king, the hotel shuttle showed up to take us to the national park and only 15 or so hours after leaving we were in our hotel room. We all decided to stop by the restaurant for a night cap to kick off our vacation officially and we ran into a few hotel staff members and a small group of gringos doing the same thing, while all were watching a soccer match. I finally realized why the ride hadn't wanted to pick us up when they told me the game was the Costa Rican league finals. After the game we made polite conversation with the other gringos, two young ladies also on vacation for the holidays. They told us a surprising story about their adventures the previous day. They had contracted the horse guide to take them to natural hot mud pits that were cool enough that people could give themselves a faux-spa treatment, but they encountered a stream that was acting much like a raging river due to some recent rain. The guide initially told them they couldn't cross, but after some thought he decided that if he helped each girl with the horse they would probably have no problems. So the guide dismounted his horse and got on the horse with the first girl and they started across. They made it halfway before the horse lost its footing and fell. The guide immediately caught the young lady and pulled her out of the water unhurt. The guide had managed to bang up his leg really well, but didn't have time to think about it before he needed to recover the horse before it drowned. He raced to find the horse stuck underneath a log that he managed to move just enough to get the horse out and onto the shore. To make things worse the horse had come up on the opposite bank and now it had to re-cross. This time the horse crossed without anyone on it and it made it just fine, but the horse's reluctance was obvious. At the end of the story the girl who had been on the horse hugged the guy next to her, who by this point I could identify as the guide, just by looking at his bruised legs. At this point it was obvious this quiet national park had a lot of adventure, but I had heard my warning. Safety first.


So the next morning we are all awake by 7 despite our plans to sleep in, but no one was moving very quickly. We had a quick breakfast that was not too unlike a Honduran breakfast. Eggs and a side of beans and rice. Then the girls spent an hour reading while I explored the hotel grounds. I found a little side path and started to take it until it got too muddy. When I got back to the hotel the girls were finally about ready to go on a hike.


We put on our hiking clothes, which was tennis shoes, jeans and a t-shirt for all of us (these clothes actually double as our "nice" clothes, "travel" clothes, "beach" clothes, "casual" clothes, and pretty much everything else, but it is important to know we were not exactly in ideal hiking outfits). We go to the front office of the hotel to work out how we are going to get to the park, and the guy tells us he'll make us a map and take us to the trailhead. He explains that we are about 3 kilometers from the entrance to the national park, but there are a variety of thing we can see within 5 kilometers of the entrance. The numbers should have seemed daunting, but at the time our enthusiasm pushed us forward without question.


We walked to the trailhead and had our first sign of how the day was going to go. The trail was pure mud and it was obvious almost no one went on foot. Most people instead paid the money for the horse. Being Peace Corps volunteers none of us wanted to pay, but we all knew that none of us had an additional pair of shoes when the ones we were wearing turned into mud balls. We looked at the front desk officer, who saw our concern and but told us, “You are going to get muddy, don’t even waste your time trying not to.” The first hill was the worst. It was nothing but mud, but we still wasted our time trying to stay as clean and dry as possible with a fair amount of luck. The forest was like no forest I’ve ever hiked before. There were hardly any pines or maples or anything else that seemed familiar, even in Honduras, but the unfamiliarity was nice. It kept me excited about walking, an activity that on its own offers very little amusement. It took over 20 minutes to get up the first hill, in part because of the trail, in part because of the incline.


The first stream we crossed was calm and only about 2 feet across. It hardly reminded me of the scary story recounted to us the evening before. The next stream had a little bridge and I wondered how far off the beaten path the mud pits were, since so far there were no raging rapids, nor any sign of them.


We finally got to the entrance and had a bit of luck. The park ranger had run out of foreigner tickets and could only sell us the ones for nationals, which cost about 20% of what we expected to pay. I’m not sure that there is any logic at all to that, but I’ll take 80% savings over logic any day.


The park looked a lot like the walk to the park, since a large portion of the walk is also a protected area, but the park’s trails were slightly better maintained, not as muddy, and not over run by horse tracks. We decide to skip the hummingbird trail and head as fast as we could to the hot springs, which sounded like the best way to spend an afternoon on vacation. We ran into another stream, this one nearly 8 feet across, but we managed to jump from rock to rock to cross and keep our feet dry. If I were able to see the future, I would have just walked right through the stream. That was the last easy to cross stream we would see all day until we turned around and headed back.


We took a quick side trip to a waterfall and we caught our first glimpse of what the young lady was referring to when she said rapids, but there was nothing to imply we ever had to cross such insanity. The waterfall was large, and had 2 actual falls divided by a large rock. There were trails all along the sides so you could go to the top or the bottom and see it from what ever angle you wanted. If the water wasn’t so cold there were all sorts of fun that could be had. After walking back to the main trail from the side trip we decided we should go straight to the hot springs so we could spend as much time as we wanted there and if we had time we could side trip on the way back.


We reached another stream crossing, but as we approached it we saw a sign that said it was actually a river crossing. Having spent too much time playing Oregon trail, we all discuss our river fjord-ing options. We can just cross, de-shoe and sock and hike up our pants, we can go upstream and look for a bridge or series of rocks, or we can turn around. We decided we had walked too far to turn around, and the rocks upstream looked promising, so we walked 50 meters upstream and crosses, still managing to stay somewhat dry and clean.


30 minutes later we were at another river and had the same decision making process. This time there were no promising looking rocks, but the river had gone wide in this area so there was almost no current and the water was crystal clear, so the girls decided to remove their shoes and socks and hike up their pants. I tried to hike up my pants, but they wouldn’t stay, and I decided this was a good opportunity to finally just clean off my shoes, so I barreled across with absolutely no grace, but a high level of effectiveness. Especially since the rocks in the water ended up only looking smooth I eventually found myself serving as a guide and steady shoulder for the ladies.


After having crossed multiple streams, walked at least 7 kilometers up-hill and fjord-ed 4 streams when we finally got the stream we should have turned around at, but we were all too determined to just get to the hot springs. Okay, Carmen and I were determined. Alice was completely happy to make the smarter if less adventurous decision, and turn around. We saw the only other people we had seen all day cross, and while it didn’t look easy, it looked possible, and I won’t be out done by a German 8-year-old, even if he was carried by his father. After we decided as a group to cross, Alice’s reluctance was still obvious. We searched first for a series of rocks we could cross, but after no luck we looked for the widest spot in the river where the water would be shallow and the current less strong. Sadly all of our searches ended in no advantages so we decided to just go slowly, one person at a time. I, being both the stupidest and most willing to take the risk, walked across. The rapids that had downed a horse 2 days before didn’t manage to knock me over, and both the girls made it across just fine as well. Alice crossed the fastest; making it obvious she was not a fan of standing in a rather strong current. The fun part about the whole thing was that at this point we were soaked up to our waist. All that time the girls had spent trying to keep their jeans dry was suddenly undone, and we still had to go back to where we started.


After the last river it was only another kilometer to the hot springs, but when we arrived there were two problems. First, the hot water was only slightly warmer than the cold streams we had been crossing. Second, the German family that crossed ahead of us was already in the water. After a short discussion we decided we were not interested in spending an hour in cold water with 8 other people. We had been informed about a second hot spring not advertised by the national park and we had directions to it provided by our hotel. The guy had told us that after heavy rain, the park hot spring is often cold, but the secret hot spring had a better bathing pool that rain didn’t affect as much. He even made it sound like it was relatively close, just take a second trail that’s not on the map, cross a stream and take a right. We headed back to the turn off to look for the trail.


We ended up walking all the way back to the stream only a crazy person would cross and we knew we had missed the turn. We decided not to cross again quite yet because we knew that would mark the end of the days walk and a complete failure as far as hot springs were concerned. We did a u-turn and kept looking for it. We found the right trail but discovered the guy who drew our map and gave us directions was unaware of scale. He showed the trail directly off the main trail, when it was actually about a half kilometer farther down a side trail. All we were missing was a right turn after crossing a stream. After we crossed a stream and walked a while it occurred to me we were going to cross at least 4 more streams and he had never specified which one. We crossed the first stream and there was no trail. We crossed the second stream and there was a trail that seemingly leads no where. It actually looked like it then immediately wanted us to cross back over the stream, but that didn’t make sense. Surely that would have been mentioned in the directions. So we continued on. There was no trail after the 3rd or 4th stream either, and Alice had the “I’m not turning around to go look for this” look on her face, and I was unwilling to lead her on further chases involving a wild goose.


The rest of the trail was in terrible condition and I started to realize it was because we were walking on the horse path and horses are not as concerned with mud as we were. The only person to fall because of it was me, but I knew there were plenty of places to clean myself off, so I didn’t worry about it. We got back to the ranger station and asked the ranger and he informed us we were about 75 meters from the second hot spring. We had turned around right before the spring.


The hike was effectively over; Alice had made that very clear. I decided I should check out a couple nearby attractions so I talked Carmen into doing a quick walk down the hummingbird trail (no hummingbirds present) and to the watering ponds that are great for watching wildlife and birds (which were also not present). Then we all hiked back down to the hotel, muddy, tired, and ready for dinner and a brew.


There was of course no working hot water, so Carmen went and used the shower at another room and Alice and I just took slightly cold showers. I had originally planned on also showering in another room, but I had gotten in the shower with my clothes on to clean the mud off and just decided I might as well shower.


We ate dinner at the hotel, since there were no other options and the prices were fair. We ordered a round of cold ones to help us relax from our nearly 7 hour hike when we were gravely informed that there was no beer, and no beer coming until the next day. The order had gotten mixed up and there was simply none to be had. In our state of exhaustion we were obviously disappointed and asked why their driver couldn’t go, but since all the guests that day had already been picked up, he had already gone home. Finally, they tell us that if we really want, one of the employees will take one of us to a local place where we can buy a few cans of suds. After dinner I got escorted just outside of the hotel to a house where a party is obviously raging inside and I was informed this is where all the locals come to sing karaoke and relax after spending a hard day working in the fields. We have similar establishments in Honduras and the general rule is to avoid them. They are the places where the idiots hack each other with machetes over minor conflicts. They are never safe for women or children, and gringos would do best to avoid them. I was immediately put on edge. We haven’t even made it inside the fence when I can hear a terrible waling coming from inside that can only be karaoke sung by a man who has not been informed singing and screaming are different animals. I start to get more observant, making sure my money is in multiple places and I am on guard, just in case.
Then, the real strangeness starts. Three kids come running outside and the people on the porch are a mix of men and women, chatting calmly and ignoring the clamor coming from inside. Kids continue to play games that look like tag and nothing seems dangerous at all. We’re 20 meters from going in the house when a 5 foot tall leathery skinned woman comes waddling out like she’s spent too many years on a horse. She’s carrying a flashlight and a wadded up grocery bag and her face says she knows what you’re thinking. She has exactly the kind of scowl I would expect from someone who owns a rural watering hole the world over. Walter, my companion from the hotel, stops us and says she’s the owner of the place and we should ask her if she’ll sell us some beer. Sometimes when the house is crowded she’ll only sell to regulars, which thankfully, Walter is, but she’ll know the goods are for us, since Walter will never get anything to go. There is a quick exchange between them and it sounds like she’s running low, but she has back up supplies at an uncles place down the road. She always makes sure to never have too much on hand in case people take things and forget to pay when she is doing something else. That way, she can never be out too much money. I’m starting to relax since I am still watching every person around me and no one has even noticed I’m a gringo yet and they all seem completely comfortable. This would never happen in Honduras. I avoid such establishments by at least 100 meters, since the drunks in Honduras seem to sense a gringo in the area and take great pleasure in the minor harassment of one. Usually it’s just a barrage of questions about taking the person to the states, but at its worst it can be anything from a man hugging you and crying to downright dangerous situations. Here, there is no one that drunk, and they seem quite content to have more people there to share in the party.


The exchange ends and the owner agreed to sell me a couple, but first she has to run down the street for backup supplies. Walter says he can stick around for me, but I am enjoying watching everything and Walter seems to be keeping an eye on me. We hang out for a minute and Walter knows pretty much everyone who goes in and out and there seem to be a fair number of people going in and out. One of them stops to chat and my accent gives me away and I get a few questions about where I am from, but not as many as I expected. The topic turns to language and the man keeps trying to get me to guess what he is saying in some local dialect. I have no idea, so I make a few things up, and he thinks that’s great. He never tells me what he says, but keeps making me guess for 5 minutes when the owner waddles back. Her flashlight is out of batteries. She gets a second and goes back.


The guy decides we need to sing, and doesn’t seem to understand that we do not need to sing. I tell him I’ll sing when the owner gets back, he seems satisfied and goes in to pick out the perfect song. I talk to Walter for a while longer and I like him more and more. He’s a decent guy with a college education from Costa Rica and works near the park so he can help with conservation efforts. He was the one who actually built most of the canopy tour I am considering going on the following day. Inside I can hear my new friend start to scream and I realize I don’t need to worry about actually singing with him, since no one could hear my anyways. The owner finally returns with a full sack a few minutes later and Walter starts trying to get things taken care of for me. No one ever buys more than one drink at a time, so she can’t figure out how much it will cost. She makes Walter find her calculator and then makes him figure it out for her. Finally, thirty minutes after the start of my adventure I am going back to the hotel. I get back and the girls ask what took so long. To tell them what happened takes nearly as long as the whole adventure took and they decide that it was totally worth the time spent. I agree. It was interesting. We decide the next day we want to do the canopy tour and we’d like to see the other half of the national park but we’d prefer to see it from the back of a horse. This time I send the girls to office to take care of things. They come back 5 minutes later and inform me that the national park will be closed the next day. How can they close dirt trails? That just doesn’t seem right to me. The girls go back to negotiate a way in and they come back a while later and Walter, inspired by our recent trip has agreed to take us to the second half of the park. The guy at the desk seems satisfies when we tell him we will do the canopy tour and then Walter is going to be our guide. He doesn’t ask where Walter is taking us, and we don’t offer. Walter, being a lover of nature, wants us to get a chance to see anything, and if we came to his national park, we’ll see whatever part of it we want. The front desk guy is obviously worried that if we get kicked out of the park we’ll not want to pay. So, we’re not sure what is going to come the next morning, since we assume Walter and the desk guy will eventually talk it over, but we just go to bed.


Canopy tours are awesome. When we first arrived, I guessed it would be scary, as Alice and I both loathe heights and Carmen hints she’s not such a fan either. They gear us up and I get concerned that perhaps we booked the wrong tour, but from the minute I was dangling from the pulley I knew I had made the right decision. Alice’s smile after the first run implied she liked it just as much. I’ve been through no comparable experience in my life. I assumed that the point was to see wildlife and trees from a new perspective. While that is interesting, the truth is, it is just a lot of fun to fly from one tree to another. There isn’t a lot else to say about the whole experience since it all happens very fast, but somehow the clock has moved rather dramatically. I highly recommend it to all mildly adventurous travelers.


During our canopy adventure it became quite apparent the guy from behind the desk had no clue where Walter was actually taking us, but every time he mentioned the places we were going to see it sounded nothing like what Walter had told us, so we just agreed readily anytime he asked. (The desk guy and Walter are the canopy guides). Yes, yes, we’ll be happy to see the hot springs we missed yesterday. I finally got to ask Walter and he told me he had just told the desk guy we would be in the park, and since only half the park was technically open, the desk guy had done all the assumptions on his own. Walter was confident the rangers could care less about where in the park we were as long as we didn’t get hurt.


The upper half of the park is a long long walk, or a long horseback ride away. There is a lot more interesting things to see and tons more wildlife. We saw monkeys, iguanas, birds, butterflies and more monkeys. I’ve never seen wild monkeys before and it was a treat. We saw an orange lake, boiling mud, a boiling lake, hot springs, waterfalls, and beautiful views of Costa Rica. The second half of the park was far more interesting than the one we hiked the day before and the rangers never saw us. The desk guy has no clue we ever went and Walter got a fair sized tip. On the way back down Walter even took us to the hot spring we missed the day before and we got to relax for a half hour before we went back.


That night after dinner we just hung out with the staff. We learned that they get a decent wage from the hotel, far better than somewhere in Honduras would pay, but the pay still sucked. They work for 2 weeks and then get 3 days off, or they can work for a month and get all six at the same time. They work 14 hour days and most guests don’t usually want to hang out with the employees. They showed us their rooms, which were small, but private. Sometimes when there are no guests in the hotel they get to do the canopy tour or sometimes they go on horseback rides. Walter likes to spend his time developing new paths in the national park and looking for hidden attractions. All of them seem happy enough to work there, but all of them also seem to aspire to work someplace better in the future. Sometimes I miss aspirations while I am in Honduras. Too many people seem to just be trying to survive, or they have what they want and they never try to better themselves or their community. Many Hondurans are not like that, and to say the entire country is would be offensive, but most Hondurans agree they are very relaxed people, sometimes too relaxed. Sometimes being able to go with the flow has really saved them. While most of Central America has warred internally and externally Honduras almost never participated. They have never had a civil war. Sadly, that attitude has also cost the country opportunities. I suppose in the end I appreciate Honduras for what it is and Costa Rica for what it is. The people in the streets of Costa Rica are not nearly as nice as Hondurans. The people of Honduras don’t seem to like risk. Which probably means I will always find work trying to change that mind set of Honduras and Costa Rica will always be nice to find some privacy.