A Taste of Home

After the last few nights being full of Wendy's, gas station snacks and re-fried beans my body screamed for a break. Tonight at dinner when my family brought home a larger then family size portion of fried rice with assorted meats I found my perfect excuse. "Yo soy vegetariano, lo siento." I quickly grabbed my purse and made a fast dash to the super market in search of something that wouldn't leave me feeling sluggish and overly full. I loaded my basket full of zucchini, green beans, red peppers, and of course garlic and onions. After spending about 1 dollar on my fresh produce I returned to the kitchen and began the process of chopping and slicing. With the garlic sizzling in olive oil and the onions becoming perfectly translucent I began adding the rest of my bounty. When i saw my younger host sister watching me in astonishment I realized not everyone knows how to do this simple task of sauteing vegetables. I tried to explain to her a few simple steps but she lost interest and continued to eat her greasy rice with a piece of white bread as a utensil. As I threw in some salt, pepper and dried oregano the smell hit me. I caught myself smiling because not only did it smell delicious, it smelled like home. I was brought back to sitting at the kitchen counter while my mom multi tasked like a crazy woman creating a mouth-watering meal for my family and I. Even though I never got formal cooking lessons from her she had managed to implant the vital information into my brain that I needed for most dishes. Olive oil, garlic and onions. Even though I'm thousands of miles away I felt right at home till the very last bite.

The Machete: A common household item

After a visiting a nearby town, Esperanza, my host family and 6 friends were crammed into the truck driving back through the winding pass. The children were getting tired and fussy and everyone agreed we needed to stop for a break. Every mile or so we drove by small stands piled high with bananas, pineapples and oranges. We pulled up to the next one we saw and rolled the window down. A young girl around 10 years old ran up to the car dressed in a dirty professional looking skirt and bare feet. Some words were exchanged that I didn't catch and she hopped into her stand and grabbed the machete that was longer then her skinny arm. She picked up the closest pineapple and in a matter of seconds and removed the skin and cut it into round pieces. She stuffed them in a bag and brought it to the car window. We payed her 20 Limperas (about one US dollar) and began to snack on our fresh treat. We ordered two more and she prepared them faster then safe considering the size of the knife she was wielding. Another time after driving to San Pedro Sula we stopped at an identical stand but on a different road. This time we ordered coconuts. They were served to us with a straw and after we drank the milk the were chopped in half and the meat was dished out, with a machete of course. The people here don't just use this giant knife for delicious snacks, it is also commonly used as a weapon. Men throughout the streets carry machetes with them, either by the blade or in detailed leather pouches. At first the sight was scary, a man carrying a deadly weapon and walking down a crowded street. No one seemed to care or even notice these men. Being concerned for my general safety I asked a few people and I found out these men are the vigilantes of the town. They are here to protect the people when the police can't, which is virtually all the time.

When it rains in Honduras.

Rain has always been one of my favorite things. Who doesn't love an excuse to wrap up in a blanket with a hot cup of tea and watch as the lighting strikes and the thunder follows? Living in a tropical environment the reaction is not the same. Today after spending just under an hour at the super market browsing the shelves for familiar foods with my exchange student friend, we decided on a box of cheddar mac and cheese. We went back to my house and put the water on to boil. The sun was shining through the windows and the temperature was just below uncomfortably hot. By the time we put the pasta in the pot the sound of raindrops began on the tin roof. We both knew what this meant. Ella (My friend from Belgium) quickly grabbed her bags and ran down stairs to hail a taxi home. The sky had rapidly turned into a dark void of black clouds quickly over taking the last bit of blue skies. Seconds after Ella found a taxi the rain came down in full force. There isn't much time to react to the rain, it comes in a matter of seconds. The roof was shaking and the noise drowned out the sound of the bad Spanish soap playing on the TV. I stood there stirring my pasta listening and watching in awe of the force of the rainstorms here. The thunder began and car alarms started to go off and dogs began their barking. I thought I had gotten used to this regular occurrence but as a loud clap of the thunder echoed through the house I couldn't help but jump. The lights shut off and the room was eerily lit by the fire of the stove and the last bit of lingering sun the clouds couldn't block out. I managed to finish cooking the mac and cheese in the dark and I sat down with a steaming-hot bowl and a blanket, watching through the windows. I was safe and dry in the house and I was more then thankful as I watched the people scramble through the streets looking for cover. The rain continued and I knew soon the river through the center of town would rise and the regular flooding would begin through the streets. The maid came into the living room and checked the ceiling for leaks. Seeming satisfied she put away the armload of pots and pans she had just in case. Just as quickly as the rain came, it was gone. the silence was strangely unsettling and the distant thunder began to slowly fade. Another "tormenta de lluvia" in Honduras, the roof is intact and I am dry. I would call it a success.

The Infamous "Honduran Time"

Being fashionably late is acceptable to some extent but the people here take it to a whole new extreme. If you say you are meeting someone for almuerzo (lunch) at 12 you aren't expected to actually arrive until 1! Its bearable when meeting friends but within my family this laid back pattern is hard to put up with. When asked when we are leaving there will never be a straight answer and when they say ahorita (now) it could still be a few more hours until we actually do what we have planned. This has caused me to do a lot of waiting around. I don't want to be late so I stick to my "normal" timing and deal with the long periods of time I spend waiting to hear the sweet word "vamos."

Changes

I spent the first week going through a bit of an emotional breakdown. Being homesick and the frustration of learning a new language is not a great combination. Every night I would be physically exhausted from the day and I would got to sleep early. My host family wasn't very understanding of what I was going through, which caused a few problems. My first weekend in my new home I got to escape to the beautiful countryside. Siguatepeque is surrounded by lush forests and rolling hills but people rarely take advantage of it. I was happy to be out of the house and reading a book overlooking a green hillside was a perfect escape. Two days later I got notified I would be switching to a new host family. I packed up my stuff and met my new host mom Patty who was sweet and welcoming. My new host sister Eliana is my age and is in my class. My family owns a hotel called "Puesta del Sol" and we live right next door. We spend a lot of time at the hotel watching TV or hanging out with the host mom while she works. From the first day with my new family I knew we would get along better then the previous. Patty explained to me that she is a bad cook so we go out for dinner every night and for breakfast and lunch the maid brings something for us to eat. I have been cooking a lot too due to lack of healthy foods. I find myself craving whole grains, simple salads and fresh vegetables. The resources for fresh fare are never ending here but the people don't seem to embrace it. One of my favorite Honduran foods are called baleadas. It is made with fresh dough flattened out to a tortilla on a grill then while it is cooking its filled with beans, cheese and a cheesy sauce. You can buy baleadas at small "restaurants" that are usually extensions of peoples front decks or sidewalks.

The Wonders of a Catholic Uniform

My first full day in Siguatepeque I got the luxury of buying my incredibly attractive school uniform. From the knee high navy socks to the kilt like skirt I was in uncomfortable polyester hell. I went to Omega, my new school and was briefed on the rules by the English teacher. Even though it was hard to understand through her broken English I got he basics. No nose ring, no makeup, no cell phone, uniform everyday and no talking in class. "It's not bad, it's different" I had to tell myself many times. My first day of school was not like school at all. The students took one exam spent a few hours outside talking, eating and using the computer, took another exam and then went home around 12. I was told the school day here is from 7am to 3pm but after 3 weeks I have yet to experience that. The teachers sometimes don't show up to class and the students don't seem the least bit phased by it. A pleasant surprise was that in my class was another AFS student. Ella (from Belgium) and I spend most of our time together in school and the majority of it outside of school. It's great to have someone going through the same culture shock and language difficulties as I am. My companeros or classmates spend most of the day frequenting the small cafeteria outside. There is one woman who cooks for the 120 or so kids and every day she has 3 or 4 things on the menu. My personal favorite are the fried plantains with cabbage and salsa but she also has tacos, desayuno (breakfast), nachos, tortilla con queso and many more options. It is surprising to be surrounded by kids at 8 am eating tacos and drinking coke. Eating here is a common activity, just like in the states. My classmates here range from ages 14 to 21, but their maturity level is about the same. At home being 16 seems pretty old, having freedom and living your own life to some extent but here being 16 you are still considered a baby and this shows through my classmates personalities. Maybe in the US teenagers grow up too fast but here it seems like the opposite. They are entertained by things such as playing with their food or making fun of a classmate. Childish describes all of the people I am surrounded by in school. Because of this it is hard to make friends. Not only do we not speak the same language but our interests are completely different. I didn't read about this in any books or guides of Honduras!

A new country, a new family and a new school

Getting off the bus in Siguatepeque my first impression of my new town was not all positive. The broken down rest stop didn't scream "welcome" and the stress of waiting for my host family to show up was nerve wracking. Finally after sitting on my luggage with the three other students who would be living in my town, our families arrived. One by one we were paired off and were greeted my kisses and greetings I couldn't understand. My family helped me get my luggage into the car and then we began driving to my new home. The language barrier was difficult but my host dad, Hugo knew some English due to his many years working aboard an American cruise ship. We all piled out of the car and went into the grocery store. The isles were lined with unfamiliar foods but also many many that I recognized. My host family stocked up on Oreos, Lays, White bread and other typical "American" foods. I thought maybe they were doing it for me but later on I would find out that many Honduran families eat like this on a regular basis. Even after settling into my room with my host sister Bianca it still hadn't hit me that I would be living in this place for the next 5 months of my life. My quiet host mom, Blanca made a fat filled meal of rice, buttery shrimp, potato salad, and of course tortillas. I was hungry and the food was warm so I enjoyed every last cholesterol filled bite. The rest of my day consisted of watching bad Spanish soaps and trying to adjust to my new surroundings.

"Living" in Honduras

After going through customs in Tegucigalpa (Honduras's capital) I felt ready to be out of the airport and begin my journey. The other two US students and I met with AFS volunteers and the students from Belgium after getting our luggage and our passports stamped. We took the long drive to a small town outside of the city where we would meet the other students who would be living in Honduras for a year or a semester. On the way there I was far from bored, staring out the window mesmerized by my new surroundings. It was different, and I liked it. The excitement was overwhelming and the last thing I wanted to be doing was sitting in a car for an hour. Upon arrival we were situated into our hotel rooms and I was faced with my first of many experiences you don't usually see in the US. Our room was small and had four beds, a toilet that didn't work, and a shower with questionable water. I was looking forward to taking a dip in the pool after a long day of traveling but upon seeing it I decided otherwise. Walking around the small town instantly brought my mood back up. The shops were full of colorful hammocks, varieties of breads and pastries and fruit from the area. The town was quaint and a beautiful place to spend the first days of many here in Honduras. The orientations were long and boring and we were all greatful when we got a snack break. The group of Italian, German, Belgium, and American students made quite the crowd. From the chain smoking to the language barriers it made for an interesting couple of days.

Background

Bozeman, Montana was not the place for me to learn Spanish and experience a new culture so being the risk taker I am I found an alternative. Sometime in the last year I got the brilliant idea to take the plunge and study abroad for a semester of my Junior year. After all the forms filled out, the countless hours spent trying to talk to my host family, and the massive amount of time on AFS.com trying (unsuccessfully) to prepare myself, here I am living in the Honduran City of Siguatepeque trying to remember what I expected this experience to be like. AFS has a motto, "It's not bad, it is different." and when living in a new country this has shown itself to be completely true. Bozeman is sheltered to say the least. We have our avid hikers, our hunters, our cowboys, our housewives, high school students and everything in between but one thing we don't have is CULTURE. This is one of the reasons I chose to embark on this journey was to experience something new and different, and to say the least I am.