Aside from automobiles, there are very few machines in Copan. I don’t know if that’s true in the larger cities of Honduras, but here ditches and post holes are dug by hand using whatever sharp implement is available. A few men have been building a house across from Casa Lorena, and with the exception of a circular saw for cutting floor boards, I have seen nor heard no other power tools. Blocks of stone are chiseled by hand and cement is made with ordinary dirt. The dirt is shoveled through a screen and the sand that passes through is placed in a large pile. A hollow bowl is formed in the pile, and water is poured in – no containers necessary. Then the cement is shoveled into 5 gallon buckets, which are carried on the shoulders of men to wherever it is being used.
Aside from a couple of phone calls home, I am vowing not to use English for the duration of my stay in Honduras, so those of you who don’t habla español, I’ll translate for you later. Lo siento.
(Sorry.)
Anoche, tuve un mal comunicación con el Padre. El esperaba a seis medio, como comprende dijo, pero se rendaba a siete. No tengo se número de teléfono, así no pude el hablar. En vez de, fui a Via Via, un restaurante propie de holandés expats, frecuenté principalmente de las turistas y otra expats. Porque esta, lo he evitado, pero anoche necesitaba salir y parece haber tener buen vive de noche. Es un sitio de abandonados, inclusive de los gatos y los perros de calle. El propietario tiene los perros. Mire una camarera lleno el bol y diste para un perro de calle.
(Tonight, I had a mis-communication with Padre. I was waiting for him at 6:30, but he didn’t come by 7pm. I didn’t have his number, so wasn’t able to call. So instead, I went to Via Via, a restaurant owned by Dutch expats, and frequented primarily by tourists and other expats. Because of this, I had avoided it, but tonight I needed to get out and it seemed they have pretty good night life. It’s a place for outcasts, including the cats and dogs of the street. The proprietor has dogs. I’ve seen a waitress fill a bowl and give it to a street dog.)
El restaurante tuvo música vive – anoche un Hondureño interpretia tal favoritos local como “Everybody Must Get Stoned” y “Yellow Submarine.”
(The restaurant had live music – tonight a Honduran giving his rendition of such local favorites as “Everybody Must Get Stoned” y “Ring of Fire.”)
Despues se senté, un niño tienes circa doce años me acercaste. Me hablaste en español: “Hola. ¿Como esta? Soy José. ¿Cómo se llama?”, pero sabias justamente los parables correcto en inglés: “One fifty.” Me mostraste los pulseras habías tejido en su muñecas. Cuando te mostré interés, abririste su mochila revelar las tablas de escaparate de más pulseras y los pendientes. Quisiste ciento cincuenta Lempiras por una pulsera, pero se ofrecí ciento y aceptaste. Copan tienes mucho semejante niños. Y estaba comprando una muñeca de envoltorio de maíz, una bolsa pequeño de hilo y esta pulsera. En un manera, esta benéficas, como están cosa no necesito y no estaría comprar en un tienda. En un otra manera, no me gusta estar me aprovechas. Algunos de mi amigos quien no hablan espanol, poderian recibir estan como los regalos. José es similar por los perros de calle, y el dio comido.
(After I sat down, a boy of about 12 years approached me. He spoke to me in Spanish: “Hi. How are you? I’m Jose. What’s your name?”, but he spoke just the right words in English: “150.” He showed me the woven bracelets on his arms. When I showed interest, he opened his backpack to reveal display boards of more bracelets and earrings. He wanted 150 Lempiras ($7.50) for a bracelet, but I offered him 100 and he accepted. Copan has many such kids. So far I’ve purchased a corn husk doll, a small yarn purse, and this bracelet. In one way, it’s charity, as I don’t really need these things, and I wouldn’t have bought them otherwise. In another sense, I don’t like to be taken advantage of. Jose is a lot like the street dogs… and I fed him.)
No pude encontrar el turoperador por Esquipulas, Guatemala, cual estuvo mi plan por hoy. Está bien tener un plan segundo. Estoy muy cansado y aburrida de la comida me ha sirviendo, por lo tanto dormía tarde, entonces anduve en las colinas. Cuando vuelte a el centro, comí pizza de Jim’s, y ahora he pasado al rato por el café.
(I wasn’t able to find the tour operator for Esquipulus, Guatemala - the church with the Black Christ, which was my plan for the day. It’s good to have a plan B. I’m very tired, and bored with the food I’ve been served, so I slept late, then walked in the hills. When I returned to the center of town, I ate at Jim’s Pizza, and now am passing the afternoon at a Café.)
En mi paseo esta mañana, encontré el perro más delgado alguna vez he visto. Tuvo apenas fuerza continuar. Necesite el dar de comida. La sola tienda conozco venda comida de los perros estuvo no cerca. Compre pan y leche, y lo di la tercera parte de la barra empapada en leche. Estaba poco tímido, pero comió rápido de mi mano de todos modos. Lo busce luego y lo dar más comida. Espero encontra el camino a Via Via.
(On my walk this morning, I met a dog that was extremely skinny and seemed to be near death. He was almost too weak to continue walking. I simply couldn’t walk away without feeding him. The only store I knew that sold dog food wasn’t nearby. I bought some white bread and milk, and fed him 1/3 of the loaf soaked in milk. At first he was timid, but ate rapidly from my hand anyway. I’ll look for him later and give him the rest of the food. I just hope he finds his way to Via Via.)
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Viaje medio
When I arrived back at my room, Lorena and Celia were cleaning it. This included mostly sweeping and mopping the floor, and changing the sheets. The cleanliness of floors seems very important here. I see women constantly sweeping tiles, indoors and out, sometimes more than once per day. Lorena was making the bed when I walked in, and as the double bed is pushed up against the wall, she couldn’t reach the far corner, so she threw the sheet toward it, then flung herself onto the bed. It was quite a site, this short plump 50-ish woman in skirt and heels, flat out on the bed, reaching for the corner to wrap the sheet around it. I looked at Celia and we both smiled with amusement. Celia is a 15-year old girl (who appears to me more like 12) from a nearby village, who lives here and works about 12 hours per day for Lorena. Her mother and little brother visit weekly, and I understand that Celia will return to her village one week from Sunday. That happens to be the day I leave, so perhaps she’s just here when Lorena has guests. I assume this is an arrangement based on her family’s inability to care for her, or perhaps she is actually able to take some money home. When Lorena was telling me about her, she whispered the word, “indijenas,” just the way some people in the US whisper, “black,” as if it were a dirty word, and the people about whom they are speaking don’t know that’s how they are described. There’s definitely a socioeconomic divide here between those of Spanish descent, and those of Mayan descent. I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that, as we have the same phenomenon in the US, but we also tend to treat all Latin Americans equally, regardless of their ancestry.
Hosting students is definitely a business for Lorena. When I learned that I would be staying with Lorena and Luis and their 3 kids, I thought I’d be part of the family life. I’ve known people who hosted visiting students, and that’s the way they treated the experience, but Casa Lorena is more like a bed-and-breakfast. I am not invited to partake in activities with the family, not even to watch TV with them in the evenings, and on the other hand, there is nothing expected of me either. I enter the house only at mealtimes, and sit at the dining room table by myself. Except that much of the time Lorena will sit and keep me company, or sometimes she’ll eat with me, but the family (read: male) meal time is definitely separate. I was told that the oldest of her kids was 18, but in reality, the youngest is 18. She is away at college in Tegucigulpa. The two older kids are sons – one owns 3 moto-taxis in town, and I’m not sure what the other one does. I haven’t been formally introduced to them, but have made a point to say, “Hola,” in passing. Some of the other students have mentioned that they are way too close to some of the family drama, so I guess I prefer what I have to that option.
One of the son’s moto-taxis caught fire the other night. The driver and a young boy came to the door screaming, and Luis went running out the door with a fire extinguisher. There doesn’t seem to be a fire department. Lorena was very sad, and went into her room to cry. She couldn’t decide whether to call her son in San Pedro to tell him of this tragedy, or wait till he returned home. It obviously meant financial setback for the family. Luis is a mechanic, and keeps two large delivery trucks in front of the house. I think he is short on work, as I’ve seen him around a lot during the day, and heard him say to Lorena that he had, “no carga.”
I had an opportunity to ask Edwin about how some of the utilities work in Copan. He explained to me that the electricity, water and trash collection are all municipal services – through Santa Rosa and Tegucigulpa - but that the water and electricity infrastructure is especially overloaded in this area. As I suspected, that’s why there are rolling blackouts and water outages periodically. I’m glad I did a bit of laundry in the sink this morning, as there is no water this afternoon. I will be glad to reunite mi ropa with laundry macinas in the US, as I don’t think I’m able to get them very clean. I’ve never been fond of scented deodorants, but have recently discovered a use for them.
Ayer, I made it to the Mayan ruins. They are not far at all when you take the correct road. They were pretty impressive, as I’ve never seen anything that old – structures that predate written history (though in a way they ARE written history). There are totems carved in stone for Mayan rulers, and altars that were used for human sacrifice, as well as pyramids, residential structures, and a stairway that depicts the peoples’ history. I have to admit, though, that I was more fascinated by the free-flying scarlet macaws at the entrance. They are birds that were bread at Macaw Mountain, and are being prepared for release. I assume that when they are ready to be on their own, they simply fly away. They’d have to be foolish to go very far, though, when here they have the best of both worlds – freedom AND free food. It was incredible to see these creatures in their natural environment, perched high in the treetops, then swooping low overhead to where a whole line of ten or more perched atop an 8-foot fence. I took several videos from very close up; one about five minutes long.
(because Ellen said I had to be in some of the pictures)
I finished workbook #2 and was presented workbook #3 yesterday. I’m feeling much more comfortable with reading and writing, as I have time to look up verb forms and such, and even more comfortable with understanding the gist of what people say, but am still quite insecure about crafting spoken sentences on the spot. Most of the time when I talk, I think about the sentence ahead of time and look up words, then blurt it out in the midst of conversation. I told Edwin that I want to have mucha practica next week. I think we might spend some time walking around el mercado and other places in town, talking about what we see and speaking with other people. That sera’ perfect (future tense!)
Hosting students is definitely a business for Lorena. When I learned that I would be staying with Lorena and Luis and their 3 kids, I thought I’d be part of the family life. I’ve known people who hosted visiting students, and that’s the way they treated the experience, but Casa Lorena is more like a bed-and-breakfast. I am not invited to partake in activities with the family, not even to watch TV with them in the evenings, and on the other hand, there is nothing expected of me either. I enter the house only at mealtimes, and sit at the dining room table by myself. Except that much of the time Lorena will sit and keep me company, or sometimes she’ll eat with me, but the family (read: male) meal time is definitely separate. I was told that the oldest of her kids was 18, but in reality, the youngest is 18. She is away at college in Tegucigulpa. The two older kids are sons – one owns 3 moto-taxis in town, and I’m not sure what the other one does. I haven’t been formally introduced to them, but have made a point to say, “Hola,” in passing. Some of the other students have mentioned that they are way too close to some of the family drama, so I guess I prefer what I have to that option.
One of the son’s moto-taxis caught fire the other night. The driver and a young boy came to the door screaming, and Luis went running out the door with a fire extinguisher. There doesn’t seem to be a fire department. Lorena was very sad, and went into her room to cry. She couldn’t decide whether to call her son in San Pedro to tell him of this tragedy, or wait till he returned home. It obviously meant financial setback for the family. Luis is a mechanic, and keeps two large delivery trucks in front of the house. I think he is short on work, as I’ve seen him around a lot during the day, and heard him say to Lorena that he had, “no carga.”
I had an opportunity to ask Edwin about how some of the utilities work in Copan. He explained to me that the electricity, water and trash collection are all municipal services – through Santa Rosa and Tegucigulpa - but that the water and electricity infrastructure is especially overloaded in this area. As I suspected, that’s why there are rolling blackouts and water outages periodically. I’m glad I did a bit of laundry in the sink this morning, as there is no water this afternoon. I will be glad to reunite mi ropa with laundry macinas in the US, as I don’t think I’m able to get them very clean. I’ve never been fond of scented deodorants, but have recently discovered a use for them.
Ayer, I made it to the Mayan ruins. They are not far at all when you take the correct road. They were pretty impressive, as I’ve never seen anything that old – structures that predate written history (though in a way they ARE written history). There are totems carved in stone for Mayan rulers, and altars that were used for human sacrifice, as well as pyramids, residential structures, and a stairway that depicts the peoples’ history. I have to admit, though, that I was more fascinated by the free-flying scarlet macaws at the entrance. They are birds that were bread at Macaw Mountain, and are being prepared for release. I assume that when they are ready to be on their own, they simply fly away. They’d have to be foolish to go very far, though, when here they have the best of both worlds – freedom AND free food. It was incredible to see these creatures in their natural environment, perched high in the treetops, then swooping low overhead to where a whole line of ten or more perched atop an 8-foot fence. I took several videos from very close up; one about five minutes long.
(because Ellen said I had to be in some of the pictures)
I finished workbook #2 and was presented workbook #3 yesterday. I’m feeling much more comfortable with reading and writing, as I have time to look up verb forms and such, and even more comfortable with understanding the gist of what people say, but am still quite insecure about crafting spoken sentences on the spot. Most of the time when I talk, I think about the sentence ahead of time and look up words, then blurt it out in the midst of conversation. I told Edwin that I want to have mucha practica next week. I think we might spend some time walking around el mercado and other places in town, talking about what we see and speaking with other people. That sera’ perfect (future tense!)
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The Work of the People
Another Carlos (one of Padre’s Pastoral Assistants) picked me up at ten till seven on Sunday evening in a well-worn Toyota truck. He had to get out to close my door forcefully from the outside so it wouldn’t fly open. We managed to have somewhat of a conversation as we drove across town. The more I looked puzzled, the louder and slower he spoke. I could immediately tell that he was a kind man, so I felt at ease. As soon as we arrived at his home, I was greeted by his young son, Alex, who is learning English in Kindergarten. The carport was full with at least 40 people in plastic chairs amidst spare auto parts and laundry drying on the line. Two bare light bulbs hung from wires. I was seated behind a plastic table with two plastic palms in front of it. Carlos brought out the Eucharistic vessels and elements. It was quickly becoming clear to me that this was a Eucharist, and I was the Presider. Not only that, but no one was there to translate for me, as I understood she would be. It’s a good thing I was ready for everything this time. I had practiced the Eucharistic prayer, and with Edwin’s help, prepared my sermon in Spanish. We managed to say our prayers and get everyone fed with very few glitches. !Gracias a Dios!
After the service, two little girls came up to me and handed me pictures they had drawn in pencil – one of Copan, and one perhaps of me, with the words “Bienvenido!” and “Hola Kathy”. Several men stacked the plastic chairs on Carlos’ porch. Carlos asked if I would wait a bit, as he wanted to drive some people home, and he would take me on the way to their neighborhood. “Si,” I said. I greeted people as they left, though noticed that many were still congregating in the street. I had just walked out of the gate to join the party, when Carlos said, “OK, vamos.” At that moment, the entire 20 or so people who were in the street, young and old, all piled into the back of Carlos’ truck, standing up and holding onto bars. I was invited to sit in the passenger seat in the cab, and somewhat woefully accepted. I was dropped off quickly, as the house where I am staying was only about a kilometer away, but the rest of the people still had 3km to go. I’m not sure if I’m expected back next Sunday. I’ll try to find out soon. This congregation hopes to build their own worship space in the next year or so, in the barrio where most of them live. I’m quickly realizing that the Episcopal Church in this country, at least in the Copan Region, does not attract the rich and famous or even the upper middle class, but mostly whom we in the US would call the working poor.
La Lección de The Rev. Kathleen McAdams
Pentecostio 6 - 24 Julio, 2011
Para Copan Ruinas, Honduras
1 Reys 3:5-12, Romanas 8:26-39, Mateo 13:31-33,44-52
Me siento muy bendecida al estar con ustedes este día, y de tener esta oportunidad de hablar a ustedes. Por favor, me perdonan mi mal español, aún estoy aprendiendo.
A veces, Él señor quiere que las cosas, que necesitamos y requerimos hacer, dependa de que nos movamos, y salgamos de nuestros lugares de comodidad, ir a nuevos lugares y aprender nuevas cosas, pero no están fácil para nosotros. Igual al mercader, quien vende todo lo que tiene, para comprar una fina perla, El Señor nos invita a dejar todo lo que es comodidad familiar, para seguirlo a lugares desconocidos. Y ese es el porqué, yo estoy aquí en Honduras.
Yo sirvo a una congregación en Boston en Estados Unidos. La mayoría de la gente que tenemos, están sin casas. E igual a ustedes, nosotros también no tenemos un edificio para nuestra iglesia. Nosotros adoramos en un parque cada domingo, aunque sea invierno. Cada vez más personas de Centroamérica, están llegarando nuestro oficio de adoración, y quiero poder recibir bien a alguien su idioma, para saber cuándo alguien quiera ser parte de nuestra comunidad. Yo creo que El Señor nos ha mandado a nosotros para desafiarnos a aprender cosas nuevas, y enseñarnos a ser una comunidad más diversa.
Así que, estoy intentando aprender español. Tomé algunas clases en Boston, pero aprendí poco. Viniendo aquí, de tal manera para forzarme a practicar español, y para aprenderlo más rápido, y para aprender acerca de la cultura de Centroamérica.
Solomon no rezo’ por riquezas para sí mismo, ni siquiera para ser rey, pero después El Señor lo hizo rey, rezo’ para conseguir inteligencia y habilidad para ser un mejor rey para su pueblo. Esa oración complació al Señor. Nosotros, también, podemos rezar por regalos que nos permitirán hacer la voluntad del Señor, y para esas oportunidades usamos estos regalos del Señor para cumplir su voluntad. Esto se consigue, nada más rezando.
¿Mientras rezamos para que El Señor nos guie y gobierne nuestros corazones y mentes, como puede dividirnos de El Señor? ¡No de todos los poderes de este mundo! El Señor únicamente quiere, que sea bueno para nosotros, y nunca nos llevara a extraviarnos. Nosotros mismos decidimos, ponernos dentro o a fuera del círculo, de la comunidad de El Señor. Mientras nosotros no nos extraviemos de Él, Él Señor siempre estará cerca. Esto es cuando nuestras oraciones son egoístas, cuando rezamos para nuestros propósitos, sin respeto a lo que El Señor quiere, nos separamos del Señor. El Señor siempre está esperando para recibirnos y acogernos en nuestra decisión.
No hay que rezar para una vida larga, o una casa grande, o una cosecha abundante, ni siquiera por la buena salud de su familia, solo resale al Señor para que el, te de las habilidades y los recursos para hacer las cosas por medio de él y ponerlos en la tierra. Si nuestros corazones se alinean con el corazón de El Señor, luego las respuestas de nuestras oraciones nos hará felices. Amen.
On Monday it was back to school – Por/Para, Demonstrative adjectives and pronouns, and review of direct/indirect object pronouns. Did I mention that I’m not crazy about grammar, and seem to have never learned it in English?
After lunch, I set out to walk to the ruins, as it was a cloudy day and cool for touring. I had my map, but hate to take it out in public, as I think it makes me a target (as if people can’t tell I’m a tourist without it). Anyway, I ended up on the wrong road out of town – the one that goes to Macaw Mountain, not the ruins. That’s OK. I wanted to go there, too. This wild bird park has many aviaries full of macaws and other parrots, and even toucans, owls and hawks. All the birds were formerly kept in captivity as pets, or found injured and determined to be non-releasable. Their mission is conservation, education, and breeding to restore the wild parrot population in Honduras. There are some really awesome birds there, and they’re tame enough that they don’t mind people like me stepping right up to where they are eating and staring them in the face. In fact some of them start to perform, and get jealous if you try to photograph other birds in their aviary.
On my way to the park, of course it started raining… porque it’s July in Copan. I had just taken cover under a tree, when some men motioned for me to come into their car port, just 20 meters further up the road. A large German Shepherd rested there, and I wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about my entering, but he hardly moved. The men put out a chair for me to sit in. After I’d been there for just a few minutes, wondering how long I would be waiting, one of the men came out and handed me an umbrella, asked if I was headed for “el parque”, and told me to return it on my way back. Amazing! It turns out the park was just a little beyond there, and the rain soon stopped, but I was blown away by their kindness.
On the way home, in addition to returning the umbrella, I stopped at Victoria’s Supermercado to pick up a couple of things. I needed another can of Off. The first one lasted only a week. Oh, the power just went out, so I guess I’ll turn in. It’s only 9pm, but “Good night.”
Today, Tuesday, the power is still out. It was on during the night. I know because I felt he ceiling fan come on, but when I got up this morning it was off again. Somehow Lorena managed to make coffee before it went out, but there was none at school. I’m told that it should come one again about now, as they are either rotating areas for demand, or working on the system, or something. During this time, there is also no running water, as pumps run on electricity. Apparently this is very typical in Copan. So people routinely gather rainwater in large barrels, and use it for washing up and flushing the toilet during such outages . Right now, I am sitting in a café in a hotel that has a generator- it’s cheating, I guess. I haven’t spoken to Padre since Sunday, so don’t know what the schedule is for the week. I hope to run into him soon, as I’m still a little chicken to attempt español para teléfono.
Learning another language is kind of like receiving the key to a secret code. It somehow makes the world larger, and makes relationship with a new group of people more possible. It’s very exciting! I’ve noticed, however, that once I start to feel close or friendly with someone, that I have moments when I want to just relax with them and stop playing this game. At that point I say something to them in English, and am reminded that it’s not a game at all, that this is real life, and that my new friend doesn’t speak my language, but that I am here to learn theirs.
The power just came back on, as promised. We all cheered!
After the service, two little girls came up to me and handed me pictures they had drawn in pencil – one of Copan, and one perhaps of me, with the words “Bienvenido!” and “Hola Kathy”. Several men stacked the plastic chairs on Carlos’ porch. Carlos asked if I would wait a bit, as he wanted to drive some people home, and he would take me on the way to their neighborhood. “Si,” I said. I greeted people as they left, though noticed that many were still congregating in the street. I had just walked out of the gate to join the party, when Carlos said, “OK, vamos.” At that moment, the entire 20 or so people who were in the street, young and old, all piled into the back of Carlos’ truck, standing up and holding onto bars. I was invited to sit in the passenger seat in the cab, and somewhat woefully accepted. I was dropped off quickly, as the house where I am staying was only about a kilometer away, but the rest of the people still had 3km to go. I’m not sure if I’m expected back next Sunday. I’ll try to find out soon. This congregation hopes to build their own worship space in the next year or so, in the barrio where most of them live. I’m quickly realizing that the Episcopal Church in this country, at least in the Copan Region, does not attract the rich and famous or even the upper middle class, but mostly whom we in the US would call the working poor.
La Lección de The Rev. Kathleen McAdams
Pentecostio 6 - 24 Julio, 2011
Para Copan Ruinas, Honduras
1 Reys 3:5-12, Romanas 8:26-39, Mateo 13:31-33,44-52
Me siento muy bendecida al estar con ustedes este día, y de tener esta oportunidad de hablar a ustedes. Por favor, me perdonan mi mal español, aún estoy aprendiendo.
A veces, Él señor quiere que las cosas, que necesitamos y requerimos hacer, dependa de que nos movamos, y salgamos de nuestros lugares de comodidad, ir a nuevos lugares y aprender nuevas cosas, pero no están fácil para nosotros. Igual al mercader, quien vende todo lo que tiene, para comprar una fina perla, El Señor nos invita a dejar todo lo que es comodidad familiar, para seguirlo a lugares desconocidos. Y ese es el porqué, yo estoy aquí en Honduras.
Yo sirvo a una congregación en Boston en Estados Unidos. La mayoría de la gente que tenemos, están sin casas. E igual a ustedes, nosotros también no tenemos un edificio para nuestra iglesia. Nosotros adoramos en un parque cada domingo, aunque sea invierno. Cada vez más personas de Centroamérica, están llegarando nuestro oficio de adoración, y quiero poder recibir bien a alguien su idioma, para saber cuándo alguien quiera ser parte de nuestra comunidad. Yo creo que El Señor nos ha mandado a nosotros para desafiarnos a aprender cosas nuevas, y enseñarnos a ser una comunidad más diversa.
Así que, estoy intentando aprender español. Tomé algunas clases en Boston, pero aprendí poco. Viniendo aquí, de tal manera para forzarme a practicar español, y para aprenderlo más rápido, y para aprender acerca de la cultura de Centroamérica.
Solomon no rezo’ por riquezas para sí mismo, ni siquiera para ser rey, pero después El Señor lo hizo rey, rezo’ para conseguir inteligencia y habilidad para ser un mejor rey para su pueblo. Esa oración complació al Señor. Nosotros, también, podemos rezar por regalos que nos permitirán hacer la voluntad del Señor, y para esas oportunidades usamos estos regalos del Señor para cumplir su voluntad. Esto se consigue, nada más rezando.
¿Mientras rezamos para que El Señor nos guie y gobierne nuestros corazones y mentes, como puede dividirnos de El Señor? ¡No de todos los poderes de este mundo! El Señor únicamente quiere, que sea bueno para nosotros, y nunca nos llevara a extraviarnos. Nosotros mismos decidimos, ponernos dentro o a fuera del círculo, de la comunidad de El Señor. Mientras nosotros no nos extraviemos de Él, Él Señor siempre estará cerca. Esto es cuando nuestras oraciones son egoístas, cuando rezamos para nuestros propósitos, sin respeto a lo que El Señor quiere, nos separamos del Señor. El Señor siempre está esperando para recibirnos y acogernos en nuestra decisión.
No hay que rezar para una vida larga, o una casa grande, o una cosecha abundante, ni siquiera por la buena salud de su familia, solo resale al Señor para que el, te de las habilidades y los recursos para hacer las cosas por medio de él y ponerlos en la tierra. Si nuestros corazones se alinean con el corazón de El Señor, luego las respuestas de nuestras oraciones nos hará felices. Amen.
On Monday it was back to school – Por/Para, Demonstrative adjectives and pronouns, and review of direct/indirect object pronouns. Did I mention that I’m not crazy about grammar, and seem to have never learned it in English?
After lunch, I set out to walk to the ruins, as it was a cloudy day and cool for touring. I had my map, but hate to take it out in public, as I think it makes me a target (as if people can’t tell I’m a tourist without it). Anyway, I ended up on the wrong road out of town – the one that goes to Macaw Mountain, not the ruins. That’s OK. I wanted to go there, too. This wild bird park has many aviaries full of macaws and other parrots, and even toucans, owls and hawks. All the birds were formerly kept in captivity as pets, or found injured and determined to be non-releasable. Their mission is conservation, education, and breeding to restore the wild parrot population in Honduras. There are some really awesome birds there, and they’re tame enough that they don’t mind people like me stepping right up to where they are eating and staring them in the face. In fact some of them start to perform, and get jealous if you try to photograph other birds in their aviary.
On my way to the park, of course it started raining… porque it’s July in Copan. I had just taken cover under a tree, when some men motioned for me to come into their car port, just 20 meters further up the road. A large German Shepherd rested there, and I wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about my entering, but he hardly moved. The men put out a chair for me to sit in. After I’d been there for just a few minutes, wondering how long I would be waiting, one of the men came out and handed me an umbrella, asked if I was headed for “el parque”, and told me to return it on my way back. Amazing! It turns out the park was just a little beyond there, and the rain soon stopped, but I was blown away by their kindness.
On the way home, in addition to returning the umbrella, I stopped at Victoria’s Supermercado to pick up a couple of things. I needed another can of Off. The first one lasted only a week. Oh, the power just went out, so I guess I’ll turn in. It’s only 9pm, but “Good night.”
Today, Tuesday, the power is still out. It was on during the night. I know because I felt he ceiling fan come on, but when I got up this morning it was off again. Somehow Lorena managed to make coffee before it went out, but there was none at school. I’m told that it should come one again about now, as they are either rotating areas for demand, or working on the system, or something. During this time, there is also no running water, as pumps run on electricity. Apparently this is very typical in Copan. So people routinely gather rainwater in large barrels, and use it for washing up and flushing the toilet during such outages . Right now, I am sitting in a café in a hotel that has a generator- it’s cheating, I guess. I haven’t spoken to Padre since Sunday, so don’t know what the schedule is for the week. I hope to run into him soon, as I’m still a little chicken to attempt español para teléfono.
Learning another language is kind of like receiving the key to a secret code. It somehow makes the world larger, and makes relationship with a new group of people more possible. It’s very exciting! I’ve noticed, however, that once I start to feel close or friendly with someone, that I have moments when I want to just relax with them and stop playing this game. At that point I say something to them in English, and am reminded that it’s not a game at all, that this is real life, and that my new friend doesn’t speak my language, but that I am here to learn theirs.
The power just came back on, as promised. We all cheered!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Que sera, sera
Wow, the week has flown by, and I’ve been very busy; too busy, in fact, to sit down and write about it. After class on Monday, I hiked a few miles uphill to Hacienda San Lucas, which yielded beautiful vistas of Copan and surrounds.
Copan is a small mountain town of steep cobblestone streets, some of which are interrupted by sections of dirt road. It’s a mixture of modern and primitive, country and city. The “Copan ratón (mice)”,
as the mototaxis are known, share the streets with trucks and buses of all sizes, as well as men on horseback. Cattle graze at the edge of the town, and roosters may be heard on occasion.
The people here work very hard, and expect the same of their animals and machines. Engines groan at the load they carry up such mountainous grades, as they pass old men carrying bundles of firewood on their backs, or women with bags of various things on their heads. Men and boys carry machetes through town, as they head to the mountains to harvest firewood and fruit. Very young uniformed men with machine guns guard the banks at the edge of the Parque Centro. They wave handheld metal detectors over patrons as they enter.
I am very much enjoying my maestro, Edwin. He is very kind, patient, and intelligent. He knows more English than I do Spanish, which is very helpful in explaining parts of speech. This week we’ve covered preterite, imperfect, and gerundio verb tenses, as well as direct, indirect, and reflexive pronouns. Ay, mi cabeza! I’m looking forward to the weekend to do some review.
Padre Mejia has been keeping me busy as well. When I leave with him, I never know exactly where we’re going, what we’re going to do, or when I’ll be back. It’s enough to make out what time I am to be ready for him to pick me up. On Wednesday, we left at 3pm. I was ready with collar and stole, as well as my BCP and NT in español. I even told my host that I wasn’t sure if I’d be back for dinner. That day we drove to a little village called Corralitos en la Montana (the mountains). Padre is accustomed to driving on these tiny mountain “roads” that look more like they should be maneuvered on horseback than in an automobile. In fact, most of the people we passed were doing just that. We bounced along over ravines, through rivers, and across patches of mud in his 4WD Kia. I’ve been counting on the presumption that he wouldn’t have his wife and daughter along if the trip were truly dangerous. Corralitos is a tiny village of a half dozen buildings, one of which is a community center, across the road from the RC church. We continued a bit past those to the Episcopal Church building (el templo), where a pig ran across the road in front of us. Soon a few rugged looking men came to meet us, and the older one had a key to open the church. We didn’t have a service that day, but instead simply arranged a date to return for a Eucharist. On our way out of town, we stopped at the community center, where several women were sitting around a table making jewelry out of various types of frijoles. That and maize are the main crops in the area. They gave me a key chain in the shape of a woman, made from five kinds of beans and a few beads. On the way back to Copan, we stopped in another small village to check on the construction of another church building. They are all the same style – rectangular with a raised deus, cement or tile floors, wooden doors and windows, a sound system, a few instruments, and plastic chairs. Many have been built with help from churches in the US. As we entered Copan, we stopped in front of a house, where a woman came out to greet us and said that her husband was not home. Padre introduced me and explained that I would be preaching there on Sunday. This was the first I’d heard of it. He explained that another Kathy would translate for me, that Carlos would pick me up, and that he himself wouldn’t be there because he has to go somewhere with the bishop. This was all in Spanish, of course, and it took me three conversations on different days to get the time right – 7pm.
Ironically, the Episcopal community in Copan Ruinas, in contrast to these small mountain villages that we’ve visited, does not have a church building, but worships in the driveway of Carlos’ home, where we were standing. I’m accustomed to outdoor worship, so this should be fun. I’ve written out my sermon in Spanish, and Edwin helped me with the grammar, so I plan to preach from that manuscript, rather than through a translator. I didn’t miss dinner that night at all, as I was delivered Casa Lorena at 4:30pm.
The next day, Padre picked me up at 2pm. This time I still wore my collar, but dressed more casually, and didn’t bring much of anything with me. I knew we were going to La Frontera (the Guatamalan border), but was not sure why. I figured if we were just visiting like we did yesterday, so didn’t need my stole or books. Guatemala is only about 5 miles from Copan, so it didn’t take long to reach the border. There were about 20 tractor trailers pulled over on the road waiting to “register”. We sailed past them, directly to a guard station, where we stopped. Padre rolled down the windows so the officials could look at us, had a few words with them, then pulled up a few feet and parked. When we got out, he explained that this short strip of land on which we were walking is neutral territory, not controlled by either country. We walked across to a store just over the Guatamalan border. There, I met a real live money changer. The man sat at a table outside a small store with several large wads of bills in his hands. He was there for the purpose of changing Lempiras to Quetzals, or vice versa. We stood outside this store for a few minutes and I began to wonder why we were there. Were we meeting someone? No, turns out the trip was just for my amusement. Dinora changed a bill, then handed me a crisp new 1Q as a souvenir of my trip to Guatemala. Then we returned to the car, and headed back into Honduras.
Soon, though, we turned off the main road onto one of those dirt roads and headed up a mountain. We hadn’t gone far when we reached a river that appeared to me too deep to cross, but we drove right through it with no problem. Just beyond it was the village of San Marcos. Once again, there were very few buildings in this village, but they had an iglesia. We pulled up in front and Padre asked me, “?Tiene stola?” “No, no tengo stola.” Ah! I can’t believe this is two times that I don’t have my stole! OK, from now on I’m carrying it with me all the time. Again, he loaned me his extra. I sat behind the altar during the service and helped serve Communion. At the end, when it was time for the final blessing, Padre turned to me and motioned. “?En ingles?” I said. He nodded, and I gave the blessing in English. OK. Next time I’ll be ready with español.
Friday, he picked me up at 2pm. I felt confident that I had these little jaunts down pat now, and had packed my bag with camera, water bottle, BCP, NT, stole, healing oil, and a couple of Ecclesia crosses, just in case. I had even taken the time to write out a final blessing in Spanish.
This time, we drove even farther up into the mountains. The roads were even windier and narrower and steeper than the ones we had driven the past two days. Dinora and I both grabbed the door handles to stabilize ourselves. After we had driven for about 45 minutes, we reached a small adobe house and stopped. Padre explained that he wanted to take a picture. “Tambien,” I said, and jumped out with my camera. I was interested in photographing the fields of corn planted on the sides of mountains, and the beautiful scenery in general. He walked into the house to photograph it and the people. Later he explained that it was for fundraising for the church.
So maybe we’re just on a sightseeing expedition. We drove a little further, and he got out to take more pictures. After that, we approached another river across the road, which looked shallower than the one we had crossed the day before. There was a large rock that had fallen into the middle of it, however, which meant that he would have to maneuver around it. Padre drove into it, and then the car wouldn’t go any further. He put the car in reverse and returned to the bank. Then, back into 1st and into the river. Again, we stopped. Now he was unable to go backward or forward and the car’s wheels spun quickly in the mud and water. His daughter and I got out to push, but were unsuccessful. The car was stuck…in the river, miles from anywhere that I would consider anywhere. We all got out of the car and stood in the cool water. It was actually quite refreshing. “!Un adventura!”, I exclaimed, to reassure them that I was OK.
Padre and Dinora tried to make some calls, but weren’t able to reach anyone. Padre decided to begin walking up the road in the direction that we were headed, and the three of us women stayed behind with the car. Soon, a pick-up truck approached from the rear, and two men and a boy got out. One of the men wore a sidearm. I wasn’t sure if Padre had called them, or if they had just happened along, wanting to cross the river, and was a little nervous about their intentions. They had a rope, and began tying it to the car. I was relieved when Padre returned and the men pulled the car out of the river. However, now it was making funny sounds, and I was pretty sure that the transmission had been damaged.
We followed the men back to Pueblo Viejo and parked near a church. We entered one of the houses and were invited to sit on the porch. A woman was sitting there breastfeeding, and Padre walked up to her, patted the baby on the head and greeted the woman. Then he made himself comfortable in a hammock, and the rest of us rested in plastic chairs, where we were served coffee. I was left wondering if this was actually our destination, and the trip across the river was simply going to be a sightseeing trip, or if there was a congregation up there expecting us for a service. Padre and Dinora and Maria Jose all made and received phone calls, and I could understand them telling the story of our being stranded in the river, but I couldn’t tell if someone was coming to get us, if we were looking for a mechanic, or if we were just gaining sustenance for our walk back to Copan. What a walk that would be!
After a while, Padre got up and said, “Vamos” (we go). “?Nosotros caminimos?” (Are we walking?) “Si, a iglesia.” So we entered the church and soon people started gathering – probably about 20 eventually. I’m not sure where they all came from. Apparently, the regular musician was not there, but someone remembered someone’s relative who was in town visiting and went to fetch him. He’s Roman Catholic, but agreed to play the guitar and sing for us. He knew all the appropriate music, and was very enthusiastic. This time, when we got to the end of the service and Padre turned to me for the blessing, I said, “en espanol.” I gave the blessing in Spanish, and he announced that that was my first time doing so. The woman at whose house we had coffee came to me and stood very close, putting her hands on me, and invited me for dinner. I didn’t know what to say for so many reasons – there was the Spanish issue, but then there was the fact that I didn’t know our itinerary, and I wasn’t sure that my delicate norteamericana digestive tract could handle it. I turned to Padre and said, “Usted decide”. He decided that we would stay for la cena.
We walked back to the pueblo and sat some more. As it got dark, the man who was previously wearing the sidearm was now wearing only a towel around his waist, as he was headed for the shower, but he flipped on the light switch for the porch on his way. Now that it was dark, I not only worried about food poisoning, but also about mosquitos, and rolled down the long sleeves of my clergy shirt. I felt like such a wimp. The lights had only been on for about 10 minutes when they went out – a common occurrence in Honduras. I was just amazed that this tiny pueblo in the mountains had electricity at all. Soon, the four of us were invited to sit at a small table in the kitchen, and we dined by candlelight. There was not room for the family to sit as well, but the patriarch sat to eat in another location in the kitchen. The rest of the family stood and watched us eat. We had a delicious meal of soup, homemade corn tortillas, homemade cheese, arroz, pollo, and guavas. I ate all but the chicken, and still feel great!
On the way out of the village, we stopped to take Communion to a man who was ill. Just as we were leaving the house, the skies opened up and a dramatic thunderstorm began. I saw Padre cross himself and I added, “Amen,” as we descended the mountain in the ailing vehicle, and now in the dark and rain. I was delivered safely home at 8pm, but had to apologize to Lorena for missing dinner.
On Saturday morning, it was time for Kay and Shelby to leave. They had been staying in the room next to mine since Sunday. Kay is a pediatrician from Lincoln, Nebraska and Shelby is her very precocious soon-to-be-18-year-old daughter. Kay alternates years bringing each of her daughters to Spanish school in Copan, then joining some others from their ELCA church on a medical mission with their sister church in a small village. It was really fun having them around the house, but it was no good for my Spanish practice.
It seems funny to need a vacation from vacation, but I wanted to get a way and have some fun this weekend, so arranged to go to a coffee plantation to spend the day and night.
The son of the family that owns the plantation picked up myself and four others at a restaurant in town and drove us to his family home. We toured the plantation on horseback,
while Carlos explained that he uses agro-forestry to sustain the land. He plants shade trees, then coffee under them, and plants living fences. He is also experimenting with cacao, used to make chocolate.
He broke open a ripe cacao pod to expose the honey-like gel that coats the seeds. We scooped up the seeds with our fingers and sucked on them till the honey was gone. It was amazing!
Then he gave us a tour of the coffee processing plant that his grandfather built, and that is still used today.
We arrived back at the house and relaxed on the porch and played with Carlos’ basset puppy and senior lab for a while till lunch was ready. The fare was an incredible selection of all the fruits and vegetables grown on the farm. Mmmmmm!
After another little rest (during which I discovered that one of the women in the group – Leslie - is a Chemistry teacher, and works with our friend Reba in Dorchester – small world it is!), Carlos drove us to a nearby hot springs, where we relaxed for the afternoon. Two of the people returned to town, and the rest of us spent the night at the guest house on the farm, where we were served an equally amazing dinner and breakfast. I slept another 10 hours, in spite of the rooster.
But today, I’m sitting at Café Yat-balam, back to my studies and catching you up on my activities. Tonight is when I preach in Carlos’ driveway. I think I’m ready. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Copan is a small mountain town of steep cobblestone streets, some of which are interrupted by sections of dirt road. It’s a mixture of modern and primitive, country and city. The “Copan ratón (mice)”,
as the mototaxis are known, share the streets with trucks and buses of all sizes, as well as men on horseback. Cattle graze at the edge of the town, and roosters may be heard on occasion.
The people here work very hard, and expect the same of their animals and machines. Engines groan at the load they carry up such mountainous grades, as they pass old men carrying bundles of firewood on their backs, or women with bags of various things on their heads. Men and boys carry machetes through town, as they head to the mountains to harvest firewood and fruit. Very young uniformed men with machine guns guard the banks at the edge of the Parque Centro. They wave handheld metal detectors over patrons as they enter.
I am very much enjoying my maestro, Edwin. He is very kind, patient, and intelligent. He knows more English than I do Spanish, which is very helpful in explaining parts of speech. This week we’ve covered preterite, imperfect, and gerundio verb tenses, as well as direct, indirect, and reflexive pronouns. Ay, mi cabeza! I’m looking forward to the weekend to do some review.
Padre Mejia has been keeping me busy as well. When I leave with him, I never know exactly where we’re going, what we’re going to do, or when I’ll be back. It’s enough to make out what time I am to be ready for him to pick me up. On Wednesday, we left at 3pm. I was ready with collar and stole, as well as my BCP and NT in español. I even told my host that I wasn’t sure if I’d be back for dinner. That day we drove to a little village called Corralitos en la Montana (the mountains). Padre is accustomed to driving on these tiny mountain “roads” that look more like they should be maneuvered on horseback than in an automobile. In fact, most of the people we passed were doing just that. We bounced along over ravines, through rivers, and across patches of mud in his 4WD Kia. I’ve been counting on the presumption that he wouldn’t have his wife and daughter along if the trip were truly dangerous. Corralitos is a tiny village of a half dozen buildings, one of which is a community center, across the road from the RC church. We continued a bit past those to the Episcopal Church building (el templo), where a pig ran across the road in front of us. Soon a few rugged looking men came to meet us, and the older one had a key to open the church. We didn’t have a service that day, but instead simply arranged a date to return for a Eucharist. On our way out of town, we stopped at the community center, where several women were sitting around a table making jewelry out of various types of frijoles. That and maize are the main crops in the area. They gave me a key chain in the shape of a woman, made from five kinds of beans and a few beads. On the way back to Copan, we stopped in another small village to check on the construction of another church building. They are all the same style – rectangular with a raised deus, cement or tile floors, wooden doors and windows, a sound system, a few instruments, and plastic chairs. Many have been built with help from churches in the US. As we entered Copan, we stopped in front of a house, where a woman came out to greet us and said that her husband was not home. Padre introduced me and explained that I would be preaching there on Sunday. This was the first I’d heard of it. He explained that another Kathy would translate for me, that Carlos would pick me up, and that he himself wouldn’t be there because he has to go somewhere with the bishop. This was all in Spanish, of course, and it took me three conversations on different days to get the time right – 7pm.
Ironically, the Episcopal community in Copan Ruinas, in contrast to these small mountain villages that we’ve visited, does not have a church building, but worships in the driveway of Carlos’ home, where we were standing. I’m accustomed to outdoor worship, so this should be fun. I’ve written out my sermon in Spanish, and Edwin helped me with the grammar, so I plan to preach from that manuscript, rather than through a translator. I didn’t miss dinner that night at all, as I was delivered Casa Lorena at 4:30pm.
The next day, Padre picked me up at 2pm. This time I still wore my collar, but dressed more casually, and didn’t bring much of anything with me. I knew we were going to La Frontera (the Guatamalan border), but was not sure why. I figured if we were just visiting like we did yesterday, so didn’t need my stole or books. Guatemala is only about 5 miles from Copan, so it didn’t take long to reach the border. There were about 20 tractor trailers pulled over on the road waiting to “register”. We sailed past them, directly to a guard station, where we stopped. Padre rolled down the windows so the officials could look at us, had a few words with them, then pulled up a few feet and parked. When we got out, he explained that this short strip of land on which we were walking is neutral territory, not controlled by either country. We walked across to a store just over the Guatamalan border. There, I met a real live money changer. The man sat at a table outside a small store with several large wads of bills in his hands. He was there for the purpose of changing Lempiras to Quetzals, or vice versa. We stood outside this store for a few minutes and I began to wonder why we were there. Were we meeting someone? No, turns out the trip was just for my amusement. Dinora changed a bill, then handed me a crisp new 1Q as a souvenir of my trip to Guatemala. Then we returned to the car, and headed back into Honduras.
Soon, though, we turned off the main road onto one of those dirt roads and headed up a mountain. We hadn’t gone far when we reached a river that appeared to me too deep to cross, but we drove right through it with no problem. Just beyond it was the village of San Marcos. Once again, there were very few buildings in this village, but they had an iglesia. We pulled up in front and Padre asked me, “?Tiene stola?” “No, no tengo stola.” Ah! I can’t believe this is two times that I don’t have my stole! OK, from now on I’m carrying it with me all the time. Again, he loaned me his extra. I sat behind the altar during the service and helped serve Communion. At the end, when it was time for the final blessing, Padre turned to me and motioned. “?En ingles?” I said. He nodded, and I gave the blessing in English. OK. Next time I’ll be ready with español.
Friday, he picked me up at 2pm. I felt confident that I had these little jaunts down pat now, and had packed my bag with camera, water bottle, BCP, NT, stole, healing oil, and a couple of Ecclesia crosses, just in case. I had even taken the time to write out a final blessing in Spanish.
This time, we drove even farther up into the mountains. The roads were even windier and narrower and steeper than the ones we had driven the past two days. Dinora and I both grabbed the door handles to stabilize ourselves. After we had driven for about 45 minutes, we reached a small adobe house and stopped. Padre explained that he wanted to take a picture. “Tambien,” I said, and jumped out with my camera. I was interested in photographing the fields of corn planted on the sides of mountains, and the beautiful scenery in general. He walked into the house to photograph it and the people. Later he explained that it was for fundraising for the church.
So maybe we’re just on a sightseeing expedition. We drove a little further, and he got out to take more pictures. After that, we approached another river across the road, which looked shallower than the one we had crossed the day before. There was a large rock that had fallen into the middle of it, however, which meant that he would have to maneuver around it. Padre drove into it, and then the car wouldn’t go any further. He put the car in reverse and returned to the bank. Then, back into 1st and into the river. Again, we stopped. Now he was unable to go backward or forward and the car’s wheels spun quickly in the mud and water. His daughter and I got out to push, but were unsuccessful. The car was stuck…in the river, miles from anywhere that I would consider anywhere. We all got out of the car and stood in the cool water. It was actually quite refreshing. “!Un adventura!”, I exclaimed, to reassure them that I was OK.
Padre and Dinora tried to make some calls, but weren’t able to reach anyone. Padre decided to begin walking up the road in the direction that we were headed, and the three of us women stayed behind with the car. Soon, a pick-up truck approached from the rear, and two men and a boy got out. One of the men wore a sidearm. I wasn’t sure if Padre had called them, or if they had just happened along, wanting to cross the river, and was a little nervous about their intentions. They had a rope, and began tying it to the car. I was relieved when Padre returned and the men pulled the car out of the river. However, now it was making funny sounds, and I was pretty sure that the transmission had been damaged.
We followed the men back to Pueblo Viejo and parked near a church. We entered one of the houses and were invited to sit on the porch. A woman was sitting there breastfeeding, and Padre walked up to her, patted the baby on the head and greeted the woman. Then he made himself comfortable in a hammock, and the rest of us rested in plastic chairs, where we were served coffee. I was left wondering if this was actually our destination, and the trip across the river was simply going to be a sightseeing trip, or if there was a congregation up there expecting us for a service. Padre and Dinora and Maria Jose all made and received phone calls, and I could understand them telling the story of our being stranded in the river, but I couldn’t tell if someone was coming to get us, if we were looking for a mechanic, or if we were just gaining sustenance for our walk back to Copan. What a walk that would be!
After a while, Padre got up and said, “Vamos” (we go). “?Nosotros caminimos?” (Are we walking?) “Si, a iglesia.” So we entered the church and soon people started gathering – probably about 20 eventually. I’m not sure where they all came from. Apparently, the regular musician was not there, but someone remembered someone’s relative who was in town visiting and went to fetch him. He’s Roman Catholic, but agreed to play the guitar and sing for us. He knew all the appropriate music, and was very enthusiastic. This time, when we got to the end of the service and Padre turned to me for the blessing, I said, “en espanol.” I gave the blessing in Spanish, and he announced that that was my first time doing so. The woman at whose house we had coffee came to me and stood very close, putting her hands on me, and invited me for dinner. I didn’t know what to say for so many reasons – there was the Spanish issue, but then there was the fact that I didn’t know our itinerary, and I wasn’t sure that my delicate norteamericana digestive tract could handle it. I turned to Padre and said, “Usted decide”. He decided that we would stay for la cena.
We walked back to the pueblo and sat some more. As it got dark, the man who was previously wearing the sidearm was now wearing only a towel around his waist, as he was headed for the shower, but he flipped on the light switch for the porch on his way. Now that it was dark, I not only worried about food poisoning, but also about mosquitos, and rolled down the long sleeves of my clergy shirt. I felt like such a wimp. The lights had only been on for about 10 minutes when they went out – a common occurrence in Honduras. I was just amazed that this tiny pueblo in the mountains had electricity at all. Soon, the four of us were invited to sit at a small table in the kitchen, and we dined by candlelight. There was not room for the family to sit as well, but the patriarch sat to eat in another location in the kitchen. The rest of the family stood and watched us eat. We had a delicious meal of soup, homemade corn tortillas, homemade cheese, arroz, pollo, and guavas. I ate all but the chicken, and still feel great!
On the way out of the village, we stopped to take Communion to a man who was ill. Just as we were leaving the house, the skies opened up and a dramatic thunderstorm began. I saw Padre cross himself and I added, “Amen,” as we descended the mountain in the ailing vehicle, and now in the dark and rain. I was delivered safely home at 8pm, but had to apologize to Lorena for missing dinner.
On Saturday morning, it was time for Kay and Shelby to leave. They had been staying in the room next to mine since Sunday. Kay is a pediatrician from Lincoln, Nebraska and Shelby is her very precocious soon-to-be-18-year-old daughter. Kay alternates years bringing each of her daughters to Spanish school in Copan, then joining some others from their ELCA church on a medical mission with their sister church in a small village. It was really fun having them around the house, but it was no good for my Spanish practice.
It seems funny to need a vacation from vacation, but I wanted to get a way and have some fun this weekend, so arranged to go to a coffee plantation to spend the day and night.
The son of the family that owns the plantation picked up myself and four others at a restaurant in town and drove us to his family home. We toured the plantation on horseback,
while Carlos explained that he uses agro-forestry to sustain the land. He plants shade trees, then coffee under them, and plants living fences. He is also experimenting with cacao, used to make chocolate.
We arrived back at the house and relaxed on the porch and played with Carlos’ basset puppy and senior lab for a while till lunch was ready. The fare was an incredible selection of all the fruits and vegetables grown on the farm. Mmmmmm!
After another little rest (during which I discovered that one of the women in the group – Leslie - is a Chemistry teacher, and works with our friend Reba in Dorchester – small world it is!), Carlos drove us to a nearby hot springs, where we relaxed for the afternoon. Two of the people returned to town, and the rest of us spent the night at the guest house on the farm, where we were served an equally amazing dinner and breakfast. I slept another 10 hours, in spite of the rooster.
But today, I’m sitting at Café Yat-balam, back to my studies and catching you up on my activities. Tonight is when I preach in Carlos’ driveway. I think I’m ready. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Llego
On Saturday, my day began at 3am, with a 5:15am flight to Houston, then a plane change for the flight to Honduras. I arrived in San Pedro Sula at about 11am (1pm in Boston), and had 3 hours to kill till the bus to Copan would depart. I needed the time, however, as I needed to get Lempiras from the ATM, purchase a Honduran SIM card, and explain to the man at the Hedman Alas bus that I had made a reservation online, but never received a confirmation. As has been true of most of my conversations thus far, I had prepared a sentence in advance, by consulting my pocket dictionary, and was armed with a few words: “Yo tengo reserva, pero no recibo confirmacion,” I said very slowly and deliberately, aware that I’m yet capable of only present tense. And, as has been true of most of my conversations thus far, the young man at the counter responded with something that I didn’t understand, and my next words were,” lo siento; no entiendo (I’m sorry; I don’t understand).” He gave me several chances with “destino?,” which my untrained ears heard as “stino,” before he finally said, “where are you going?” Similarly with the woman in the gift shop who helped me choose a SIM card. I was not about to try that one in Spanish, as I know even less about SIM cards than I do about Spanish. They explained to me the difference between the two companies, then sold me the card, as well as 100 Lempiras ($5) worth of minutes. I still can’t figure out how many minutes I have. Unfortunately, the ATM machine was not so accommodating. In spite of the fact that I pressed the button for English, it still insisted on printing all its instructions in Spanish, so much to the consternation of the security guard, and the people in the line that accumulated behind me, I had to get out my dictionary to decide which button to push. Ah, “Retirar.” And, again, “lo siento; gracias!”
Those 3 tasks only took an hour, so I still had 2 hours to sit and observe in the airport. I had been the first person out of Customs, as apparently everyone else on the plane checked luggage. So I exit through the sliding doors to an entire throng of staring faces, each of them waiting to meet their loved ones. Weren’t they surprised to see a gringa, wearing a large backpack and an Australian trekking hat with a turkey feather in it. I felt a little like I was walking down the red carpet at the Oscars, but somehow not exactly like that. It was nearly impossible to walk through the airport, as there were so many people. There were many large groups of Americans, mostly teenagers wearing matching t-shirts, all here on mission trips with their churches; some bringing medical supplies, some food to native villages whose crops have been washed out by floods, others here to drill wells, and so on. They all ate at Wendy’s, even though there were more authentic choices available. Eventually, most of the people found their travellers or caught their vans and busses, and the airport cleared out so I could see what was there. I was pleasantly surprised to find free internet service in the food court (something Logan and many other US airports don’t offer), but I was unable to connect to it.
Those 3 tasks only took an hour, so I still had 2 hours to sit and observe in the airport. I had been the first person out of Customs, as apparently everyone else on the plane checked luggage. So I exit through the sliding doors to an entire throng of staring faces, each of them waiting to meet their loved ones. Weren’t they surprised to see a gringa, wearing a large backpack and an Australian trekking hat with a turkey feather in it. I felt a little like I was walking down the red carpet at the Oscars, but somehow not exactly like that. It was nearly impossible to walk through the airport, as there were so many people. There were many large groups of Americans, mostly teenagers wearing matching t-shirts, all here on mission trips with their churches; some bringing medical supplies, some food to native villages whose crops have been washed out by floods, others here to drill wells, and so on. They all ate at Wendy’s, even though there were more authentic choices available. Eventually, most of the people found their travellers or caught their vans and busses, and the airport cleared out so I could see what was there. I was pleasantly surprised to find free internet service in the food court (something Logan and many other US airports don’t offer), but I was unable to connect to it.
Finally, it was time to catch the bus to Copan, which was a few minutes late arriving, but I figured we’d still arrive in the 2.5-3 hours that was published. About 20 of us piled onto a large, plush air-conditioned coach with orange curtains on all the windows, including the doors that separated us from the driver. The end of a movie was on the television, and when it ended the Play screen of the DVD appeared, and the music repeated over and over and over again. We drove through some very impoverished areas of San Pedro Sula before we arrived at a bus terminal. There, we all piled off the bus, but rather than simply boarding the bus to Copan, we were directed into the terminal. Just inside the door, we stood in a line, waiting to exit through the same door we had just entered. This was simply a check of passports and tickets, and also an opportunity to be photographed by the security camera. The next bus was exactly the same as the first, except that the curtains were purple, and there was a restroom on board. Also, this bus had a steward, who first came through with free snacks and beverages, and then with various items for sale (just like the airlines). We drove through many poor villages, yielding glimpses of shanty huts constructed with scraps of wood and metal, most with no glass in the windows, and some with no doors in the doorways, and people sitting outside them in plastic chairs or on the ground. I need to find out about the ones constructed on the side of the road, outside of fenced off pastures and farmland. Is this a form of gleaning, that peasants are allowed to live on the edges of the land, and even graze their animals there? There were many skinny horses, cows and oxen, all with ribs and some with hips showing beneath their skin. Stray dogs were prevalent as well; one with her teats swollen from milk, but no ounce of muscle, much less fat, on her bones. I wondered if her pups had survived. I can’t tell if these dogs are actually stray, or if they are loosely owned and cared for, when their families have a scrap to spare. Most of them seem quite friendly, wandering the streets along with people, and the occasional lost cow. Nearly next door, I saw fenced off compounds with much less modest homes, driveways with vehicles, and fat dogs peering through the gates. I thought about those animals, compared to the ones wandering, and decided that, at least for the animals, poverty is not having anyone to take care of them. I wonder if that’s true for people as well. It’s harder to tell with people, who’s impoverished, and what exactly poverty means for them. I know the poverty that my congregation experiences, but they are still in the midst of an affluent society with many safety nets, which much of the time work, but not always. In Honduras, people have no one to catch them when they fall.
Finally, we reached Copan Ruinas, and the bus pulled into a fenced compound. I retrieved my pack, and debated whether I would walk to the school or take a moto-taxi (a cross between a motorcycle and a golf cart). It was about 6:30pm. The trip had taken more than 4 hours, and it was starting to get dark. When I neared the door of the terminal and a moto-taxi driver offered to take me for $5, I jumped at it, not knowing if that was a good deal or not. Just as I was about to get into the taxi, a stern-looking man approached and asked if I was Kathy McAdams. He was Padre Arnaldo Mejia, the priest that I had learned of from my new friend Deborah in Louisiana. She told me that he was expecting me, but I was planning to call him and make arrangements to meet him on Sunday. I never dreamed that he would show up to greet me at the bus, nor bring his whole family – his wife Dinora, his son, and his daughter. I missed the children’s names, as I was MUY CANSADA! I’m afraid my fatigue made me even less of a conversationalist than I normally am with new people, not to mention the language issue. I asked if I could go to church with Padre in the morning, and tried to make an arrangement to meet him, but even with his son’s help (he speaks some English), I wasn’t exactly sure what we had agreed on. I knew that I was either to meet him at the school at 8:30am, or that church started at 8:30 in Santa Rita, and that there were 4 people from Florida studying at the school, too. Hmmm, I wonder how that fits into the equation?
Escuela Espanol Ixbalanque was a short drive from the bus station. 
The owner, Amadea, was waiting for me, and spoke very quickly en Espanol. As I have already said, I was MUY CANSADA, and didn’t even have many smiles left, just a nod and a blank stare. She directed me to put my pack in the back of a pick-up truck, in which a man seemed to be napping in the driver’s seat. She showed me the central courtyard of the school, which was beautiful, and told me to show up at 8am on Monday. Then she locked up the school, and she and another woman piled into the truck, as I was directed to do. Padre Arnaldo and his family were heading for their car, and I shouted, “Gracias. Hasta manana,” in an effort to firm up our plans for the morning.
The owner, Amadea, was waiting for me, and spoke very quickly en Espanol. As I have already said, I was MUY CANSADA, and didn’t even have many smiles left, just a nod and a blank stare. She directed me to put my pack in the back of a pick-up truck, in which a man seemed to be napping in the driver’s seat. She showed me the central courtyard of the school, which was beautiful, and told me to show up at 8am on Monday. Then she locked up the school, and she and another woman piled into the truck, as I was directed to do. Padre Arnaldo and his family were heading for their car, and I shouted, “Gracias. Hasta manana,” in an effort to firm up our plans for the morning.
Amadea and her crew drove me to Casa Lorena. We entered a gated compound of sorts, with a house, a driveway, a small tiled courtyard, and a separate 2-story building of 7 guest rooms. Lorena graciously welcomed me and showed me to my room in the separate building. It has lavender walls, a white tile floor, a double bed, a dresser, a night table, clothes hooks on the wall, a white plastic table and chair, and a private bath with hot water, not to mention screens on the windows. This is definitely not the way most Honduras live, just from the small sample I’ve seen today. I wonder how Lorena and Luis are able to afford such an extravagant life by Honduran standards; though, wealth grows wealth: with so many extra rooms, they are able to bring in extra income. Lorena asked if I had eaten, but I thought she asked if I wanted to eat. “Si,” I said. She repeated her question with a puzzled look on her face. Now, how do I say, “I’m hungry?” I looked it up not long ago, just in case. Fearing that I might go without dinner if I didn’t speak up, I came up with, “Necesito comida (I need food).” Lorena quickly prepared for me eggs, beans, and plaintains. Ah, I think I’ll make it. 
From my room, I walked across an outdoor, partially covered walkway to her kitchen door, then through to the dining room, adjacent to the living room. In the living room, her husband Luis was working on a computer. She introduced him as her “Esposo,” but he didn’t turn around to speak to me. Strange. She sat with me while I ate, and tried to make conversation. Did I mention I was very tired? “Gracias. Buenos noches.” I do remember her telling me that there are geckos on the roof, and then we heard one. Good, I think they eat mosquitos. I quickly unpacked my few belongings, and was in bed by 8pm. I set my cellphone alarm for 6am so that I could set out to try and meet Padre Arnaldo en la manana. I tossed and turned a bit, thinking about how I would connect with him in the morning, and if I did, what he would expect of me. I had written to him offering to “help,” but how much help could I be with my limited grasp of the language?
From my room, I walked across an outdoor, partially covered walkway to her kitchen door, then through to the dining room, adjacent to the living room. In the living room, her husband Luis was working on a computer. She introduced him as her “Esposo,” but he didn’t turn around to speak to me. Strange. She sat with me while I ate, and tried to make conversation. Did I mention I was very tired? “Gracias. Buenos noches.” I do remember her telling me that there are geckos on the roof, and then we heard one. Good, I think they eat mosquitos. I quickly unpacked my few belongings, and was in bed by 8pm. I set my cellphone alarm for 6am so that I could set out to try and meet Padre Arnaldo en la manana. I tossed and turned a bit, thinking about how I would connect with him in the morning, and if I did, what he would expect of me. I had written to him offering to “help,” but how much help could I be with my limited grasp of the language?
On Sunday, I woke to the alarm at 6am, after 10 hours of sleep. I would jump up and have a hot shower, then breakfast, then be off into town. Hmmm, there doesn’t seem to be any water at all – the toilet won’t flush, and there’s nothing coming out of the shower or sink. I guess that’s only allowed during certain hours. So this is how they save money. OK, I’ll study the map and get my bearings for a while. Once I heard Lorena in the hallway, I quickly ran in to take a shower. Well, it wasn’t exactly hot, but even cold water was welcome at that point. Now, how do I know when it’s time for breakfast? Oh, I’ll draw my curtains, so she knows I’m up. Sure enough, she soon called to me for desayuno – corn flakes with milk, two little tiny bananas, and café. Good enough! She asked if I would be back for almuerzo (lunch). Hmmm, I don’t know. “Si,” I said.
Since I couldn’t find Santa Rita church on the Copan map, I was assuming that it was too far to walk, so I would go with my best understanding that Padre would pick me up at the school at 8:30am. Casa Lorena is only a few blocks from the school, and I had extra time, so I wandered around town. Already, venders were inhabiting the sidewalks with piles of vegetables and fruits that I didn’t recognize. I walked on the cobblestone streets, careful to step to the side when moto-taxis or other vehicles approached, and greeted everyone I passed, “Buenas dias!” I wondered if they had ever seen a woman priest before in their small town. Perhaps they would make the same assumption as many people in Boston, that I’m a nun. In a small store, I was able to purchase a bottle of water, but not to replace the anti-insectos (insect repellant) that had been confiscated by the TSA (a 4oz bottle). I arrived at the school at about 8:20, and sat on a high curb on the shady side of the street. It was already quite warm in the sun. Sure enough, the Padre’s car soon approached. He and Dinora had been to Casa Lorena to pick me up. “Lo siento!” How did he know where I was staying? He asked if I slept well. “Si. Dies horas! We all chuckled. I delivered to Dinora the note that Deborah had emailed for her. I haven’t actually met Deborah, but when I was Googling Copan and trying to connect with the Episcopal Church here, I ran across a Facebook page, showing the local congregations, and some building they had done recently. She was the contact listed, so I carefully crafted a message to her in Spanish, expecting that she lives here. She wrote back to me in English, and it turns out she lives in Louisiana. She is a Missioner to Honduras, and spends many months here each year. She helped some of the women to start a sewing cooperative so that they can contribute to their families’ incomes.
The village of Santa Rita is a 15-minute drive from Copan. Padre pulled up in front of the church, and Dinora and I got out. Then he pulled away. Hmmm. I wonder if he’s taking me up on my offer to “help.” Will I be expected to preside? Several friendly people greeted us, and Dinora invited me to sit in pew toward the front. I was armed with a print-out from the Internet of the Eucharist in Spanish, as well as a Spanish New Testament, just in case. But I had chosen to leave my stole in my room, as it seemed a bit pretentious to show up with it on the first day. Seems like I might need it – not my first mistake, and not my last. I sat with Dinora and tried to make small talk while the musicians set up equipment and began to rehearse. A woman placed flowers on the credence table. I’m still sitting and waiting to see if I’m going to be asked to do something. Soon, a man named Concepcion approached to greet me. He was wearing a clergy shirt and Roman collar with a black stripe down the middle. He is a “Pastoral Leader” – kind of like what we used to call our Canon 9 priests, I think. He leads the congregation when Padre is in another of his 35 congregations. So that must be what’s happening today. Concepcion is leading, and Padre Arnaldo is at another church. Should I offer to preside at the Eucharist, or will he do that? It’s my first day in the country. Maybe I should just watch. I’m sure it’s after 9 by now, but people are just starting to arrive. Oh, and there’s another gringo priest, and another. OK, I think I’m off the hook. I greeted each of them, and then saw that Padre Arnaldo had returned. Wow, we’re lousy with Priests today. Maybe he should have gone to another church. Apparently, he went to pick up the 4 students from Florida about whom he’d told me last night. They are also studying at the school, and one of them is a priest. The other Priest, John, is from Indiana. He serves a Latino congregation, and his Spanish is obviously quite good. Padre asked him to be the principal celebrant, and John asked me to read the Gospel. “Si,” I say. I had overheard their conversation and thought that it was to be read in Spanish and English, and he handed me the English Bible, but I wasn’t sure if I was only reading in English, or if I would also do the Spanish one. We were all invited to the back of the church so we could process. All the priests whipped out stoles from their bags, and some even had albs. Hmmm. Padre Arnaldo asked me if I had a stole. “En la casa,” I said. He produced an extra for me from his car. We processed in, reverenced the altar, and sat in plastic chairs behind it. I was between Concepcion and the Priest from Florida (can’t remember his name). Soon, prayer books appeared for everyone, but I had my Internet version. Only, which Gospel am I reading. I leaned over to Concepcion to ask him. He turned to the lectionary pages of the BCP and pointed for me. I marked it in my Spanish bible, and put my thumb in the English one. I had the introduction ready from my Spanish BCP, such as it is. At least I was in a familiar context, if not a familiar language. When it came time for the Gospel, Concepcion and Padre Arnaldo stood up, and Padre motioned for me to stand as well. We processed down the center aisle to the middle. Concepcion stopped and turned, holding open the Gospel book for Padre Arnaldo. He proclaimed the Gospel in a booming Baritone, with authority that comes only from God. Without benefit of amplification, his voice bounced off the lively tile floors and concrete walls. Then it was my turn, to proclaim the Gospel in English. He is a hard act to follow, but at least it was my native tongue, so I read sufficiently. Afterwards, he introduced us gringo North American priests: Padre Comforter, Padre Juan, and Kathy. Hmmm. Just like in the US, there is no appropriate parity to Father. He also introduced the family that would be Baptized – a woman and her two sons. The husband must have already been Baptized. It was a very moving rite, using only a blue plastic bowl to pour the water, and a large metal mixing bowl over which they bowed their heads. The anointing was unique, though, with the sign of the cross made not only on their foreheads, but also on their hearts. I was honored to help serve Communion – by intinction for everyone. As always, I loved watching each face as the people came forward to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, but there was something especially moving about the woman who was blind in one eye, and the young man with Downs Syndrome, and the women with sleeping children on their shoulders, and the families and the old people. I love being a Priest, no matter where I am, and am extremely grateful to have been able to serve this congregation…even if I don’t feel like I was of much “help.”
After Mass, following Concepcion’s instructions, I piled into someone’s SUV with Juan and Beverly from Florida. We were all delivered to our respective lodging, and I did indeed make it back to Casa Lorena for almuerzo – pasta with a creamy tomato sauce, cooked carrots and cabbage, and peeled cucumbers. I trusted that she understood my sensitive gringa dietary restrictions, and ate the raw vegetable. So far, so good. She told me that she would be gone in the afternoon, as she was going to visit a sick friend. At dinner, I was able to ask about her sick friend’s condition, and she began an animated story about how her friend had been shot during a robbery in a restaurant in San Pedro Sula. She took two bullets, and had to have surgery to remove part of her intestine, but she is doing much better now. While I didn’t have the proper words to respond, I was able to make appropriate facial expressions and horrified “Oh,” and “Ah” sounds so that she knew I was following her story and was concerned. So, it turns out I can be a bit pastoral even without using English. I just need more practice, and a larger Spanish vocabulary.
En la tarde, I wandered around town and finally found some Off spray. It’s only 15% DEET, and the one that I had specially purchased by mail was 30% as advised by the travel clinic, but 15 is better than nothing. I actually haven’t seen very many mosquitos, probably thanks to the geckos. I also purchased a woven bolsa (shoulder bag) to replace the plastic shopping bag that I carried my things in all day. It was 250 Lem ($12.50). Things are very cheap here!
I returned home for a siesta, and enjoyed the sounds of a thunderstorm, as well as the cool breezes it produced. I will sleep well tonight.
Monday
And I did sleep well, for another 10 hours. The people at Louisville Institute, who gave me the very generous grant for this sabbatical, told my group that most of us ministers are running around 20-30 hours sleep deprived, and that we should expect to make some of that up on our sabbaticals. I’m doing my best.
This morning I began my clase con Professor Edwin Pena. He is a young man from a small village where El Salvador, Guatamala, and Honduras meet. He is quite smart, and seems to know some English, as well as different dialects of Espanol. I took my placement test, and did pretty well, but need to work on future, and several other tenses of verbs, as well as lots of conversation practice. Today we just worked on vocabulary – using a childrens’ picture book.
Today I’m visiting an internet café to work on the blog (free internet with the purchase of a $1 coffee drink), then I’ll walk around and take some pictures, then probably study some more. Tomorrow after clase, maybe a hike. Hope you’re all well back home!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Sabbatical Schedule
Wow! This is it! It's really happening!
This Saturday, July 16th, I'll fly to San Pedro Sula in Honduras. Then I'll get a bus for 3 hours to Copan Ruinas to study at the Ixbalanque Spanish School. I'll be staying with a host family - Lorena, Luis and their 3 children (teens, I think). I'll have private tutoring 4 hours per day M-F. I recently connected with Deborah from Louisiana who is a Missioner to Copan. She helped me contact the local Episcopal priest there, Padre Arnaldo. He has 35 congregations! and sometimes the diocese can't afford to pay him. However, it's now the rainy season and some of the roads wash out, so he won't be able to reach all of those congregations for a while. In the meantime, he has lay leaders who care for them. I hope to be able to help him with some liturgical and pastoral responsibilities while I'm there. My first challenge, after finding the bus, and purchasing a Honduran SIM card for my travel phone, will be to call Padre Arnaldo and let him know, "Soy aqui en Honduras," and try to make a plan to meet up with him on Sunday. He doesn't speak much English, and I don't YET speak much Spanish. Pray for me...
Here's the schedule:
16 Julio - 7 Augusto en Copan Ruinas, Honduras
August 7-16 at my seminary class' 11-year reunion in Berkeley, CA
August 16-23 home
23 Augusto - 28 Septembre Camino de Santiago en Espana
September 28-October 31 home?
November 1 back to work
November 6 - Big Fiesta after common cathedral with Central American food, songs, stories, pictures, and a pinata!
This Saturday, July 16th, I'll fly to San Pedro Sula in Honduras. Then I'll get a bus for 3 hours to Copan Ruinas to study at the Ixbalanque Spanish School. I'll be staying with a host family - Lorena, Luis and their 3 children (teens, I think). I'll have private tutoring 4 hours per day M-F. I recently connected with Deborah from Louisiana who is a Missioner to Copan. She helped me contact the local Episcopal priest there, Padre Arnaldo. He has 35 congregations! and sometimes the diocese can't afford to pay him. However, it's now the rainy season and some of the roads wash out, so he won't be able to reach all of those congregations for a while. In the meantime, he has lay leaders who care for them. I hope to be able to help him with some liturgical and pastoral responsibilities while I'm there. My first challenge, after finding the bus, and purchasing a Honduran SIM card for my travel phone, will be to call Padre Arnaldo and let him know, "Soy aqui en Honduras," and try to make a plan to meet up with him on Sunday. He doesn't speak much English, and I don't YET speak much Spanish. Pray for me...
Here's the schedule:
16 Julio - 7 Augusto en Copan Ruinas, Honduras
August 7-16 at my seminary class' 11-year reunion in Berkeley, CA
August 16-23 home
23 Augusto - 28 Septembre Camino de Santiago en Espana
September 28-October 31 home?
November 1 back to work
November 6 - Big Fiesta after common cathedral with Central American food, songs, stories, pictures, and a pinata!
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