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.
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!
