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.
