Eat Your Heart Out Hoover and Oreck; You Can´t Touch These Carpets

The Cathedral in Comayagua where a bunch of Peace Corps volunteers stood around and looked lost.

The oldest clock in the Americas located in the tower of the Cathedral

Bags of colored sawdust in preparation for the big day

For some of the bigger alfombras, the process started around 10pm on Holy Thursday and lasted until the carpets were destroyed by the procession on Good Friday. Here they´re laying a foundation of plain sawdust before starting the layers of colored sawdust.


Here´s an example of an alfombra up close. Each group had their own technique for making their sawdust smooth, but to do the designes, everyone used homemade stencils made of cardboard. Some families have been making alfombras for decades and make a different one each year.

One of the smaller alfombras about the cultural aspects of Comayagua

This is a good example of the scale of many of the larger alfombras

Although traditionally the alfombras are made of sawdust, some include rice, dried beans, grains, leaves, pine needles, and whatever else the designers think up

Here is the full scale example of the one using non-traditional materials

A great deal of planning has to go into the process since those making them have to start in the middle and work their way out.

After the procession

Transcendence

Comayagua, Honduras. The one time head of government in Honduras and the eternal seat of Honduran culture, Comayagua is, culturally speaking, the heart of the country during Semana Santa, Holy Week. Of course, across the North coast of the country exist a plethora of beaches and resorts, both of which are popular choices for many during Semana Santa. Yet, for some good ol’ fashioned cultural, ecumenical fun, Comayagua’s the choice.

The cathedral and numerous colonial era churches found there are starkly beautiful in their scorching desert ambience, surrounded in the distance by imposing mountains that have yet to be broached by the city limits, and within the city, by shade providing tropical trees. Witnessing the hordes of churchgoers during Semana Santa is a reminder that Honduras is most definitely not a secular nation. Whether Catholic or Evangelical, the vast majority of people are Christians, many of whom consider it a life long ritual to entirely set aside their ordinary lives in remembrance of Jesus during Semana Santa.

Along with thousands of Hondurans, foreign tourists, and expatriates we observed and took part in many of the rich traditions Comayagua is so well known for. From attending an evening church service in the cathedral to touring Comayagua’s colonial museum and house of culture, known for artifacts of not only local but also national and international interest, to viewing the world famous alfombras, or carpets, that are artfully and painstakingly created on the city’s streets, we saw a great deal and, to be humble and honest, left a great deal unseen as well. We felt as if we were discovering something new, and yet transcendent, as we visited the museum and house of culture and viewed the alfombras being built (a process that lasts some 12 hours). The irony of our trip was that what we experienced as new and transcendent (so much timeless culture expressed with such potency, beauty, and precision) was soon to disappear, forever.

Every year the procession of Christ carrying the cross travels through the heart of the colonial capital, tramples and quickly destroys the several dozen ornately decorated carpets, which are displayed on temporarily blocked off streets throughout downtown. We knew to expect the destruction of the carpets, which are made of multicolored sawdust and tediously arranged on the processional route because, after all, they are delicate and made to be unmade. What no one expected was the disappearance of the museum and house of culture, which went up in flames only a few days ago, less than a week after we stood there, marveling at wooden masks, colonial era priestly garb, priceless jewelry, and precious documents from the lives of Honduras’ heroes. As an interesting aside, the word “héroe” (hero) is only used with reference to those who have physically fought on behalf of the nation. There is another word, commonly used and clearly distinct from héroe, used for the nations ideological and intellectual warriors, “prócer”. No one yet knows what caused the blaze but it’s plausible that the 100 + temperatures that have hovered over Comayagua recently caused a gas tank explosion. There’s also talk of an electrical fire.

We may never know what started the blaze, and I’m not sure it much matters. What we do know is that all that is transcendent, that quality we so appreciate about the many intangible beauties wrapped up in culture, for instance, is never truly encapsulated in what we can touch, but rather must be remembered by and enshrined in our senses. As we watched Christ bearing his cross through the streets – albeit a highly fantastical plastic Christ – little did we know how well that great life, ended over 2,000 years ago now, would so potently remind us of the present.

Artifacts are but stubborn things (albeit, artfully and painstakingly created beautiful things of historic value) that have yet to hand over the reigns to eternity. In a sense we mourn with the city of Comayagua – it lost a great deal in that fire. We also recognize that if a plastic figurine can duly remind us of the life of Christ, lived and terminated in a time so long ago that human civilization had better philosophized about what heaven consisted of than it had understood the basic shape of the earth, whatever was great about what was burnt in Comayagua will not disappear, but rather must take a new form. We left the city on the eve of the creation of transcendence.

Field Trip!

On Thursday, we had some special visitors to our house...approximately 60 kindergarteners! Dan and I have started going to the nearby kindergarten, which is about 2 ½ blocks away from our house, one day each week to teach a little something (eg. how to brush their teeth, wash their hands, etc.) We received a syllabus from the teachers there, so we can contribute to the themes they are already learning about. For the first class – which Dan couldn’t go to because of a Peace Corps training – I read Buenas Noches, Luna, the Spanish version of the beloved classic, Good Night, Moon, because the kids were learning about how to greet people.

The kiddos huddled around the garden

Our second class, we led a field trip to our house to show them our vegetable garden and compost pile. After leading the children up the street and into our yard, which felt eerily like being the Pied Piper, we had the children gather around our small chicken wire fence, which encloses the garden, to learn about growing produce. We identified the rows of fruits and veggies – cucumber, lettuce, tomato, spinach, artichoke (which they had never heard of, and which is not growing particularly well), carrot, and watermelon. We explained the purpose of the fence around the garden by pointing to the chicks that were tromping around our yard. We also discussed the growth of each plant and why we believed some were growing better than others (for example, the lettuce has thrived in this climate, but the watermelon does not receive enough sun).

Cucumber on the left and lettuce on the right (salad, anyone?)

Then we walked over to the compost pile, and when Dan asked the children what they saw, they responded “¡Basura!” or “Garbage!” The eggshells, fruit peelings, cow manure, and leaves did indeed look like a pile of garbage, but we tried to explain why those particular items were there. After talking for a while about “plant food,” Dan finished up the lesson by pointing out the skeletal shells of what had formerly been locusts, which appeared on some of our trees a week or so ago. The children were delighted by the delicate, translucent, insect forms, and we were soon surrounded by the outstretched hands of children – the girls were as excited as the boys – hoping to receive one of the precious gifts.

Think cliff hanger, only on a smaller scale and confined to the insect world

Of course, kindergarteners are still too young to be starting their own vegetable garden, but we wanted to show them that even within the city limits, healthy fruits and veggies can be grown, and maybe they will be inspired to have a garden of their own some day. As far as the compost pile goes, in a country where most people burn their trash – most places don’t have garbage pickup, and those that do have their garbage burned by the local government (Siguatepeque’s trash is burned outside of the city, overlooking a watershed) – any time we can provide people an alternative use for some of their trash, we seize the opportunity.

¡El Día de San Patricio! (St. Paddy’s Day!)

In honor of the Emerald Isle, we decided to invite some friends over for a traditional St. Paddy’s Day dinner. Once the invitations were out and we had a rough idea of how many would be coming, the next step was to try to track down the necessary ingredients. Dan, in his infinite wisdom, managed to chip a tooth – not to worry, it didn’t hurt – by chewing on sugar cane, warranting a trip to the dentist in Tegucigalpa. I decided to accompany him, and while Dan had his tooth worked on, I embarked on an epic search for corned beef and Irish whiskey. Much to my dismay, while there were infinite options of Scotch Whiskey and at least one Tennessee Whiskey, there was no Irish whiskey to be found. I did find Carolan’s Irish Cream – a product of Ireland, no less – which would serve for Irish coffee. My search for corned beef was equally disappointing as the only corned beef to be found was in a SPAM-shaped can and a product of Brazil (and also far more expensive than I was willing to spend on such a product)! We decided not to take our chances with the canned variety and to go with plan B: an Irish beef stew.

After being thwarted by the grocery stores of Teguc, we returned to Siguatepeque to prepare for the dinner. Since our guests were traveling from far and wide, some of them came in on Friday for the festivities on Saturday. We dined at the best restaurant Siguat has to offer: Pizzeria Venezia, which is owned by an Italian family and is a true sight for sore eyes for volunteers from smaller sites. Saturday morning, the Siguatepeque baseball team had a game, so Dan fulfilled his coaching duties, Erik, a visiting friend from the South, umpped, and the rest of our guests were able to watch the glory and splendor that is little-league baseball, Honduran style (Siguatepeque won both games, by the way).

The menu for the evening was as follows:

Appetizers:
Green M&Ms (peanut and regular)
Lime and Chili Almonds
Key Lime Bars
Guacamole and Chips (going with the green theme)

Dinner:
Colcannon (traditional mashed potatoes with cabbage)
Irish Soda Bread
Irish Beef Stew

Dessert:
Irish Bread Pudding
Irish Coffee

Table decorations and appetizers, thanks to Mary Casey

Everyone enjoying the food wherever there was room (Right to left: Emily, Mark, Nathan, Daniel, Erik, Lauren, Not pictured: Jessica, Ana, David)

Emily eating in the hammock

We had a fun evening of good food, great company, and plenty of toasting the Irish. Our guests even tolerated a couple of my Irish jokes. It was a fun cultural exchange of a different sort (normally we are learning about Honduran culture and foods) in which I got to explain that the big X on the soda bread comes from the tradition of blessing the bread and everyone discovered how wonderfully potatoes and cabbage go together in Colcannon. David, one of our site mates, even came in a kilt, so what more could we ask for?! We hope you had a wonderful St. Paddy’s Day, wherever you were and that you drank a Guinness for us (we were stuck with one of the Honduran macro-brews). Thanks for all the emails and letters; please keep them coming. And as said in Ireland, Erin Go Braugh!


P.S. We have long been thinking that what our pila needed most was a boat, but it was not until the arrival of the little Irish flags that my mom sent that Dan started making the worthy craft. With some duck lips from the Kellers at the stern, the Irish flag at the helm, and a halved bottle of shampoo as the hull, a more fearsome ship there never was! So here is a picture of the first launch of the most dreaded ship on the high seas, La Pata Irlandesa or The Irish Duck.

The Thrill of White Water

The Thrill of White Water

If you were expecting a post about rafting, or for that matter, anything related to water sports, apologies. Shortly after our last post we headed out for a week to construct latrines with a group of volunteers from the United States, most of whom hailed from a church group in the Seattle area. They were definitely a fun group to be with for the week we spent together, and we hope that we were both fun and functional for them, as work partners and in our primary role as translators. For any of you who are map-readers, find the town of Minas de Oro (Gold Mines) in the middle of Honduras, and then head northwest. Contingent upon how detailed a map you’re using, you may or may not see the small community of Agua Blanca. Agua Blanca means White Water in English, but in this case refers to the one time color of the community´s water as opposed to rafts, adrenaline sports, etc. For those of you who aren’t map-readers, find the country of Honduras, located in the middle of Central America, and focus on an arbitrary point in the middle of the country – that should do the trick.

Agua Blanca, a small, picturesque community in the central highlands of the country was our home for a week, during which our group collaborated with community members to construct 36 latrines for the homes that most needed them. For a majority of us this was to be our first foray into latrine construction, and suffice it to say that the week began slowly as our group and the local volunteers and beneficiaries of the project took time to successfully begin their collaboration. In large part due to the language barrier it was difficult for the two groups to quickly and spontaneously communicate with each other, despite Emily and my best efforts as translators. Regardless, the two groups made headway together bit by bit, using a combination of translation, newly acquired Spanish and English vocab, and good old fashioned gestures – after all, it’s not too tough to mimic the motion of hammering – and by the end of our second day of work, even the most fit and strongest of the group were showing a few signs of fatigue. As I expect most who read this can understand, it’s tough to maneuver shovels full of sand and cement, swing hammers, saw rebar and wood, and all beneath a sun than can definitively, albeit temporarily, change one’s complexion in a matter of only a couple hours.

When mixing cement, make a volcano, fill it
with water, cave in the sides, repeat

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the process of constructing a latrine, we’ll give you a brief description. The families that were to receive latrines were required to have their holes dug before we arrived. The holes needed to be at least 8 feet deep and were roughly 3 feet in diameter, all of which were dug by hand, some of which in particularly rocky terrain. The first step for us was to tapar, or cover, the hole with cement. In order to do so, we placed boards over the hole, placed formwork around the boards, and filled the formwork with rocks and rebar. Two small holes were left in the formwork. The first hole was intended to allow a tube to be connected between the outhouse and the collection hole. Another smaller hole was left in one of the centermost boards to leave space for the tube that we would vertically insert into the hole to serve as an air vent for the collection hole, helping to vent the methane and thereby prevent any accidental bomb construction. Then the cement was mixed by hand – an intricate process needing both finesse and brute strength – and poured into the formwork, covering the rebar and stones.

Formwork, equipped with rebar, and soon, stones

The following day, the outhouses were put up. While some volunteers were tapando the holes, others were putting together the metal siding of the outhouses. Once finished, the outhouses were transported to individual homes, where we were in charge of getting them set up. The most difficult part of this process was attempting to get the outhouses level, a challenge that was complicated by the fact that many of the outhouses themselves were not level (which can be attributed to some minor damages they suffered during the transportation process, as opposed to poor construction). Once an outhouse was finally level, concrete was poured into wooden formwork, identical to that described in the previous paragraph, that surrounded the outhouse, thereby creating a foundation for it. Finally, a third and much smaller form was placed on the newly poured foundation of the outhouse, filled with rocks and rebar, equipped with a "throne" and subsequently filled with cement. Finally, a large PVC tube was connected between the toilet bowl and the hole that was previously left in the concrete slab which sits atop the collection hole. These latrines are gravity fed, and therefore, after use, one can simply pour water into the bowl itself and the toilet will “flush” downhill to the hole.

The final product, in all of its splendor

In addition to constructing latrines, an interesting and challenging process that arguably was as much fun as it was work, the time we spent in Agua Blanca was culturally quite memorable. For Emily and I, as volunteers who regularly split our time between urban and rural environments, many of our experiences in Agua Blanca were new, but not surprisingly new as was the case for many volunteers from our group. For instance, seeing some of the depraved living conditions that are so common throughout Honduras no longer elicits a strong response from us, even though we’re here as committed and empathetic volunteers; “Asi es, es la vida,” as one learns to say.

Although we’re accustomed to seeing certain forms of depravity and hardship, even we were taken off guard by a few circumstances, such as the following. A large cow was somehow separated from its herd and, with caballero and a pack of street dogs in toe, it wove its way through the streets, visibly confused and frightened. Needless to say, the group of 15 or so dogs wasn’t some sort of excessively large super herding crew; rather, it was a pack of rather vicious street dogs that was quickly learning to follow it’s ancestral instincts (The Call of the Wild, anyone). Although the dogs didn’t kill the cow, nor, in truth, did they really come close, they did manage to severely lacerate the cow’s ears, and had the caballero not been there to scare the dogs away, the cow may have succumb to an Animal Planet worthy hunt.

The lengthy scene that followed, on the order of a couple hours, consisted in the caballeros, three in total by now, employing various means of abusing and frightening the cow so as to wake it from its nearly catatonic fear induced state owing to the dog attack. As strange as it may sound, we deliberately chose not to intervene and suggest a more humanitarian approach to moving the cow – simply said, it was not our place. You will be happy to know, however, that the caballeros eventually found their own less violent solution to the problem by bringing down the entire herd to where they’d tied up the cow and then leading the herd back to the corral, giving the frightened cow that precious sensation of strength in numbers.

In the same breath as highlighting one of the all too common incidents of animal cruelty we’ve seen in Honduras, if we claim to be discussing Honduran culture with regard to our time in Agua Blanca, we must also acknowledge how well we were fed, housed and otherwise received by the community. The group was always greeted kindly by community members, from the youngest schoolchildren to the elders. On a few seperate occassions we were also treated to beautiful impromptu musical performances by singing children and guitar and accordion playing adults. The backdrop to all of the other wonderful forms of hospitality was our food. Every day, three times a day, we sat perched in our standard fare plastic chairs, in dirty clothing, overlooking a breathtaking view and eating like the queens and kings of latrines that we were. We were happy in one another’s company, sharing a new experience and living in the parallel worlds of giving and receiving, worlds that to Emily and I seem distinct yet irrevocably connected in our everyday lives as volunteers.

La Buena Vista - The Beautiful View

A Bit of Elbow Grease

Now that we’ve been in Honduras more than seven months, there are some things that had once seemed strange to us and are now part of the daily routine. For example:

Washing Machine

Lawn Mower

Hot Water Heater

Our “washing machine” is called a pila and it holds gallons and gallons of water that are used for more than just washing clothing. We are fortunate enough to have water every day, but we only have it for a few hours each day. Therefore, when we don’t have running water, we use our pila water to wash dishes, flush our toilet, water our plants, bathe, clean the floors, and anything else one might use water for. For those who have never flushed their toilet with anything other than that convenient lever, you can do it by pouring about a liter of water all at once straight down the hole. Due to some sort of miracle of physics, you can flush the toilet that way.

Our “lawn mower” is one of us – in this case, Dan – with a machete. Cutting grass and weeds with a machete is much more labor intensive than using the old-fashioned push-mower that I grew up using. You have to bend your knees to get as close to the ground as possible so that your machete hits the grass at the right angle. It takes numerous swipes from different directions, because some of the grass will lay flat when hit by the machete (kind of like shaving when you’re days overdo).

Our “hot water heater” is, indeed, a large pot on a one-burner stove. Whenever one of us would like to take a warm bucket bath, we heat pila water for 15-20 minutes, pour it into a metal tub we have in our shower and then add cold water until the water reaches the right temperature. Then we use a little paila (plastic bowl like the one sitting on the pila in the picture) to pour warm water on ourselves before soaping up. It’s a much longer process than simply turning a tap and hopping into the shower, but it produces similar results.

Recycling has also taken on a new meaning for us since there are no lovely green bins to put soup cans and pop bottles into to be picked up on Thursday mornings. An example of this is that our watering can is a recycled 3 liter pop bottle with holes cut in the top (as the saying goes: Necessity is the mother of invention). To water our plants, we simply fill it ¾ of the way up, put the cap on, and turn it upside down. We are also saving up soup cans to bake banana bread in (which should work, according to the Oregonian Food Day article my mom sent) so that we can share with our neighbors who are always giving us fruit, tamales, and tortillas to try.

¡Bamanos Pues!

¡Bamanos Pues!

By a quirk of the Spanish language we’re able to bring you the aforementioned word play. For the non-Spanish speakers in the audience, the phrase “¡Vamanos pues!” usually translates to something like “Let’s go, then!” Alright, so here’s the quirk; B and V are very often indistinguishable in spoken Spanish, and depending on where you find yourself, they are often used interchangeably in written Spanish as well. So, please join us for an enthusiastic “¡Bamanos pues!” Why? Well, of course, for our new president. Not to digress too extensively from the purpose of this blog, which is a nearly unyielding focus on all things “us”, but we must say that as the ambassadors of sorts we are as PC volunteers, it is so very refreshing to have a president who both appreciates the art of diplomacy and promises to practice it, consistently and skillfully. The promise of Obama as a skilled statesman, albeit almost entirely untested as yet, has spread to the far reaches. Anecdotally, Obama is mentioned in the political conversations we hear here as often as Honduran and other Latin American politicians. Also, due to our relative similarity of stature and skin tone, one of my co-workers has fondly taken to calling me Obama and jokingly quizzing me about policies as one would the president. All word play, anecdotes and jest aside, we are decidedly happy to have this man in the office of president.

Alright, back to Honduras. We’re doing quite well, between settling into our new home and looking forward to new work opportunities. Regarding our home, as previously written, we’re completely moved in, new paint and all. Our remaining focus is on tearing apart a defunct earthen oven that was left in our back yard (it was approximately one cubic meter), continuing to grow our compost pile, and planting our garden.

Gardening has been entertaining in unexpected ways. It would seem that our back yard was previously employed as a makeshift dump. In addition to the half dozen hours we’ve devoted to picking up bits and pieces of trash, the process of preparing our 10 ft. X 10 ft. garden plot has been an amateur archaeologist’s dream. We’ve already uncovered in the ballpark of 20 fragments from a shattered plate, shards of glass, batteries (corroded beyond the influence of Coca-Cola), warped fragments of rusted metal, spent bottles of nail polish, and old clay roof tiles, amongst other items. Keeping with the theme of amateur archaeology, these “precious finds” have certainly kept us amused, and may for a while yet if we decide to reemploy the plate fragments as our newest puzzle set; we’ll see. Although the majority of our fun has come from digging, while preparing the topsoil of our garden Emily has also been nipped by one our neighbor’s chicks (yep, small, fuzzy, yellow, and equipped with a beak), who was visiting to feast on the earthworms we uncovered. Perhaps most surprising of all, today Emily mistook a young tarantula for a clump of dirt. Fortunately it began moving before she could move it!

With regard to work, after over three months of supporting Aldea Global in many capacities Emily will begin volunteering with another organization that works to support orphaned children. Another Peace Corps volunteer worked with this organization in the past and had a very meaningful experience there. Thus far we understand that Emily will likely be supporting the children in at least a few capacities, from teaching and hosting other educational initiatives for they and their adoptive families to helping collect information about how well the organization and its affiliates are supporting the children to ensure they’re given the best care possible. Emily has long had an interest in supporting orphaned children and her work with this new organization promises to be fulfilling and challenging.

I am currently beginning work alongside a fellow PC volunteer who’s an architect as well as my counterpart and a civil engineer to design and plan for the construction of a biological research station to be built this spring. My role, owing to my background in urban planning rather than construction know how or design savvy, is helping ensure the location and design of the research station (which will be located in a national park here in Honduras) are consistent with the park’s development goals. I am also still working to get started on a project to map and delineate several of the park’s watersheds. Along with a few other volunteers in the area, and likely with Emily’s editing skills coming in handy very shortly, I am also helping to compile an informative brochure to educate local community members about the need to and advantage of preserving the park.

We would be remiss not to mention our part time job of helping coach a little league team. Whether we’re instructing on the basics of executing a bunt or teaching how to properly field a fly ball, it’s safe to say that we’re having fun, getting a decent amount of exercise, and, let’s hope, serving as positive role models.

As a parting thought, we’ll leave you with a short poem, intended both to redeem myself (Dan) after my last endeavor and more importantly, to give a taste for some of the simple things we appreciate about our experience thus far. All the best and please stay in touch!

I am a young experience in the happening and an eager memory in the making

I am the rooster’s crowing through day and night, I am the midnight dogfight whose bark foretells its bite

I am a full night sky with very small stars, whose brilliance teach that Earth is only one very small world; one very big very small world that can’t impress the universe and that can’t help but fascinate her stewards

I am the clever paradox of a pure, clean, dirty, dusty road

I am the wandering calf, colt, and chirping chick, constant reminders of and constantly reminded of the perennial necessity to venture forth and in so doing learn the meaning of exploration

I, too, am the please go away bludgeoning torrential rain and the please come again subtle morning mist

I am the constant sense of sensitivity in our tin roof, creaking under sun energy, crackling in the rain

I am a young experience in the happening and an eager memory in the making in one very big very small world, and I am t h a n k f u l for the complexities I’m learning to see in such a simple life