Dancing real close...

On Thursday I went out dancing, Honduras style. By which I mean I danced at somebody’s house, without the aid of alcohol, in a way I would not ordinarily dance in front of my parents, in front of other people’s parents. Oh, and with some of my students. But hey, it was pretty fun. A bonus is that it doesn’t require much in the way of conversation.

The guys, even ones who are twelve or thirteen years old, have no qualms about partnering up with you to dance to reggaeton. Alas it’s part of the same machismo that makes it so annoying to walk down the street with other girls. All the kids seem to dance with their friends and relatives all the time—and their parents encourage them. The guys don’t hesitate to pull you in real close for a dance step I like to call “make a small circle and sweat on your partner.” But it was fun to dance with folks who so obviously enjoy it, and who more or less excel at it. (No white man’s overbite here.) At a bar or club it likely would have been stressful for me, but it was such a friendly atmosphere that I left smiling.

I’ve learned how to go buy food at the local pulpeteria and the owner is extremely understanding of us gringas, which I truly appreciate. Por ejemplo, she showed us a pound of beans. (I would quote her, but I recall that she used some verb besides mostrar that I can’t quite recall.) I definitely need to review the Spanish words for vegetables. Today, however, we walked up the main street a ways to the supermarket. There are no street signs, so precision in directions can be difficult. The supermarket is the only place here that you can buy leche descremada and whole wheat bread. Unfortunately, leche descremada only comes in a box, as opposed to fresh in a plastic bag. Also unfortunately, boxed milk tastes—and smells—exactly as if it has been in a box for three months. Best to consider it some other sort of beverage altogether.

Vaya pues (“anyhow,” more or less), even after only a week here, trips to the supermarket in town are a special treat. Instead of asking for everything, I can look at what is available for myself and choose. Today another volunteer and I spent about twenty minutes browsing there, much to the amusement of the Hondurans, who do not seem to do quite as much recreational shopping. The supermarket has a pretty extensive selection, including shampoo in a big glass counter. A few days ago, I picked out a shampoo bottled that looked nice, but the employee helping me shook her head and pointed to the picture of a curly-haired girl. She substituted a more suitably straight-haired girl. (Even though in the humidity my hair is curlier than ever.) Today while using my “SEDAL Control Humect,” I figured out that it is “para la caspa.” That is, it’s a dandruff shampoo. Makes me wonder what I have been agreeing to in all those conversations when I respond with only a nod of the head and a little laugh.