1-2-3-4...

“UNO, DOS, TRES, CUATRO....” blared the club-sized speakers on the back porch. A small crowd danced in the darkness, illuminated only by the colored and white Christmas lights flashing from the beams. Hondurans mouthed the words while the American party hosts smiled and chimed in at key words like “salsa de tomate,” “aguacate” and “cohmbo.” (You know, like a Wendy’s combo, as a Honduran friend explained--I wasn't quite sure at first...)

All week I had been very nervous about the special pre-Navidad dance party I had taken the lead on organizing. My fears seemed to be on the verge of being fulfilled when only three guests had arrived two hours after the official party start time—and two were the twins who own the ridiculous sound system. There aren’t too many folks our age around town, that we know, anyway, so turnout was a legitimate concern. But ultimately a few key invites recruited a friend or two (all guys) and upon stopping over at a neighbor’s house, I learned that she has not one son our age, but two. And the music definitely drew a few people to our portón, to see whether they could join in on the fun. (How that ten-year-old kept sneaking in I’ll never know...but he did seem to be sort of supervised by one of the women from the neighborhood).

I danced for hours and hours to reggaeton, salsa, and meringue, and even attempted the Honduran classic, punta: buzz back and forth like a vibrating speaker, faster than seems humanly possible. I also drank a good deal of the punch—fruit punch, mango and strawberry Tang mix and “Russian” vodka made in Honduras, met a new teacher from the other bilingual school, got to know some old friends better, snacked on chips and tajadas with guac and refried beans, and showed off my hot new dress. It’s black with green polka-dots and I would like to thank the Honduran immigration office for it, because if I (and all the other teachers) hadn’t had to go into San Pedro four separate times to get our visa situation worked out, I would never have become acquainted with the fine merchandise of Mendels. Indeed, Mendels’ underwear section is actually visible through the plate glass that separates the back of the store from the immigration office stairwell. I’ll also thank the immigration bureaucracy on behalf of the guy who does the bag check (a requirement, including at grocery stores, in the city), who never would have gotten to ask me so many questions about where I’m from and how long I’ll be here in Honduras. Also, shopping is so addictive. I hadn’t really bought much of anything since I came here, and all the sudden I’m the proud owner of a dress and skirt and new tank top. Oh, and shoes, but I rarely wear them because my feet aren’t really used to shoes anymore, especially sockless as I opt to do here.

At any rate...the dress was a hit and there were lots of fun moments. I watched a Honduran friend pour rum into his drink and then seeing him taste it and protest, “You didn’t tell me this punch already had alcohol in it!” (I did try, I believe...). I jumped up and down to a series of American classics that we substituted in towards the end of the night—and which more or less drove away our party enthusiasts, alas, but it was well worth it. When everybody left the euphoric feeling of a really fun night and a successful venture remained, and I couldn’t sleep. It reminded me of when I used to get back to my apartment in New York last year after going out....how I would just sit in bed with my bedside lamp on for a while, replaying everything in my mind, smiling, thinking about how good life can be.

I ran into a party attendee on the street the next day and she said I danced like a real catracha. Cool stuff. I do feel like I’m a much better dancer here, but I think it’s just that I’m much more enthusiastic because I associate dancing with having fun, going out, meeting new people. It’s also more fun to dance to the Honduran mix of classics and reggaeton, with a lot of dancing in couples but dancing with everybody. Plus being in a new place has somehow given me the boost of confidence or anonymity that I needed to really enjoy dancing. I think I keep saying this here, but it’s evidently something that goes through my mind all of the time!

Travels in Tegucigalpa

Speaking of dancing, I also had a great time at a party thrown by some teachers we befriended at the Discovery School while at a conference in Tegucigalpa. Our stay there, the Thursday through Tuesday of the week before Thanksgiving, was a really interesting experience. For the first two nights, we stayed at the house of an uncle of a teacher from our school in a somewhat infamous colonia. It was cold at night in the house because it isn’t really sealed up—it has a lot of gaps that are only partially closed by scraps of metal roofing and wood—and definitely less luxurious than our home life. The bathroom didn’t have a door on it and had no light inside, the electrical wiring was really jury-rigged and the whole house just had the air of something that was moved into far before it could be actually completed. However, the view from the pila on a back balcony of the horse was breathtaking. The city of Tegucigalpa, somewhat disjointed, dirty and confusing during the day, looked cohesive, a single swarm of lights in the mountain hollows. The big cathedral of Suyapa lies below in the foreground and is beautiful, even if our host disparaged it for being awfully expensive when so many are in need. There’s a brand new children hospital perched on a hill near to the house, but it hasn’t opened yet because the government can’t find enough qualified people to staff it.

During the daytime, we were transported to a whole other world: the Marriott. There the New York Times news digest (printed from the internet, a subscription-only service) is available at the over-air-conditioned coffeeshop in the lobby, you can drink the water from the sink, if you like, and flush your toilet paper, and at several breaks in the sessions, uniformed employees serve mini-quiches, éclairs, and strawberry shortcake with freshly squeezed juices and English Breakfast tea. I felt like the country cousin in my capri pants and polo shirt, since most of the other attendees were teachers at more affluent city-based schools where the dress code is more New York business than gringo volunteer practical-wear.

I learned some good grammar games, among other things, and was reminded of just how different our school is from the typical bilingual school here. But speaking with the teachers from the more equipped and established urban schools gave me insight into the kind of teaching and level of English proficiency we must continue to strive for, even though it our circumstances are so vastly different. Even more valuable was the visit to the Bixby School on the campus of Zamorano University, Honduras’ renowned agricultural school. There I saw some really excellent teachers in action and realized that classrooms can be tranquil, well-controlled, and cheerful places to be. It was a bit discouraging to see how well their kids speak—and how little they whine!—but I have to remember that my junior high students haven’t had the privileges most of Bixby’s students do, such as parents who are highly educated (many are professors at the university), a consistent education for their whole lives, plenty of textbooks and other materials, and even just a more mild climate that makes learning in the spring and summer months so much less headache-inducing.

Reminders of home

Sadly, since we had taken so much time off from school to go to the conference and get our visas, we had a full day of school on Thanksgiving. My kids weren’t too interested in talking about giving thanks and one went so far as to disparage my attempts by saying that it’s an American holiday that they don’t care about at all. It all made me pretty homesick, knowing that my family was gathered together. But our administrator organized a great meal that included a waldorf salad and—the best surprise of all—asparagus! After I indulged myself with all the special foods, plus our old standbys, banana bread and McCormick-mix cake, I felt a lot better.

Now that it’s so close to when I’ll be heading home, I’m feeling more homesick overall than I have in a long time. But I’m lucky to have had two visitors this weekend! It’s so amazing that they could come here and see what my life is like. (And I’d also like to thank the two awesome girls who contributed to the care package delivered to me!) After meeting them in the central park on Saturday, we grabbed licuados and wandered around to meet a whole bunch of friends around town before heading to a bar in SP that I had wanted to check out for a while. It was a very chill, quiet place where you could sit and talk at tables, on cushioned chairs, or outside on a terrace. Reportedly they usually have live bands, but that night there was a poetry and short story reading. I was so exhausted from the night before that I more or less nodded off during the reading, but I revived for some conversation outside with some guys who go to a university in the city. It all seemed like a very non-typical place, but I was glad I got the chance just to talk and gossip with my friends. Definitely wouldn’t have been as easy to do that at a dance club.

On Sunday we slept in and then went on more of a paseo around town, running into some people on the street and getting invited in for coffee near the school, which was wonderful. The water was out for all of Saturday, and on Sunday we experienced the eight hour (semi-planned) power outage that really allowed our town to show of itself at its most third-world-countryness. My friends seemed somewhat impressed by the life I lead—a life that I know is not ordinary, compared to what we’re all used to from the States, but seems somewhat unexceptional now in the mundane details. (I forgot you have to sort of learn how to bucket flush a toilet if you’re not used to it.) I really enjoyed eating out with them last night at a typical dinner out at a restaurant, since I’ve hardly ever eaten out here. The plan is to meet up again on Friday in San Pedro for a trip to the Lago de Yajoa, along with any of my housemates who are interested. I’m really looking forward to checking out the waterfall.